A/N: Happy Hanukkah! Chrismukkah? Festivus? Whichever way, I'm craving some latkes and hot chocolate.

Ron blinked with a yawn, sleep unraveling as the bedroom came into view. The light shone harsh and bright from the window. Hermione was still in his arms—still asleep—warm and moving softly against him. Her hair was a matted halo. He petted the almost-an-agro; her nose wrinkled in response.

"Mornin'." The sheets were a crisp cream and her body warm.

"Hmm," was Hermione's response. A huge yawn and hands arched back to wind into his short hair. "M'ry Chris'mas."

After a chaste kiss he grinned against their lips and felt more awake. "Merry Christmas. Guess what, presents!"

"Oh god no." Hermione turned around, the blanket sliding off to reveal her back. Her muscles stretched with another yawn. "Shu' up. I'm asleep."

"You're talking." Ron grappled at the bedside table, opening the drawer and taking out a wrapped gift. "And I, your loving husband, have the most incredible present for you."

She turned back to stare at him. He was a tinge distracted by her breasts so didn't mind the ruefully tired look. "Lingerie?"

"Not lingerie. Though wow was I tempted." He sat up, grinning until his good humour became infectious. Hermione's expression lightened and she wove her hair back into a messy bun. "For this beauty I had to go from bookstore to bookstore. Do you know how many antique bookstores London has? A lot, that's the answer. But I knew what I was after and it had to be perfect."

Hermione had now taken the package, confused. "Thank you. But you didn't have to go to so much trouble."

"I wanted to. Open it." He wove an arm around her, snuggling against her as the wrapping gave way. He could tell the exact moment she realised what she held from her small gasp. "A signed first edition, complete with the author's handwritten notes. Tell me you aren't impressed. Go on, I dare you."

'A History of Magic' thudded to the bedsheets. Hermione gaped at it, a wavering hand covering her mouth.

"You see," Ron enjoyed her amazement, "you desperately needed cheering up. 'When in doubt, to the library', hmm? So I figured a phenomenally rare book that you adore would be a wicked distra—umph!"

Hermione ended the kiss, leg draped over him with fingers curled around his cheeks and eyes shining. "You," she pulled even closer so they were nose to nose, "are the most amazing man. How ever did you find this!"

"Every bookstore in London," he repeated. "Twice. Edinburgh too, so you know, and I only found this with a tip that led me to Aberdeen of all places. Can you believe it?"

He was pulled into another warm kiss, the book trapped between them in the covers (he gave a silent thank you for the numerous preservation charms that were on the ancient tome). Then suddenly instead of a snog and tongue, an envelope was being thrust into his face. He went cross-eyed to look at it. "Huh?"

"Someone insisted on doing presents." Hermione had sat back and was carefully examining the book's table of contents, blanket not covering a thing. "What do you think?"

Ron opened the envelope and two small parchments fell out. Parchments? No, it was…his heart stopped. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"Seriously. I love you so incredibly, unbelievably much and…" he turned to her in awe, shakily holding the Chocolate Frog cards (both a bit stubby in their plastic holders, the coloured portraits rousing from sleep), "you're an angel! A proper miracle worker. How'd you even get these!"

"That's a trade secret."

He flung them back into a snog, cards waving madly behind her head. The portraits were less than pleased. He pulled away with a wide beam. "You are very sexy right now."

"With this baby weight?"

"Sexy," he insisted. "Gorgeous. How'd you conjure this up? Rare cards I could understand. One ungodly rare card? You might've pulled some strings and robbed a museum. But Agrippa AND Ptolemy!?"

Hermione laughed. "I love you."

Ron decided that words couldn't fully say what he meant. So he (carefully) flung the Chocolate Frog cards on the book, pulled her into a deep kiss, and proceeded to distract her from even glancing at Bathilda Bagshot's notations.

"I don't want to go," Ron repeated. There was a twitch growing on Hermione's forehead. If it was a situation any less dire, he would have given in ages ago. "You aren't making me!"

"Apparently I have three children." She sounded ruffled, irritated, and anything but amused. Hugo was napping in her arms. Rose was keenly watching the match, hand in her dad's and twirling to and fro in her floofy blue dress. "You're going."

"Am not."

"Of all the—we aren't skipping Christmas dinner at the Burrow!" Hermione gave an impatience glance at the clock. "If we don't leave soon we'll be late to my parents for lunch."

"Let's stay at your parents." Ron continued to impeach. "You know they'll be pleased to have us for longer."

Ron was shocked his mother hadn't murdered them for skipping Christmas. They'd stopped by to drop off the presents, said they were heading to the Grangers, and tried as carefully as they could to gloss around why they weren't properly staying at the Burrow.

Molly Weasley hadn't been pleased. She'd been more teary than screamy, making Ron feel all the worse. But Hermione took his hand and they all understood in a not-really way. The kids were oblivious and Rose raced about with her cousins for a few minutes. Loud noises from the dining room revealed where the other adults are, though the three of them had stalled in the hallway.

Molly took a steadying breath and pierced the nervous Ron and Hermione with a look that saw through them to the wall behind. "There's too many memories here, I take it?"

Ron swallowed. "It was my idea, I'm sorry. It's not about you or the family or, or whatever. It just is. I can't…" he couldn't deal with this right now.

She pursed her lips. Without warning she pulled Ron and Hermione into a tight hug. "One year," she whispered to them as she held on as though for dear life. Her son noticed the grey sweeping her hair, "like George, you can skip exactly one year. But we'll be right here, do remember that! Remember to ask for help."

"Love you mum," Ron murmured back with a tight embrace, not answering the last almost-question.

"I love you both so, so much." Molly pulled away with tears in her eyes. After a cough her voice returned to a normal volume. "Do give your parents my best, Hermione."

"Merry Chris—"

"NANA!" Rose shrieked as soon as the door opened, racing into the woman's arms and being swung around.

"Rosie! Oh, you get bigger each time I see you." Jane Granger put Rose back down and cupped the child's face. "Let's see. One nose accounted for. Two wiggly, adorably ticklish ears…"

"Mum," Hermione sighed as said ears (and nose, cheeks, and belly) were tickled as Rose giggled.

"…two eyebrows, tonnes and tonnes of freckles—darling, you're freezing! Let's get you inside." Jane pulled Rose into the warmth. In doing so she got a proper look at the bundle in Hermione's arms. "Hugo!" The baby was abruptly swept up, Hermione's protest unheeded. "My precious little grandbaby! I'm your Nana, sweetheart. Do you remember? Can you say Nana? Na-na. Naaaa-naaaa."

"Mum," Hermione emphasised as they took off their shoes and closed the doors, "Ron and I are here as well."

"Ron!" Jane merrily replied, a slight turn of her lips the only hint she was winding up her daughter. "It's so good to see you, young man. You look positively freezing and a touch pale. Are you getting enough Vitamin D?"

"I have a bad case of Anglo-itis. Merry Christmas Jane." Ron held back a laugh at his wife's expression, hugging his mother-in-law while careful not to squish Hugo. He hung his jacket on the coat rack as Hermione helped Rose with her boots.

Hermione sighed. "Must you do this every time?"

"It's just too easy, Queenie." With that Jane pulled her groaning daughter into a hug. Ron kept back a snort at Hermione's face at all the kisses. "Don't frown like I know you are. The Queen of Winter! There's nothing wrong with your name."

"Nothing wrong with it?" Hermione gasped as she pulled away. The hall door opened to the bearded face of her father, who Rosie squealed and raced to. "It is the most atrocious name you could have come up with."

Jane tutted. "There's nothing wrong with a Shakespearean name. Queen Hermione of Sicily was a calm and lovely woman."

Richard Granger (eyebrows raised) stepped up to Ron with a giggling Rose held securely under his arm as her legs flapped. "Afternoon Ron, Merry Christmas. They're already up to it?"

"She was falsely accused of cheating and chucked in prison!" Hermione was yelping to her mother. "'The Winter's Tale' is a slap in the name of feminism!"

"Anachronistic, dear." Jane argued, cooing over Hugo. "Feminism wasn't a thing in Shakespeare's time. All of his female characters were tragic or simply naive."

"Then why did you NAME ME AFTER HER!"

"Yep, they're bonding." Ron sent Richard a grin. "I think it's good for them?"

"They've been at it since 'mione was neh high." Richard swung a still-giggling Rose to demonstrate the height. The men moved towards the living room, Ron getting Hugo from a thoroughly distracted Hermione. "Like mother like daughter, I believe."

"It's a Shakespearean name!" Jane was calling out, hands now on her waist. "It's elegant and beautiful. Yes, fine. In the story Hermione is tried for treason and adultery, and gives birth in prison, but you're entirely missing the point."

"What on earth could I be missing!"

"That she isn't that tragic compared to other characters. I didn't call you 'Juliet', now did I?"

"WHY WOULD THAT MAKE THIS BETTER?"

Ron shut the door on the yelling, letting out a low breath. "That might actually be a record. I think they lasted all of a minute?"

"It is partly my fault," Richard admitted as Rose scrambled over to the Menorah. "I was originally thinking 'Mio' would be a great name. But there was this thing in Jane's family about literary names, so we added on a few letters. You think she would've preferred 'Ophelia'?"

Ron flopped onto the couch, albeit carefully with the baby. "Hah, she would've loved that. She's also been into toffee lately—weird for her, thought it was a cravings thing. Now I think it's a 'rebel against the parents' thing."

Richard blinked at him, shocked. "Hermione's eating toffees?"

"Yep. She's gotten a sweet tooth."

"Our Hermione? Candies?"

"Yup. It wasn't even my doing, believe it or not!" Ron looked over at his daughter, her hands flickering around the eight glass stems. "Don't touch the candles, love. Fire is bad, remember?"

"Ye'h ye'h." Rose pouted, switching to swishing her fingers through the fairy lights on the nearby Christmas tree.

Ron turned back to his father-in-law. "She loves bright and pretty things. These decorations are her dream come true…looks nice, by the way. No Kwanzaa set up this year?"

Richard stretched. "Jane wanted a more monochrome thing, so adding Kwanzaa or Diwali was on the side of too colourful. I was voting stockings as wallpaper myself, but getting them to line up was a pain and a half."

"We could, ya know." Ron swished his fingers in the air.

"No! No, never again." Richard answered immediately. "That brother of yours took Jane's request of 'dance of the sugar plums' too seriously last year."

"Okay, but see," Ron explained, "the problem was that she asked George. And George is basically insane. If it had been Hermione, me, or almost nearly anyone else in my family, you wouldn't have gotten an army of dancing plums swinging sugar everywhere."

"It's almost as bad as when we went to that ceilidh of yours for Burns Night."

"Hey now," Ron protested, "that one wasn't my family! It's not my fault Minerva McGonagall's violently Scottish. Or that she enchanted the chandeliers to toss the dancers about."

Richard gazed at him for a long moment. "...tell me you understand why we're hesitant about magic."

After Christmas, after talking Hermione away from Godric's Hollow, after spending an enormous amount of time with his family for New Year's…it was a new year. A fresh start and beginning. Work was the same and the lack of leads were the same, but London was frosty in January and he was feeling refreshed. Almost like this could be a fresh start. All of this was, naturally, before his doorbell rang (like a wailing whale, thank you drunk Seamus).

Ron was pretty surprised to open his door and find Susan Bones, fiercely determined and in no mood to argue. He wasn't expecting her to forego hellos, ram forward, and lock her foot in the door rim to keep it from shutting.

"I'm demoting myself." Susan flung a badge at his chest. She pivoted around with a neat step, chin high and voice clipped. "Congratulations, you're the new Head Auror."

"New…what?" Ron gaped, not processing what was going on (or that he'd, on reflex, caught the badge). As she was leaving he lunged out, catching hold of her shoulder. He still almost thought she was here to see Hermione. "What're you on about?"

She reluctantly turned back. He noticed the stress and irritation lining her face. "I hate public speaking. I only agreed to be Deputy Head in the first place because Harry swore there'd be no press conferences. I didn't sign up for this! I tried, I did, but I can't bloody well DO THIS!"

"Sue, Sue! Slow down." He didn't dare let go of the steaming woman. "Fine, you don't like being Head Auror. Go back to being Deputy and assign someone else the job."

"That's what I'm doing," Susan gritted out, gesturing at the badge—the Head Auror badge—now in Ron's hand.

It was only then that the situation hit him like a bludger. The badge was flung away as though it'd burst into flames. "Nope! No way. Find someone else!"

"You're next in line."

Ron stared at her blankly. "How'd you reckon that?"

"Because you are!" Susan exclaimed. "Everyone knows you were first choice for Deputy and turned it down. This is already a disaster, you can't decline."

"Oh yes I can," he answered just as stubbornly, tempted to kick her out of the house. That is, out of the doorway. "Either find a Senior Auror who does want a promotion, or suck it up and deal with press conferences."

"How are you this oblivious?" She flung her arms out. "Everyone sees you as Harry's successor. I'm surprised the Aurors haven't already staged a coup!"

"What're you on?" Ron's stomach sank. "Nobody thinks that."

"Everyone thinks that!" Susan cried out, exasperated at his slowness rather than bitter. "As for me 'sucking it up'? I can't speak in public. I get jittery and squeamish and unbelievably wobbly."

"That's natural." He hoped this was a matter of settling her nerves. He tried to ignore the cringe-worthy idea that anyone saw him as Harry's successor. He also shoved aside any previous notions that Bones shouldn't be in charge: his past self was an idiot, she was perfect for Head Auror. "Plenty of people get nervous in front of a crowd. I dunno, picture the audience starkers."

"I throw up." Susan narrowed her eyes as though daring Ron to continue his protest. "Before every speech, every press conference, I throw up. Usually afterwards too! This job is killing me so, I'm sorry, I am, but I'm quitting."

Ron realised that argument wasn't going anywhere. He shifted gears. "I like being in the field."

"Time manage. Do both."

"I hate dealing with bureaucracy!" he said a touch desperately, really not wanting the job.

"I'll stay on as Deputy and do all the paperwork." Susan waved this protest away. "If you want, you can just be the public face of the Aurors. I really don't care."

"I'm not shoving all the work on you! I, I mean, I'm still not taking the job, but even if I was…" Ron scrambled, frantic to build up a foolproof protest. One that didn't mention the true reason he didn't want to be Head Auror, "Hermione. Yeah, Hermione! My wife's Head of Magical Law Enforcement. If I take the position the press will jump all over nepotism or something."

"Harry did it," she argued right back. "He was Hermione's brother-in-law and—"

"Is."

Susan gave Ron an odd look, taken aback by the frostiness that appeared in his tone. "Pardon?"

"Harry IS Hermione's brother-in-law," Ron said shortly, sympathy having run out.

"Oh." She shrunk, anger dissipating into awkwardness. "I'm sorry, I didn't think. It's just…it's been months…"

"As for your argument?" Ron gritted out, beyond tired of this conversation. "You're talking about Harry Bloody Potter. Rumours about him never stick and I'm not about to try my luck with the press. So ta, Bones. Get someone else."

"Ron, RON! I'm sorry." Susan resisted being pushed from the doorway. "You're the best one for the job. I understand why you don't want it, but please."

"You understand, do you?" he dismissed, trying to get her out of his house without resorting to hexes. "You understand having a family?"

"Don't be rude, of course I understand!" she cried out. "He was—sorry, is your brother. Your best friend. But you wouldn't be filling his place, you'd be—Weasley, I'm still your boss. Stop pushing me! Will you listen, you stubborn arse? Harry even wanted you to be Deputy Head!"

"I haven't forgotten." Ron managed to force the woman outside. "I'll answer you the same way I did him: no. Hell no."

"RON!"

"Fuck off."

The door slammed shut, almost taking Susan's quickly withdrawn fingers with it. Though she banged, shouted, and threatened to tear the door down (wards or no), she at last had to admit defeat.

"RON!" She screamed, pounding the barrier. "We're talking at the Leaky Cauldron at noon tomorrow; Merlin help you if you don't show!"

Ron rolled his eyes as he moved away, thinking that the whole block had heard her yell. He wondered if Hermione would be opposed to soundproofing their home. He also wondered if Hermione was behind this.

Ron was fifteen minutes late. He'd surprised himself by even showing, so he wasn't in the least embarrassed when he waltzed into the Leaky Cauldron. He was still fully intent on telling Bones where she could put that badge.

His defiant anger was brought to an awkward halt when he'd strode up and down the restaurant three times and couldn't find her at any of the tables. Or the bar. A glance at the clock: he was now twenty minutes late. Would she have gotten a private room? Strange, since she'd picked this place surely because it was public. He'd assumed she'd been desperate enough to wait, but it was possible she could have already come and left.

Ron fidgeted with the mirror in his pocket but decided against calling her. Maybe she was in the loo. He flagged down a passing waitress. "Hey, sorry. I'm supposed to be meeting someone. A woman yay tall. She's likely broiling mad, has the poshest English accent you'll ever hear, and her hair's even more ginger than mine."

The hurried waitress' expression cleared of confusion. "Black tea lady! Aye, she was huffing to herself at the corner table. Her partner came in at, ohh, just before the hour. Kissed her and whisked her right off."

Ron didn't get it. "Who kissed her?" The waitress had darted away to bring gillywater to a pair of prim witches. He took a seat at an empty table, feeling off-balanced. This was strange. Bones had a boyfriend? That would have surely made its way through the office grapevine. He could maybe understand her planning to meet the bloke here, assuming that Ron himself wouldn't show…

With an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach, Ron got out his mirror and called Bones. No answer. He tried Hermione, who did pick up. "Quick question. Have you had any heart-to-heart chats with Susan Bones lately?"

Hermione's brows creased in the small glass. "Pardon?"

He kept an eye on the waitress as she delivered lasagna to a group of hags. "That was my roundabout way of asking if Bones has a boyfriend."

"She doesn't."

"Any significant other? Overly touchy cousin? Not-really-platonic best mate?"

"Why are you asking? She's a solitary person." Hermione was staring at him in concern, as though he was the one spouting out mad things. Shouting out…Bones had shouted when and where they should talk. It'd been loud enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear.

"I'm about to be incredibly paranoid, but do me a favour." Ron stood up, doing a fast-paced walk to the waitress in the middle of her rounds. "Search Bones' home, office, anywhere she'd be. If you find her, call me. If you don't find her, put us on red alert. HEY!" He hung up on Hermione's startled gasp and made the waitress jolt backward at his exclamation. Mirror was shoved back in his pocket. "You! The woman you saw here earlier was Susan Bones, the Head Auror. Where did you see her go and why do you think she was with her boyfriend?"

The waitress did a double-take, blonde ringlets bouncing. "Are you—"

"Ron Weasley. Senior Auror, War Hero, all that rot." Impatience swelled through his words. "What did you see?"

"Oh. Okay, so this is happening." The waitress was starting to sound afraid. Possibly because she had a famous wizard nearly shouting at her as heads turned. "Ms…Bones, was it? She was sitting by herself. I noticed because she was polite and kept ordering teas while glaring at the clock. I'd brought her another drink when a man walked over." She caught his keen look and fumbled. "Handsome, neat beard? He was tall, too, and white. He, he went over and pulled her close, kissing her out of the blue. I was glad her date had finally arrived, especially as she was looking tired."

Ron swallowed. He'd been late. "Tired?"

She gave a nervous laugh. "Poor woman seemed out of it, must be all the stress. You said she's the Head Auror? No wonder she was dead on her feet as they left, what with all the mess with Harry Potter." She realised what she'd said and to who; horrified hands clasped her mouth. "I'm sorry! You're, you and him, I shouldn't have mentioned it. I don't believe the papers a whit, Mr. Weasley. I'm sure Mr. Potter's just fine."

Ron rubbed his nose, thoughts on repeat as a purposeful calm filled him. "What's your name?"

"Aimee Weatherfall. 'Aimee' like A-I-M-E-"

"Sure sure. You were the waitress who gave her all the teas?" A nod. A frowning Hannah Longbottom was heading their way from the kitchen, having noticed something amiss. He didn't give the staring customers a thought, not even when he saw a camera flash. "There a back room we can talk in?"

"Ron?" Hannah's annoyed stride to her stationary waitress changed to confusion when she saw him and both of their expressions. "What's going on over here?"

Ron gave her a shrewd look. Pupils were normal, no change in her step: no clear sign of the Imperius or of a potion on either of them. His voice lowered. "Something's about to happen. A lot of Aurors are going to come in and keep people from leaving. No one's in any danger, just keep things calm. Do you mind if I grab a private room to talk to Weatherfall? She's a witness to something."

Though Hannah's eyes widened she gestured at the staircase, his seriousness clear.

"Thanks, I'm sorry about this. The other Aurors will fill you in." Striding to the steps he waved for a gaping Weatherfall to follow him while grabbing his mirror and trying Hermione again. She picked up immediately, furious. He cut her off before she could start. "Code Black. Susan's gone."

She stared at him before bristling. "What's going on! I've sent hit-wizards out to Susan's, but—Code Black? What do you mean, where is she!"

Ron didn't want to say the words. He'd been twenty minutes late and Susan had shouted her plans for the entire block to hear. "She had a stalker and they kidnapped her from the Leaky Cauldron just before noon. Likely drugged, the one assailant was a tall caucasian man with a beard." He got into the first free room, putting up a number of locking and privacy charms as soon as a frightened Weatherfall had closed the door behind them. "I have a witness. Everyone with high clearance needs to be checked. I also need back-up and this place on lock-down, though I doubt the Sweenies would have stuck around."

Weatherfall gave a meek gasp at the mention of the Sweenies. Hermione stared at him through the mirror. "Are you certain?"

A dash of impatience filled him. "Of course I—"

"Are you absolutely positive!"

The wizard let out a low exhale, watching the terrified Weatherfall. "She's gone."

Nervously darting whispers, a crowded boardroom, and Ron was holding Hermione's clammy hand beneath the table. Or she was holding his clammy hand. He wasn't paying attention to that.

"Crippling the MLE, that's what they're doing." Was his furious mutter, equal counts addressing his wife and himself. "We're making it easy for them! What with Harry's schedule plastered in the papers and Susan screaming her's out in public."

Hermione took a calming breath, voice equally low. "They aren't trying to cripple the MLE. If they were, Kingsley and I would have been taken."

"It's so stupid," he ranted, words soft but hot and sour to the touch. His grip tightened and eased at random; Hermione's became more soothing, all but massaging his fingers. "They were surely being followed, but I handed them to the Sweenies on a silver platter. I was late on purpose. I published his schedule! Nah, not his schedule. I publicly forced Harry to be there. Susan was shouting because that was the only way to be heard through the slammed door—I'd slammed it!"

"You have to calm down."

"She threw up before press conferences! Why she agreed to be Deputy, I'll never know." He gave a bitter laugh, causing more people to look their way. For the first time in a long while, he genuinely didn't care. He'd never felt more miserable or useless. Or, he once had, but at the time Slytherin's locket had been tightening around his neck. Much like how Hermione's grip was beginning to feel. "She was begging me. Susan, she…"

For a single heartbeat he was back in the tent. Back to screaming in Harry's face, his stomach empty and every inch of him yearning to throttle his best friend. Harry was shouting back and Hermione was desperate; trying to calm them both, begging him to take off the locket. But she didn't get it! The locket had nothing to do with it. Boy Wonder was leading them in circles! He wasn't going to listen, because Potter was no match for You Know Who. Any day the radio would be filled with his family's names. His family. Hermione's was safe! Potter had nothing to lose! How dare he pretend to care!

Another heartbeat. Ron blinked, swallowed. He was in the boardroom. Hermione was older—no, the right age—but was giving him the same look of frightened concern. Harry had already lost everything. His name had drifted over the radio.

"It's not your fault." Hermione's murmur in his ear was softer than any of their previous words. "I swear to, to everything. It's not your fault."

Ron watched her, gaze dim. A part of him believed her. But he got jealous. He had a temper. He jumped to conclusions and swore and apparated when things got too tough or when his stomach wasn't full. He shouted at orphans that they would never understand having a family. "I slammed the door in her face."

Ron had never been this close to quitting his job. There was a time when George had asked if he wanted to join WWW, but Ron liked solving mysteries. He liked helping people. He liked strategising. He liked catching the bad guys and ensuring they couldn't hurt anyone else. He also didn't trust his older brother a wink. And…well, not all of the main Death Eaters had been captured. How could he leave Harry and Hermione to go up against the likes of Rodolphus Lestrange alone? It was a good job, he knew. A fulfilling job, he told himself.

This morning hadn't been the first time Ron had been near resigning. It wasn't like he couldn't find another job in a snap, or decide to stay home with Rosie and Hugo. But if he quit it'd throw everything into more chaos. There was already enough guilt weighing on his thoughts.

Lisa had given him a tea that he was almost positive had been dosed, because now he felt calmer. He still felt like rubbish, but calmer. So as they continued to wait for the emergency meeting to begin, Hermione was the one whose nerves were getting the better of her. If they weren't surrounded by the other Senior Aurors Ron was sure she'd burst into frustrated tears. As it was, her face was set in a tight-lip determination: a fiery hex surely at the edge of her lips.

He slid his hand into her's beneath the table, giving a gentle squeeze. She jumped, startled, a flicker of panic in her eyes. But in the next moment she'd relaxed then squeezed back, sending him an expression of exhausted thanks. He considered giving her a sip of the tea.

This thought was scattered when the Minister swept into the room. With a surveying glance around, Kingsley looked as worried and tired as any of them. His entourage seemed even worse. He sunk into the chair on Hermione's other side.

"How bad will this get?" Kingsley stated (as his advisors shuffled around him), fingers nettling.

"Very bad." Hermione likewise cut to the chase. She turned to address Kingsley, though her hand didn't leave Ron's. "Things were already a mess without Harry. Everyone rallied but things fell through the cracks. Now without a Head or Deputy Auror?"

"Minister." Dmitri spoke up. "Pardon me: Harry and Sue know how to organise the department while interacting with the public and the larger Ministry. The rest of us can try to make up the gap, but we have cases and are already stretched thin. The Hit-Wizards are in almost as bad of a shape."

Hermione nodded in reluctant agreement and Kingsley's expression darkened further. Even though his anger wasn't directed at them the chill in the room intensified. "To clarify, Head Auror Bones never assigned a Deputy Head?"

"She didn't have much time," Hermione said. "She was still technically Interim Head, after all."

Ron gave a humourless laugh. "She didn't even want the damn job."

Kingsley's stare shifted to him. Eyebrow was raised.

"Sue didn't want to be in charge," Ron reluctantly explained. He hadn't entirely realised he'd spoken the last part aloud. Had the tea also loosened his tongue? Damn Lisa, making him calm and all. "Hates public speaking. She practically begged me to switch jobs, it was so bad. I refused. I didn't want the position either."

Kingsley gave him a long, hard look before returning his attention to the room at large. "I know how horrible these circumstances are, but we can't let this office continue on without direction. An Interim Head Auror needs to be assigned and trained with all due haste."

A silence swept the room. All were dwelling on the unknown fate of the last two people who'd held that job.

Hermione's voice broke through the stilted air, not entirely warm. "I can't say I agree but, if need be, there are many brilliant Senior Aurors. Any one of them would do the job justice. I'll go over their—"

"Hermione," Kingsley interrupted with a note of apology, facing her with an odd look, "I doubt anyone here thinks that's necessary. For me, at least, there's no question who should be promoted."

There was a pregnant pause. Ron (who'd been looking at the Minister) realised with a stab that he'd been mistaken: Kingsley hadn't been facing Hermione. With a hollowness growing in his stomach, Ron gave a glance around the room. Everyone, Kingsley included, was staring right back at him. Their gazes didn't waver.

"No, NO!" Hermione burst out. She turned furiously to the Minister. "That's not happening!"

Kingsley made a small gesture. "Ron's clearly the best one for the job."

"Of course he's the best one!" Hermione bit out impatiently, anger swelling. "But you aren't putting a target on his back. You already know my thoughts on this! Frankly, it's a rubbish idea having another Head Auror at all, considering what's happened. The Senior Aurors can delegate between each other."

"They need a leader," the Minister didn't back down. "It's the only way this force can stay afloat."

"That's utter rubbish and—"

"Hermione," Ron said quietly. "Stop, alright? It's fine. I'll take the job."

Hermione looked at him as though he'd spontaneously turned into a hippogriff. Her voice became a furious whisper, though it carried through the room. "What are you doing? It's being targeted! We should abandon the blasted position altogether."

"Which would mean we were giving in." Ron turned to Kingsley, expression twisted in reluctant acceptance. "If the others are okay with it, then yeah. I'll accept."

Lisa snorted, an action that was imitated by many of the other Senior Aurors. It was clear they found the idea of anyone but Ron being the new leader ridiculous. If he didn't feel like a frog was squirming in his throat, he'd be touched.

Hermione, on the other hand, now had her glare pointed squarely at Ron. Her iron-fisted grip beneath the table painfully tightened. It was only then that he realised he'd accepted a job while most-likely being dosed up. Eh, he'd blame Lisa.

The moment they were in the hallway Hermione grabbed Ron's shirt and dragged him into the nearest closet. She slammed the door shut and swirled around to glare, her fist rolled up in his shirt's collar.

"Not that I'm against this," Ron squirmed under her poisonous stare, "but I don't think now's the best time for a snog."

"Shut it!" Hermione snapped, pulling herself even closer to him (grip unrelenting). She stood on her toes so that they were nose to nose, her hot breath steaming his skin. "What were you thinking!"

"Just accepting a promotion. Don't see why it's a big deal. Or do you think I should've asked about a raise? Bigger office?"

"You barmy GIT!" she cried out, absolutely furious. Ron's fidgeting to get away from her hold didn't result in much. "Do you think I'm blind? I know precisely what you're doing. You're offering yourself up as bait!"

He fidgeted, uncomfortable with her almost choking him. "Come off it, like I'd do that."

"Of course you would!" Hermione stormed. "You want to find out what happened to Harry, so you've decided to get yourself kidnapped."

"Ah, no. I'm not that mad."

"Then why? Why would you do this!"

"I'm changing positions. It's not the end of the world. Lisa also might've snuck something in my tea…"

"What, tea? Harry and Sue both vanished!" Her voice had a note of desperation. "They both disappeared. It's a pattern, this group is targeting Head Aurors."

"It's not a pattern," Ron argued right back. "What's that phrase? One time's random, two's a coincidence, and three's a pattern."

"So you want to be the third!?"

"Don't be stupid," Ron scowled, feeling the calmness scurrying away for annoyance. "I don't have a death wish."

"You could have fooled me!" Hermione cried out.

"It's not—look. I don't want this job, but Sue didn't want it either. She really didn't want it and tried everything to convince me to take it. She wasn't even first choice to be Deputy, but nope, I had to hate bureaucracy. So if you're right and Head Aurors are being targeted? Then I should have been taken, not her. This is the least I can do."

Hermione's breathing evened out. Her grip on his shirt loosened. "It's not your fault, not for any of this. You can't agree because of misplaced guilt! You just can't."

"Sure I can. I already did it." He caught her furious hand before it hit his shoulder, pulling her close as their hot breaths mingled. "If something happens, it'll happen. But I'm not letting anyone else take the shot meant for me!"

Okay, yep, his heart was hammering and the calming draught had certainly worn off. Hermione stilled, the hand still caught in his unclenching. He let it go and fingers, palm, and wrist fell to her side.

A sudden calm swept through him. Maybe there was still a drop of that tea. "I'll be careful, I promise. I doubt they're targeting this position. After all, you're in charge of MLE and you're okay. It's a coincidence. Plenty of people in other jobs have vanished."

"You ridiculous man," she said quietly. "It's not your fault. Why can't you believe that?"

"You can keep telling me that all you want. But I can't stop picturing her begging me to take the—"

"I'm talking about Harry." Hermione's voice was little more than a murmur. Ron's statement trailed off. "Neither of us could have done a thing."

"I know that," Ron hedged, not meeting her eyes.

"You don't. Before all of this, with the fuss about you hating your new partners? You only wanted to work with Harry again."

"Really?" Ron said sarcastically, though the bite didn't enter his words.

"Which Harry knew! Moreover," Hermione refused to be deterred, "you hated that you weren't able to watch each other's backs." She took his chin, turning him to face her. "It's not your fault. Please, please don't take this job. You deserve to be in charge and I'm so proud of you, but please! Turn Kingsley down. I, I can't lose you too. If not for me, think of Rosie and Hugo. They can't lose their dad."

Ron stared for a long moment. Her eyes were glistening and, even in the darkness, the unshed tears were all too clear. He wondered if she saw the same thing in his gaze.

"Don't worry so much." He gave her a chaste kiss, lingering after as their lips and noses touched. Her body shook slightly against his. "A boring desk job won't kill me."

"Expecto patronum."

"Hi Harry. Yeah. Things have happened. Is Susan there with you? I hope she's okay. Hope you're okay too, obviously, and…I'm making a mess of this." Ron watched the silvery terrier and wished the Patronus could give him the right words. "Susan was taken too and things are even more of a mess. But you'd laugh about something, at least. You'd find it hysterical and would never let me live it down. You'd take the mick out of me each and every day, and Merlin I wish you were here to do that."

He glanced out the window, keeping his gaze on the dark sky. "I'm the new Head Auror. Imagine that! The family's damn good at forcing through smiles and congratulations. Mum wanted to throw me a party like she did for you. She insisted on it but I wasn't interested." Arms were draped loosely around his knees, staring at the stars and wondering what the constellations were. "I'll hate it. I'll try to do the job properly because it's damn well important, but bloody hell. Bureaucracy? What did I get myself into. The moment I find you Potter, I'm killing you for all this paperwork. If you're dead already, I'll damn well resurrect you and murder you again!"

Ron stopped abruptly. He hadn't meant to say that. Not the 'killing Harry' part: the git more than deserved it. The resurrecting part was the issue. It'd tumbled over into the area he didn't think about, let alone voice aloud. "Say hi to Susan for me, yeah? 'spect she's right pissed off. The two of you can blow off steam ranting about me, at least. Plan how to get back at me. A prank maybe, that'd be a laugh. I'm sure Fred would gladly hel—"

His voice stuck in his suddenly bloated throat. Damn it, damn it! He hadn't meant to say that. It was one thing for Harry to see Susan. It was entirely another for either of them to see Fred. "Forget I said that, I'm being stupid. You're fine, Susan's fine, and once you're found you'll never let me forget this. 'Head Auror', hah! Shacklebolt's officially lost his mind."

"It can be as short as you want." Hermione had reassured Ron that morning. She's been wearing just a towel, hair smooth, long, and dripping wet. He scrubbed at his own matted head, eyeing the formal jackets in the closet that he'd (pleasantly) nearly never worn. "Or as long. I'm not trying to dictate or push you, and of course you can disregard the bullet points I outlined—"

Ron stopped her with a kiss, having found over the years that this was the most effective way to stop a conversation.

"It can really be short," was the first thing Taylor said to him that morning. She was wearing a fancy honey-toned cloak. Ron glanced down at his navy jacket, only now realising he'd chosen a muggle suit. "Sue didn't even bother announcing. You certainly don't have to take questions at the end. Whatever you choose, it'll be over soon." 'Then the real work starts', was the unspoken conclusion.

"Thanks." Ron glanced back down at his clothes, frowning. "Hey, do you think I'm—"

"What?"

"Nothing." He was fine, the irritating suit was fine, it'd all be fine.

"Don't be nervous," was how Kingsley greeted him.

"I'm good," was the reply back. "If I was facing a horde of acromantula, different story. But reporters? Meh."

"Bloodthirsty reporters," Kingsley grimly emphasised, "and you're the prime steak. They're like grindylows and there's already blood in the water. They'll happily—joyfully—chew you up too."

Ron made a note to never come to Kingsley for pep talks. Was that a thing he could even do now? "Trust me, I'm used to them. Comes with the territory."

Kingsley didn't look convinced.

"It'll be fine," Ron repeated the same words he'd been repeating endlessly. "It'll be short and sweet. 'Hey, I'm the new Head Auror. Yes, it's a devastating tragedy. No, I'm not taking questions. Cheers.' See? Simple."

"No cursing," Lisa had said as they sipped coffee, lulling outside the conference room as they heard the reporters getting set up inside. "No swears, no hexes, and you'll be fine."

"But I swear," Ron pointed out, not able to fully stomach the coffee. "It's kinda my thing."

"Can it just not be your thing for ten minutes?"

"You think it'll last just ten minutes?" Ron looked at the closed door, contemplative. "You know what…call me if it goes longer than twenty. Say there's been an emergency and I have to leave pronto. Like, I dunno, that my wife's gone into labour. That'll be a decent excuse to get me out of it."

Lisa couldn't hide a smile. "Your very much not-pregnant wife will be standing next to you. Plus, your son made the front page of the 'Prophet'."

"Second page," Ron corrected, vanishing his nearly full coffee as a lost cause. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "First page was my sister punching a reporter for sticking a camera in my niece's face."

With that, Ron plucked up his courage and strode into the conference room filled with shouts and questions. Lisa humphed behind him. "That was some photo."

Ron strode up from the back of the stage to the front, wondering if he looked calm and collected. He thought his small nod to Kingsley by the podium was a nice touch. Should he smile at Hermione? No, it'd be too much—ah, well he'd smiled at Hermione. He was smiling at his wife, big whoop. He stepped up to the podium and cleared his voice, looking out at the people. There were a lot of people, Ministry workers and reporters with snapping cameras alike. There were also the bullet points getting sticky in his hand; best put them up.

"Hello." A cough. That was a decent start, Ron thought. "Thank you Minister, Director. I'm—"

Holy Merlin's buttocks (left and right). He'd just called Hermione 'Director'. He'd referred to his wife AS A TITLE, and these morons were nodding along!

The bullet points were clearly rubbish. He'd looked them over before, but hadn't realized how mad the notes sounded until he'd read them aloud. This was too formal. It was insane, he shouldn't be in a position like this! Panic billowed in his chest. What was Kingsley on? He wasn't good at this! He wouldn't like it, the suit was awful, the notes sounded like Hermione, bloody hell he was going to spew over the notes—

'So toss the notes,' came a small voice in his head. A distinctly amused voice. The reporters were starting to look at each other, maybe realising they could get spewed on. 'They're getting Ronald Bilius Weasley. You might as well show them what a git you are.'

It took another few seconds for the truth of this to sink in. When it did, Ron suddenly felt much better. He looked up from the useless notes. "Right, hello. I know I should be thanking everyone for this position, but really? I didn't want it." He saw Kingsley wince out of the corner of his eye. He didn't dare turn to see Hermione's reaction. "Nobody wanted it. Harry had been doing a great job as Head Auror, as had Susan, and some twats stole them from us. So instead you're getting me, Head Auror Ronald Weasley. Tough luck, mates."

There were surprised looks in the crowd now. He got into the swing of things, elbows on the podium and hands clasped. "I'm supposed to promise the Auror force will capture the Sweenies and return the victims to their families and loved ones. I can't promise that. Every person here knows I can't promise that, because I'm not a ruddy seer." He heard a snorting laugh from behind him. He prayed it was Hermione. "All I can say is this. I and the rest of the MLE will be working night and day to solve this—just like we've been doing for months—all while balancing the rest of our cases.

"But that isn't enough. Come on, you can't combat terrorism with a stiff upper lip." Kingsley gave an exasperated growl at this: maybe Ron wasn't supposed to label the Sweenies as terrorists? He hated how familiar this was. His thoughts were full of camping in the countryside, waking up to screams in the Gryffindor dorm, and names of the missing and dead whispered from the radio. "Living life in fear isn't much of a life. We've all lost somebody and I don't know when this will get better. We don't know who's behind this, we don't know how many are dead. We don't know what's coming in the future and I absolutely do not know what I'm doing. But I can promise that I'll be here with you along the way. We'll work, we'll remember, and…well, we'll wait. We'll do it together. You aren't alone, because I'm not going anywhere."

Ron was running out of words. Everyone was silent and staring. "Err, thank you. Did I get everything?" He turned around. Kingsley was gawking at him. Hermione looked about ready to jump him (whether it was to hex or snog him, he was less certain). "Oh, right. Hang tight with us through the transition period. I'm new to this whole bureaucracy thing. All crimes will be professionally handled, the Auror office is running a tight ship, this lot all swear I'm completely qualified, and there is no way I'm taking questions. Ta, Britain."

'See?' The voice whispered in his thoughts (as he waltzed off stage as the crowd erupted and Kingsley hurried to the front). It was sarcastic and sassy and so annoyingly familiar. 'You gave them a show!'

Arms slung around his torso from behind, a cheek pressed against his neck.

"So you know," Ron cradled the soft hands, "my wife's around here somewhere. She's already right pissed at me, so I wouldn't test her. She's got an excellent right hook."

Hermione laughed against his ear, her body cradling his. "I'm not angry."

The corridor wasn't empty and a few Ministry workers had their eyes on them. But as they realised there wouldn't be a fight their interest faded. Soon enough, all went off on their actual tasks, leaving just the two of them.

Ron didn't want to interrupt her nibbling his neck, but he was feeling off-balanced. "I didn't follow the notes."

"Hmm," she mused, pausing the kisses, "that's true. I rather thought it was a breath of fresh air."

He twisted to look at her, confused. "Are you sure you aren't upset? Because I'm not exactly good at reading between the lines and—"

"You were great." A kiss right beneath his ear. Another nibble.

"Kingsley looked ready to kill."

A few more nibbles. "Kingsley's a politician, dear. I'm glad there's more truth around here."

"To Ron!" Percy said magnanimously, drink held aloft. "To a long and successful Ministry career."

"Good lord Perce, I'm not drinking to that." Bill's glass was held high. They were all huddled in a table in a small pub, the first they'd found outside of the Ministry in muggle London. "To Ron! Congrats little brother, may you be happy and not cursed too badly."

"To not being cursed!" Charlie loudly agreed, having already had a few drinks.

"To a bribable official!" George winked at Ron and clinked his glass with Charlie's.

"To bribes!" Charlie repeated back, getting into the swing of things.

"To this family taking over the Ministry," Bill chuckled.

"To conquering BRITAIN!" George cried out with a swing of his drink. There was a football match being shown at the front, so none of the other (shouting and rambunctious) patrons cared.

"To Nepotism!"

"TO A GINGER DOMINATION!"

"To Ron," Ginny spoke quietly. This instantly silenced the now-standing George and Charlie. "We're all so proud of you. Do the job well. Be happy."

"Hear hear." Percy tipped his glass to Ginny before drinking.

"Cheers," Bill nodded at a now reddening Ron.

"Yeah, well done mate." George tried to drink but frowned at his empty glass instead. He reached for a refill of wine as he retook his seat. "You'll be brilliant. Though your boss is a cranky one."

"True that. He knows how to get under her skirt." Everyone choked or spat out their drinks at Charlie's words.

"Under her SKIN!" Bill coughed, still choking. "The phrase is, 'under her skin'!"

"You're all disgusting," Ginny said neatly, tipping more wine into her glass. She wore a small smile.

Ron had been wrong about many things in his life. He'd never deny this and was fairly decent at owning up to his mistakes. He only wished he'd been wrong about this.

"Blasted wankers!" he stormed at Lisa. To her credit, she was taking his meltdown with a calm facade and a sympathetic grimace. "Do you know how much paperwork the Wizengamot requires for prosecutions? Do you?!"

"I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"A bloody lot, that's how much!" Ron sunk into his chair with a mighty groan. "I thought they just disliked me. Hazing the new guy, ya know? But according to my wonderful wife, this is a light amount of paperwork for this job. Did you hear me? THIS IS DOWN TIME."

Lisa bit back a smile. "Bureaucracy, huh."

"It's absolute rubbish." Agreed Ron before letting out a long sigh and rubbing his eyes. "I shouldn't have started with that rant, because now you're going to say no when I ask you to be Deputy Head."

Lisa continued to nod before catching herself. "Wha, what? What!"

"I'm jumping the wand?" Ron answered an unasked question. "Sure, absolutely. But Susan didn't leave a second in command and I'm not about to repeat that. I'll make my own mistakes, thank you." She continued to gape. He figured he could have approached this better. "To be clear, me complaining about the nonsense paperwork has nothing to do with this promotion. Don't get me wrong, there's plenty of rubbish bureaucracy the Deputy has to deal with, but I—"

"Weasley," Lisa was blinking rapidly, scrambling to get her bearings. Fingers clutched at the side of the desk, "what exactly are you asking? Because there's no way I heard you correctly."

Ron gave a slow grin, realising she was blindsided rather than insulted. His tone thusly changed to a stern drawl. "Senior Auror Lisa Turpin, you have been with me through hell and high water. This partnership has enriched my life in so many ways. I know this is a huge commitment, but I'm ready for the plunge and there's no one I'd prefer to have by my side—"

"If you pull out a ring…"

"—apart from my gorgeous wife. Who could very well be eavesdropping on this, naughty witch that she is." He gave his embarrassed friend a cheery smile, voice returning to normal. "Lisa, seriously. I want you to be Deputy Head Auror. Remember all those late nights at training, making mad plans to change the Ministry? They were awful plans, hideously stupid. So now we can be idiots together! This came in the worst way possible, but it's still here." He leaned forward, holding her wide-eyed stare. "If you can bear the bureaucracy, there is no one who'd be better for this job. We have the chance to do something, to actually change this department. Please say yes."

"I…I'm not…oh wow…"

What Ron had been trying not to think about all day (all week, all month) caught his breath and swirled before his eyes. For just a pause Lisa's face and answer stretched out of view, swirling into another scene. The clock tipped back, not going to where war breathed into his ears, but back to when he was trying to forget the melody…

"Nice office." Ron turned around, viewing the unpacked boxes. There was more space in here then he'd realised. The previous occupant had piled it high with objects and gnomes (oh, how he wished he was exaggerating). "Desk, chairs, boxes, window—scenic window, nice." He paced around in mock thought. "You're missing something…aha! Robards' statue that jumped out at people, that's what you need. That thing scared ten years off me. Are you having a doorman to terrify newbies?"

Harry stood by the desk, with an easy smile and an easy stance and hair messier than usual. He levitated a pile of books to a shelf. "I'm thinking a horde of attacking snitches."

"Nice. Weirdly diabolical." Hands in pockets and a small frown. "So, Head Auror…"

"Don't." The grin disappeared as the books were neatly stored.

"I'm your best friend," Ron scoffed. "I'm supposed to take the mick out of you. Especially when you go mental and take a desk job."

Harry pocketed his wand. "Don't start."

"I'm raising a valid concern that you've lost your damn mind."

"I need a new best friend."

"Like you could replace me," Ron said. "So boss, why'd you summon me?"

"Don't call me that."

"Sir then?"

Harry sent him a peeved look and sat down on his desk. There were memos flickering through the thin slits around the doorframe, momentarily unread and ignored. "Could you not make this awkward? It doesn't have to be."

"It sort of has to—"

"I need a Deputy Head," Harry abruptly continued.

"—be awkward." Ron finished before he'd processed the other's words. "Wait. What?"

Harry fidgeted, hand back to nettling his hair. "I need a Deputy Head Auror and there's no one, Ron there is no one who could be it but you. Please tell me you'll accept."

Ron's arms fell to his sides. All the jokes and sarcastic remarks he'd been thinking of flew from his head. He wondered if Harry had actually been hexed.

"I know you think I'm crazy for taking this job," Harry went on in a rush, "or maybe you wish we were still partners. But this is a chance to properly change things." His gaze was steely, hands clenched, and Ron remembered why people flocked to this man. "There's no war this time and it's brilliant. We can rebuild this place, renovate it! This is exactly what we've dreamed about."

Ron pulled himself out of his shock. "It's, it's what Hermione dreamed about? You've got that much right."

"We saw how the wizarding world could be horribly wrong. Sirius stuck in Azkaban for years without a trial, Purebloods legalising prejudice, werewolves treated inhumanely, kids dying in combat? We could put infrastructure in place so that never happens again!"

Ron's mouth pursed, becoming angry though he wasn't sure why. "Why'd you take this job?" Harry gave a start, thrown by the question. "Because you thought it'd be fun? Nah, you hate paperwork as much as I do." Ron stepped forward, irritation brewing. "You're an adrenaline junkie so Quidditch or chasing down bad guys is your cup of tea. You'd never choose to sit behind a desk."

"I grew up. I have a family now—"

"Yeah, I thought that was your reason up until two minutes ago. All noble and whatever." Ron cut in impatiently. "But now I'm just pissed off. What the hell! You'll let them use you as a figurehead again?"

"That's not what—"

"You fought because Voldemort was going to be after you no matter what you did," Ron seethed. "You didn't fight to 'change the world' or some nonsense. You hate the press and the public who'd think the worst of you, and now you're telling me you always wanted to build them a nice society? That's bull! It was self-defence."

"You're taking everything out of context."

Ron gave an incredulous laugh, not believing he had to deal with this. "You've never cared about this. You're a fantastic and selfless guy, but Hermione's the social activist. Not us. There's nothing wrong with that, people have different priorities. But you're seriously letting them control your life?"

The Head Auror gritted his teeth. "No one's controlling my life, this is my choice. Fine, sure, I don't care that much about the public's perception. But I want my kids to grow up in a better world and I want to protect the innocent. Why's that so hard to believe?"

"You aren't an activist! You let people stomp over you!"

Harry grew cold. "Like you're trying to do?"

"Don't give me that."

"This is a chance for us to create something. My motivations aside, you've got to see that. Take the promotion with me, please."

"No."

"Ron…"

"Hell no. I fought in the war for you, but I'm sick of watching you sacrifice yourself." Ron turned away and pretended he hadn't seen Harry's hurt expression. "Ask Susan. She'll be thrilled to get off field work and she'll buy your bs."

"YES!" Lisa exclaimed before clasping her hands over her mouth, embarrassed. Ron shook his head, returning to the present. "Yes, yes absolutely! I'm so excited!"

Ron managed a faint grin, not nearly as cheery as he'd been a minute ago. "Brilliant. I was worried you'd…well, fantastic. Changing the Ministry, structuring this madhouse, all that stuff."

"I have so many ideas! Oh, this will be great. Thank you!"

Sweet Circe, he was going to hate this. "Brilliant," he instead repeated, wishing her enthusiasm was contagious.

Somewhere, somehow, Ron just knew Harry was cackling at his misfortune.

A/N: A huge thank you to 'Maiden of the Heavens' for her suggestion that Susan Bones ought to vanish! To MOTH, the major issue I said you'd solved ages back (sooo long ago)? It's that I couldn't figure out how to make Ron Head Auror when he'd never agree to the position. But having Bones disappear did the trick. Also, Ron's speech to the reporters is roughly based off of a speech in "The Newsroom".

When I wrote the argument between Harry and Ron in the first chapters I thought it'd be fun to have Ron ultimately end up in the job he thought Harry had been mental to take. It goes with the whole, 'Ron's horrendously underestimated and it's high time he got appreciated' thing. As I adore angst, I did this through misplaced guilt and an unwanted promotion. Oops?