A/N: Thank you evadnekapaneos for the grammar corrections!

They were back in the conference room that was too small for all the Aurors.

Ron wondered if all-out Aurors meetings wasn't supposed to be a thing. Or had he missed the memo that those were meant to be on the roof? Or should they do an Atrium takeover? He thought he'd try that next time.

But for now, Ron figured they could cram in. It'd be fine. Some community bonding never hurt anybody. So a few people would levitate in the air—he was sure some of these crazies would like that. Kevin and Dennis had been two of the first ones in, and they'd cheerfully wingardium leviosaed each other. They were now floating by the ceiling, hi-fiving anyone who joined them.

Ron had been tempted to join the levitating bunch, but Lisa'd tugged them to seats at the head of the large centre table. He'd sighed and amused himself by staring seriously as the rest of the Aurors trooped in. Still, he'd never been the serious type. It felt inherently wrong.

Ron glanced away from those conjuring more chairs and looked down to his own feet. It was childish but…screw it, he was in charge. He plopped his feet on the table, comfortably criss-crossing them on the edge. Lisa sniggered beside him. "Shut it."

Dmitri sat close by in a ratty armchair he'd conjured. "Please tip over, that'd be amazing."

On the other side of the room, Su Li scrambled up Kevin's and Dennis' arms as they swung her up to their perch on the chandelier. Ron blinked. They'd made a chandelier? Huh.

"Hilarious." Ron answered Dmitri, leaning his chair back on its hind legs. He noticed some people lagging by the entrance. "MINIONS! NO LOLLYGAGGING!" He turned to Lisa and lowered his voice as the Aurors came in more quickly. "Lollygagging is the weirdest word. I don't think I've used it before."

Lisa scrunched up her eyebrows. "I think Flitwick used to say it?"

"McGonagall definitely did." Ron recrossed his feet, tapping them on the table. "She was all, 'Mister Weasley, why are you lollygagging in the hallway?' 'Mr. Weasley, don't you have class? No lollygagging.' 'Weasley! War hero or no, you are not to sneak into Hogwarts to, to—lollygag—with the Head Girl!'" He smiled in remembrance. "That's how Hermione and I found out the word had two meanings. Did you know?"

Lisa rolled her eyes. His mind was now back at Hogwarts. He'd gone there to see Hermione every weekend he could while she was completing her seventh year. She'd been so happy then, at the school she loved without the weight of the war. Those were sunlit days, but they'd seen more of the inside of broom cupboards. They'd laughed, they'd bickered, and it'd all fallen into place. They drove each other insane and he wouldn't have it any other way.

They hadn't talked this morning. Hermione's eyes had been red, though she'd put on a fake smile for Rose. She'd been walking around in her nightgown like a dream.

Lisa was making a small gesture at the now full room. Ron snapped back to reality.

"Right, right. AURORS!" Ron was fairly proud the packed meeting space instantly fell to a hush. Even the packed chandelier stopped swinging. "Isn't this comfy? Scrunch in there people, s'alright. We're a sexy bunch." There were scattered snickers and a few hollers from the ceiling. "We've had a busy agenda: taking on corruption, aiding social justice, all that great stuff. The extremely talented Deputy Head, Lisa Turpin, is the main reason any of its working. We've set the ball going…and I'm sure all of you are confused about the direction the Aurors are taking. That's cool, I'm not offended. I've been tossing in everything and the kitchen sink to try to improve things around here. But look, I'm not an activist. If I'm being completely honest, I partly just wanna confuse the Sweenies."

Ripples of whispers swept the room.

"The way I see it, there's a good chance I'll up and vanish one of these days." A hush fell upon the area, getting rid of the whispers. "You heard me right, I've addressed the nundo in the room! I might disappear, absolutely. But before that I'll do everything I can to bring the Sweenies down with me." Ron swung his feet off the table, leaning forward on his elbows. "The Sweenies have always guessed what we're doing next and I'm sick of it. So I've been throwing out so much other stuff that they'll either think I'm insane, or not know where to focus."

He sat back in his seat, fingers tapping the table. "I'm all for equal rights, getting rid of corruption, what have you. But I'm gonna be selfish. I want to solve this thing so I can sleep at night. I'm sure many of you feel the exact same way. So there we have it: the one thing I actually give a damn about while I'm in this job. To combat the Sweenies we'll do two things."

Ron gave a snide grin. "First off, I want you lot to be chatting to reporters. Dust off your conspiracy theories and go to town! Chat to "Witch Weekly" that my cat's an evil animagus. Tell "The Daily Prophet" that Russia's growing an army of grindylows. If you can top that and convince "The Quibbler" that everything's right as rain, I'm giving you a raise. Chaos is the name of the game! I want this department to be a laughing stock by next week!"

Even the people on the chandelier had frozen. Mouths were agape across the room.

"Nope, I'm still not mental." Ron clicked his tongue. "I just don't care about appearances. In fact, the only thing I do care about is catching the Sweenies. I figure that'll be easier if they're overcompetent and make a mistake, y'know? It'd be easy to get overconfident if the main Ministry chasing you is out of their damn mind."

Dmitri started sniggering. Lisa shoved his stomach, shutting him up.

"As for the second thing? We're going to unravel this Sweeney mess. We'll start from the beginning of the crime spree and comb through every last, blasted part of it! Everyone who can be spared will be stuck with this, including myself. We're going to find out what strategy they're using, what mistakes they've made, and we're going to throw them all in Azkaban. If anyone asks you specifically: sure, we're working on the Sweenies. But we're focusing on taking on corruption, politicians, black markets, Azkaban — Crumple-Horned Snorkacks! Take your pick, it doesn't matter."

Ron paused for a long moment, happy he hadn't fudged it up. There was even bonafide tension in the room! He could really do this, and then demote himself the moment he could. "Lisa will go through the specifics on the Sweeney investigation, but I want to make something clear. There are going to be no REAL leaks coming from this office. You know why?" He gave a frightening smile, having decided that evil laughter would be going overboard. "Hermione Granger-Weasley and I faced Lord Voldemort. We battled Death Eaters, we broke into Gringotts, and we took on the ENTIRE BRITISH MINISTRY OF MAGIC! And we won. So don't think we'll let anything stop us from finding Harry Potter. If you talk to the press about this actual meeting, know who you're going up against. My wife's bloody well terrifying, and I'm good at lugging around bodies."

"On that cheery note," Lisa stepped in with a wink to Ron, "we've made up a list of assignments for available Aurors. We expect you to go back over the work in the part of the case you've been given and submit a report of any discrepancies to myself. You're highly encouraged to requestion any witnesses or reexamine the crime scenes as well as Pensieve testimony and memories. Any theories you want to bring up about the crime spree will be gladly reviewed, don't be shy. The more off-the-wall the better. Dmitri? You're going over the Charlotte Fawcett disappearance. Kevin, you've got…"

Ron watched the Aurors as they were given jobs. He'd worried there'd be backlash, but they mostly seemed determined and keen to get down to it. There were those like McLaggen who seemed peeved that their work was being double-checked, though Ron didn't let that bother him. He thought about what Lisa and he were going to focus on. He hated the thought of having to piece this jigsaw puzzle together, though knew they'd have to be the ones to collect and organize all the notes. He was already worried enough someone would leak this meeting. Best case, that'd just add another conspiracy theory to the mess he was building.

"—Quirke and Abercrombie, you'll be looking at the Rippers," Lisa was continuing down the list, "and exploring the possibility of a link between them and the Sweenies."

Orla was startled and sent a big beam at Ron.

"I heard about the meeting." Hermione breezed into his office. Ron glanced up as she nimbly took a seat. "Everyone's abuzz about how inspiring you are. Turning the office in a a new direction and the like."

Ron shrugged. "Meh. They're easily impressed."

"I heard there were quite a few new directions. Though, oddly, everyone was vague about the details. Everyone was also telling a different story."

"I can't make up my mind. You know me, always hopping around."

She looked at him for a heavy moment. "You also, apparently, used me as a threat?"

"I mentioned we used to be criminals on the run and broke into Gringotts. Same old same old."

"I see." She played with the file in her hands. "The threat was only in the context of us finding…finding you know who?"

Ron suppressed a wince. This was beyond a sore topic, but he was in a good mood and didn't want to fight. "To find Harry, find his body, bring the Sweenies to justice? Pick whichever you'd like. Since you're obviously fine with that, care to tell me why you're in here?"

Hermione licked her lips, also clearly avoiding an argument. "I can't congratulate my husband for inspiring his 'minions'?"

"I used the word jokingly." He gestured at her hand. "You're carrying that file and you're fidgeting. What're you here about? Don't try to tell me it's more cross-filing with the Hit-Wizards."

She let out a deep breath, handing him the file in question. "There's been two more disappearances. Cousins: Cara and Cameron Blakley. They're both young, in their twenties."

"We're young." Ron scanned the intro. "Taken yesterday at a family outing, their jobs, huh. What were their personalities like?"

"Pardon?"

"It's a pet theory of mine. The latest vanishings were of people too good to be true—charity workers, pro bono lawyers, that sort." He kept skimming through the papers.

Hermione frowned. "I spoke to Cara's mother briefly. She said that Cara is very bubbly, the sort of girl who's always smiling and looks at the bright side of things. Cameron's different, more cynical and sarcastic. The two were attached at the hip. Cameron's the 'older, protective brother' type."

"So if someone was going after Cara, Cameron would be dragged along fighting."

"I suppose?" She continued to frown. "I know it's early, but tell me there's been some progress with combing through the old cases?"

Ron set aside the new file and managed a thin smile. "Surprisingly, yep. Right after the meeting Quirke bounded up to me with this." He held up a number of pages he'd been reading when Hermione had entered. "She was thrilled to get the assignment of comparing the Sweenies and Rippers, because she and Abercrombie had been working on it for ages." He noticed her confusion. "Quirke thinks there's a connection between the two groups. Suspiciously similar dates, that kind of thing. Different MOs, though, so I'm on the fence. Especially since the Hit-Wizards are basically covering magical creature things these days."

"So as the revamped Sweeney reports come in you'll reorganize them?" Hermione sighed. "While dealing with the fights you've dragged up with the goblins, vampires, politicians, and foreign ambassadors?"

"Yu-up." He pronounced it like two words, smacking his tongue. "Lisa and I will be looking for patterns and anything we missed. Some minions will be dealing with all the other rubbish." He saw her beseeching look. "If we need a hand, you're the first one I'll call."

"Thank you." She stood up before hesitating. "About our, our discussion the other day? I won't impinge on your investigation and I won't say any of my private thoughts about Harry in public. I want the Sweenies gone as much as anyone. If using me as a threat will help," she gave a sad though terrifying smile, "make it clear I will utterly destroy anyone who gets in our way."

"I love you."

"I know, husband."

They'd started with parchments. Lisa was a perfectionist at heart and wanted to jot down everything about each crime that could in anyway be important. Ron had doubts they had to know what colour dress Lucretia Botts had last been seen wearing (periwinkle blue with a ruby red cape), but likewise didn't want to miss anything.

But now, leads and dead-ends buzzed around his office like gnats. Or butterflies, perhaps, each light showing a small picture, name, or defining words. Though Ron had made a point of not using Hermione's bewitched notes before now, he figured this situation surmounted his stubbornness. Particularly because there were so many connected crimes and items that the images had long since escaped his desk: they were now dancing around the room. Some were prints of smiling faces or mugshots. Others were vaguely organised. Labels of 'Harry Potter' and 'Cornelius Fudge' fluttered around the tag 'Ministry of Magic'. There were two clutters surrounding 'Diagon Alley' and 'Hogsmeade'. Thin lines streamed between them with dates and other info flying bizarrely. They constituted a massive timeline, interconnections, theories, and anything else they could think of.

The two were in over their heads.

Lisa lay on the floor, staring up agape at the shimmery crime web. "This is messed up."

"So messed up," Ron agreed. He turned his head sideways to try to make some order out of it. They'd been here for hours already, and only more things were added on as Aurors popped in with updated reports. He fought back a yawn. "Alright, let's take it from the top."

"Dear god no."

"Chronologically!" Ron ignored her and waved his hand, causing the images to circle in a tornado before resembling a winding scroll that stretched from floor to ceiling. Highlighted numbers on the side signified the passing months.

Lisa gave a mighty groan, not leaving the carpet. "Ignore the beginning at least, we know we're missing earlier vanishings."

"We aren't ignoring anything."

"Fine! First confirmed case was Charlotte Fawcett, disappeared early April 2007. She was put under a notice-me-not, petrification, than likely drank a potion that made her convulse. Some items on her were taken, including a prototype Skiving Snackbox that came back with Harry's vanishing." Lisa said all of this from the top of her head, not having to glance at the sparks of 'Lottie Fawcett', 'Skiving Snackboxes', 'Potion?', and other tags shimmering near the ceiling.

Ron had a small collection of tangible evidence on his desk. He eyed Fawcett's mobile, a device which he'd had such high hopes for when this investigation had begun. Most kidnappings were committed by someone the victim knew, and he'd thought her contact list would be a treasure trove. But nothing. They would have returned it to her parents, but they weren't interested, not when the case was still open. He supposed it made it more real. "Then May 20th with Roger Davies, with the possible Quidditch link. That's out the window—though he was likely in debt to Serena Rowle for the steroid potions. This wasn't likely a random victim like the others. Ya know," he looked up with a sigh, "you were right, let's just highlight the main ones."

"June 1st, Lucretia Botts vanished," Lisa said in response. Ron's eyes flickered up to the image. This one had stuck with him. The heiress' son Tyler had been found poking with dead moths and Flitterbies, ignorant that his mum had left him. He was tiny, a bit younger than Rose, and he'd been playing in blissful ignorance at the underground station. Lisa must have seen something on Ron's face because she hurried on. "July 17th, Parvati Patil. Yeah, let's not focus on that one either."

"Sounds good." Ron scrubbed at his head, thinking of how empty the DA reunions had gotten even with only a few missing. "Then we have the 'baking into pies' nonsense beginning in July, Samuel Gideon's disappearance August 31st—"

"—and the mess that was King's Cross Station on the 1st." Lisa rolled her eyes at Ron's look, knowing it wasn't an actual Sweeney kidnapping. "Hey, it was a dead Veela and one of the last Ripper cases. It was notable."

"Fair enough." Ron readily admitted, though he didn't want to add even more crimes to this horrific smorgasbord. "Mid-September, Cornelius Fudge went Poof in the Wizengamot. It's the first of two times that the Sweenies hit the Ministry."

"Odd that it only happened twice."

"'Odd' that they got through our securities twice." Ron didn't have to glance at the images for the next. "Halloween, Harry disappeared. Apart from everything I don't want to say about this, it did set off a theory I like."

"That the next bunch of victims were basically saints that worked with disadvantaged kids?" Lisa shrugged, laying back down in defeat. "Sure. But that's not much to work with. Why would the Sweenies care?"

"Dunno." Ron waved at one image, making it ripple so that the witch's grinning image grew larger. "We did get one suspect out of Halloween: Serena Rowle, potion mistress. A metamorph who used the Snackbox on Harry, she knew what she was doing. It adds credence that some potion's involved with this."

"Which is another dead end. Because of course it is." Lisa knocked her head against the carpet. "The potion black market is far too big to pin-point anything! Then straight after we had three more victims: Cecilia Tremaine, Vanessa Franklin, and Sebastian Oliveby. Like we said, each of them were saints and seem nearly too good to be true. Could be nothing. Next, Sue was gone."

"There's all the 'notables'." Ron winced in looking at all of the other images splayed out before them. At least a dozen more victims, with probably even more unidentified. It was unlikely such a 'sophisticated' crime as Fawcett's kidnapping was the Sweenies' first go. "Now there's Cara and Cameron Blakley."

"What. The. Hell. Are. We. Missing?" Lisa drummed her head on the ground with each word, frustration clear. "Two Head Aurors gone, no other MLE personnel. 3 Ministry officials though, counting Fudge. 4 philanthropists or charity workers who work with kids. A lot of people connected with potions, though no potions expert has been taken. Honestly? The main pattern is that a lot of them are high profile. We have a rock star, heiress, former MoM, the Boy Who Lived…the list goes on. But there's also others who weren't famous."

Ron saw what Lisa was saying, though he had a nagging doubt. If they were going after Ministry officials, philanthropists, or high profile people, the Sweenies were missing an obvious person. Hermione should have been taken.

He'd been thinking about that for awhile. He'd been scared about it, even, after what had happened to Harry. Hermione Granger-Weasley should've been a main target for the Sweenies. She's prominent as a celebrated war hero and being in charge of Magical Law Enforcement. She was pregnant for much of the crime spree, which would have made her easier to grab. She's a Ministry official, social activist, and as high profile as you could get! Plus, Ron had disgustedly realised over the years that most of these scumbags hated her for being some combo of female, black, and muggleborn. Death Eater, typical criminal, pureblood bureaucrat: it almost didn't matter, Hermione was a lightning rod for prejudiced behaviour.

Ron groaned at himself, thoughts having gone off track. There was nothing to support the Sweenies were prejudiced. The opposite, nearly, as they'd kidnap anyone. Although…a sudden thought occurred to him, an obvious one. Because he WAS right that Hermione hadn't been captured. So even though she fit the victim profile, there must be something that ruled her out. Maybe he just had to put one of his thoughts on its head. "What were their blood statuses?"

"Huh?"

"The victims' blood statuses." Ron sat up straighter and waved his hand. "Images! Show me the name of each victim and sort it into three groups: purebloods, half-bloods, and muggleborns."

The images (now flickering texts) rearranged themselves. Lisa gave a small gasp. There were no muggleborn victims and the vast majority were purebloods. There were only three exceptions of half-bloods: Charlotte Fawcett, Roger Davies, and Harry Potter.

"Holy frick." Lisa stared up, jaw agape. "We didn't check for blood status?"

"Fawcett and Davies were early victims, Harry the most profile one." Ron realised, a few things maybe or maybe not clicking into place. "Davies was maybe taken because he owed money to Rowle. Fawcett? She worked with potions and ingredients, and we know they took something from her. Then Harry? He's the Man Who Conquered, not even the Sweenies would care about…about…" he trailed off. Hermione hadn't been taken. "Purebloods are being targeted. That's the pattern?"

"So like, the opposite of Death Eaters?"

He sent her an exasperated look. "They kidnapped Harry Potter."

"Right. Yeah." Lisa looked back up at the list. "Let's back up. People care about blood statuses because of tradition and the idea of blood supremacy. Death Eaters took that to mean purebloods are better than anyone else. Are we looking at a group that thinks muggleborns are best?"

Ron thought this could make sense. But, then why Harry? Or why didn't they announce they were targeting purebloods? That was their point, after all, to cause terror. There was something about blood statuses. He put his head in his hands, trying to think. "Most wizards are half-bloods, it's rare to find families that stretch far enough back to be considered 'pure'. The Death Eaters argued that purebloods were better because they were more powerful. More magical."

Oh hell.

He'd even spoken about this with Harry. They'd thought the pattern was of high profile people or magically powerful people!

Ron jerked straight upright, amazed they'd missed this. "MAGIC! It's all about magic!" His loud voice startled Lisa. "But not actual magical power, the perception of it! The Sweenies thought these were powerful people, HAH! So they targeted purebloods. They went after Harry because of course they'd think he was magically powerful! Even Fawcett and Davies were seen as very skilled in their fields. The Sweenies care about magic, that's it. That's why Hermione wasn't taken! They couldn't bring themselves to take a muggleborn seriously."

Ron jumped off the table, swinging his arms and on a roll that even Lisa's incredulous look couldn't dim. "It's not Head Aurors. I'd be shocked if they cared about me! I'm the bumbling third of the Golden Trio, after all. And Hermione's safe because they're prejudiced idiots!"

"RON! Slow down, you're going really fast here." Lisa scrambled to keep up. "All we've found out is that a majority of the victims are purebloods, that's it."

"Purebloods are a tiny percent of the population. This is way too big to be random!"

Lisa inclined her head, having to agree. "This could still be someone who hates purebloods."

"Then the Sweenies would be advertising it! They don't want us to know, which means there's something else to it!" He was close to giving a victory cry, as inappropriate as it'd be. "So why'd they care about very magical people? The Sweenies could be controlling them like for an army, but none of the victims have resurfaced. Harry alone could wreck havoc if he was under some imperius thing. It's been a year, they would have moved already! It's also not big enough for an army. So the Sweenies aren't using their magic."

She was back to hitting her head on the floor. "Can we please get some geniuses in here? My brain hurts."

"Because you're trying to comatose yourself with head damage. Besides, my wife's busy and she's tired of my theories. MAGIC!" Ron yelled the last, making her jump. "Why's magic important?"

"It's…energy?"

He kept pacing. "Undiluted energy. Don't know much about it, but it's all about the intension and emotion behind magic. That's mad, isn't it? That some kid can't do a levitation charm until they're emotional enough? Until it's a matter of life or death?"

"Uh, what?"

"Never mind, weird example." Ron shook himself out of his memories. "There's another thing too: the Sweenies aren't capturing children. Kids are the ones with really uncontrollable magic. Do they only want 'controlled' magic? So maybe it's not the magic itself, it's also the people." He felt like he was skittering around something. "There's also something with a potion, and we know at least Fawcett had to drink it."

"So we're back to the potion."

"Yeah," Ron felt himself deflating. He was still surrounded by all the smiling images. "We're back to the maybe-potion."

Lisa had left for a late dinner and to go home like a sane person. Ron had also left but had returned to the Ministry, because he was so damn close to something that he didn't know. His mind elsewhere, his only warning of the two vampire bats in his office was his secretary giving him a helpless shrug. He sometimes wondered why he had a secretary.

Ron froze in his doorway. Then he walked in, set down his sandwich, and shut the door behind him. He wasn't an expert on bats, but the one carefully balanced on his desk seemed chill enough, while the one flying in circles seemed a touch more distressed. "Uh, Dmitri?" Please let it be Dmitri.

The bat resting on the top of an organiser on the desk gave a shrug. Ron took that as a yes and sat down. "Alright, this isn't the worst thing I've walked in on. Who's your friend?"

The calm vampire bat launched off and lengthened into a more familiar human form. As Dmitri's expression came into focus it became clear he was far from okay. His piercing stare was the complete opposite of his typically joking personality. "My cousin, Elizabeth Szilvassy."

Ron eyed the still panicking bat with surprise. He hadn't met her before, but the Keeper for the Tutshill Tornados was big news. From being the first half-vampire in the British Quidditch League, to breaking tonnes of keeping records, he'd heard her be interviewed a few times (or a few dozen). He turned and awkwardly addressed the panicky bat. "Miss Szilvassy? Elizabeth? Hi, I'm Ron. I don't know what's wrong, but clearly something's wrong, and I'd love to help. Could you take a seat? Or transform? Or…maybe stop flying in circles?"

The bat did flutter down to the top of a chair, though didn't transform. Dmitri turned to Ron with a low voice. "Lizzy's spooked. She was drugged earlier this evening and someone tried to capture her."

"What!" Ron swung around so fast it was incredible his head stayed on. "Why're you here? She should be at Mungo's!"

"She's physically fine," Dmitri stressed as Ron stood. "When she came to my flat she was disheveled but had recovered. She was just shaken—"

"What drug?" Ron cut in, not believing this. He'd take the questioning to Mungo's if he must, but she had to get checked over by Healers.

Dmitri sighed. "I don't know."

"Mungo's!" He pointed at the shaking bat to make his point.

"She was fine!" Dmitri stressed. "We'd sat down for a cuppa as she told me she'd seen worse on the Quidditch pitch. Lizzy said she'd been frozen and turned invisible by an unknown assailant in Diagon Alley. A potion was put in her, she felt queasy for a few minutes before recovering, and then managed to get away when they tried to drag her somewhere. She was even fine when I swabbed her for the potion, and blood samples are more of the same. She only freaked out when I suggested—"

"…that it sounded like the Sweenies." Ron stared at the shivering vampire bat. Could this be their first witness? It sounded like Lottie Fawcett's case: incapacitated, hidden from the crowds, and forced to drink something. For Lottie, it'd made her convulse. Ron swallowed, approaching the chair and making his voice calm. "Eliz—Lizzy? I know you've had a hell of a day. You're safe here, me and your cousin will make sure of it. Do you think you can transform so we can talk about it?"

After a few long moments, the bat stretched her wings wide and flapped as she lengthened. Arms and legs appeared from the long torso, leather black gloss shifted into a tank top and jeans, and her face took on the high cheekbone proportions of Dmitri. As she shook back her brown hair she criss-crossed her seat on the desk. Her eyes were red. "I, I don't need St. Mungo's. I'm scared, not hurt!"

Ron was far from sure. As much as he wanted to get on the Sweenies' tail, he didn't want a Quidditch all-star keeling over in his office. "Dmitri, did you get where in Diagon this happened?"

"Yeah."

Ron turned back to Elizabeth. "Would it be okay if your cousin goes with another Auror to check out the scene? He'll be back soon."

Dmitri looked about to protest but she sent him a harsh glance. "It's fine! Go, go. I'm fine!"

"Grab Kevin, he should still be here, and other Aurors," Ron told him in a low voice. "Once you show them the place and drop off the potion swabs, come back here."

Dmitri still seemed reluctant. Yet after another glare from Elizabeth he slowly left. The moment the door closed she seemed to deflate.

"Oh god," her head sunk into her hands. "You don't think it was the Sweenies?"

Ron was hoping it was, but he certainly wasn't saying that. He sat down on the desk next to her, not minding crushing some folders. "I don't know. The important thing is that you're alright. Can I get you some water? A calming potion?"

"You want to know what happened," Elizabeth said instead, her voice muffled in her hands. "I, I know how important it is. Let me, let me get my bearings." She straightened with a deep sigh, fingers riling her hair back. She wasn't crying but he could see tear tracks. "I've been working like crazy this week to get in shape for the season. After today's practice I wanted to walk around and just chill for a bit. I apparated to Diagon Alley in the early evening. It wasn't, it wasn't too dark out yet. There weren't many people, but this…"

She looked down, taking quick breaths. "I didn't have time to transform. I only just realised I'd been disillusioned when someone—when I couldn't move. I fell straight over onto the pavement. Don't look at me like that! Bludgers are far worst."

He nodded, not wanting to say much. That was the tough thing about questioning witnesses: at the end, understanding silence prompted more answers than stating questions. For someone as chatty as him, it was a tough lesson to learn.

"I kept trying to transform." Elizabeth held her arms against her, though the shaking was perceptible. "Didn't work, I dunno. Something flipped me over—I could feel hands, but they were invisible. He? He opened my mouth," she looked revolted, "and made me swallow some liquid."

"What did it taste like?"

"Warm." She licked her lips, nervous. "It was fine at first but then it started to burn. My, my throat? My insides. I, I don't," a shuddering breath before she forced out a half-grin, "it wasn't pleasant."

Ron sat still, watching carefully. He jumped when Elizabeth let out a burst of laughter.

"Then I could transform!" She gave another snort, and he saw why Dmitri had thought she was alright after the attack. "Just, poof. The potion hurt but then I was suddenly able to shrink. I'd been trying to turn into a bat the entire time, and it finally worked! I also felt much better once I'd turned—I could move, for starters. I wasn't testing my luck and I flew away. Found my cousin, he mentioned the Sweenies, freaked out, came here."

He had been following her up until this point. The potion hadn't worked? It also took off the maybe-body-bind? He scratched his head. "I'll be honest, it sounds like the Sweenies. But this is beyond weird." She was looking pretty calm and was now nodding along, so that was good. "How much time do you think passed between when you drank the liquid and when you could transform?"

Elizabeth twisted her hair. "About five minutes?"

This made no sense. They'd been talking about a blood purity angle to the Sweeney kidnappings, and now a part-vampire was mixed in? Either this wasn't the Sweenies, or he and Lisa had been on the wrong track. But that wasn't the important part. "You really have to go to St. Mungo's," Ron said beseechingly. "Believe me, I'm thrilled you're feeling better! But we don't know if the potion has lasting effects. Even if it doesn't, shock's a hell of a thing."

"I suppose…"

Right on cue Dmitri swept into the office with a concerned frown. Ron raised an eyebrow, the timing being a bit too suspicious. Had he been waiting at the door? Vampires had extraordinary hearing, so he wouldn't be shocked. "I'm back and everything's done! Kevin's taking care of it. Lizzy, hospital, now."

Elizabeth sent him a scowl. "Overprotective much?"

Dmitri looked at her in amazement. "You were dosed and then freaked out—justifiably, I might add! How is my behaviour weird? I'm not the one who was flapping around the Ministry!"

She gave a humph. Ron assumed she was feeling better.

Ron was exhausted. Why he thought he'd take on everything at once was beyond him. The last week he'd been running himself ragged, and he'd realised he had no idea how to delegate. Nor was it easy to scrape over every inch of the Sweeney cases with Lisa. Elizabeth Szilvassy had put a wrench in their new theories. He'd given Lisa a half day after lunch on Friday, as she seemed even more in need of sleep than him. He told her to just take a long weekend. She told him to shut it, she'd be back after a long nap. He figured he'd push her back out the door when she returned.

Ron continued reviewing papers that Friday afternoon until his eyes started glazing over. He hadn't been getting much sleep. Though he sort of blamed having to read over Samuel Gideon's awful lyrics. Dennis Creevey had been assigned to review that case, and he'd taken a sort of joy to turn in 200 pages for the report: 50 of which were transcripts of Gideon's songs. If Creevey had just been vigilant, that was one thing. But he couldn't keep a smirk off his face.

Ron reassigned Creevey to dealing with the Azkaban Warden on werewolf rights, then to coordinate a press conference with the goblins. Creevey had sent him a puppy dog pout: the Head Auror so didn't care.

Which brought it to the present. Groaning at the ballad, 'Can I Slyther-in?', Ron pushed away the Gideon folder. He figured now was as good a time as any to put away the paperwork and do something he'd been putting off. Still, he put it off a touch longer. He justified it as a much needed clothing change at home, but if he was being truthful, he needed some pet therapy.

Clothes were changed, formal robe was up in his closet, and he'd tracked down the feline by deductively following its fur trail. Crookshanks had rolled onto his side in the living room, back arching and fluffy belly upturned. Ron could take a hint. He was also glad to delay the unpleasant meeting he was heading off to.

"Who's a good kneazle?" Ron strolled over and sat on the carpet. He used the same voice he used on his young kids, because damn if this furball wasn't adorable. "Who's a good little pussycat with a big belly? A squishy belly begging for a rub—yeeEWOSH!"

He swung his hand away, as the half-kneazle had curdled its legs up to catch him in his claws. It had partly worked: one leg was waving, the claw stuck in the wizard's jacket.

"It was a belly rub!" He exclaimed, trying to unhook the claw while Crookshanks hissed. All claws and legs batted against his jacket, furious. "You were clearly wanting a belly rub! It was like a bear trap, that was. I reach my hand in and—ah, there you go. All freed. Happy?"

Crookshanks stared at him, ears back.

Ron tilted his head. "You're a grumpy one today. Ear scrub?"

He began cautiously scratching the cat's ears and neck. The half-kneazle purred, this time happily. Soon enough Crookshanks had rolled over once more and was batting his head against Ron's hand, eager for more. The wizard-turned-masseur was happy to oblige.

Ron was back in Edinburgh, still in the brightness of Friday. Back at the vine-covered house. The amazing broomstick collection was still out front, though he felt far more nervous than the first time he'd stood in this spot. Maybe it was because then he'd been about to see a crime scene, and not knocking on the door to talk to a victim who likely hated his guts.

Cho answered soon enough, ending the anticipation. She was in a casual dress, had soaking wet hair, and stared at him with creased lips.

Ron held up his hands in a peace gesture. "I'm not here for anything bad. There's no news about Roger Davies, I'm not dragging your name into anything, and I'm not here to question you. You have every right not to speak to me. I just want to properly apologise."

After another long pause, she stepped away to let him inside. "As long as I'm not being arrested, come in."

"Thank you. And yeah, no arresting. I promise." He quickly came inside. The door slammed behind him.

"Hm-mmm. Tea?"

"Sure, thanks." He turned in the hallway. "Do you mind if we sit in the living room? This'll be an awkward conversation." Cho winced. He remembered the spell-covered walls and torn-apart couch, with a bloody kneazle corpse hiding behind the curtain. "Damn, sorry. The kitchen?"

She silently led the way. When they got to the simple and cotton-white room she gestured at the light blue table. She turned to the set-apart kitchen, putting water in the kettle. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Uh? Oh, thanks."

"Chamomile alright?"

"Anything's fine." Ron was glad Cho wasn't facing him but felt like a coward. "Like I said, I'm here to apologise. The MLE was completely out of line for making you seem suspicious to the press. You deserve far more then the Aurors getting off your back or a simple apology. I don't know how I can make things okay, so I'm here."

Cho pierced her lips, still standing as she waited for the water to boil. "Bones told me you were the one who insisted she leave me alone."

Ron blinked, not having known this had gotten back to her. "Doesn't matter now. I'm the Head Auror, so it's my problem."

"I'm a problem?"

"You aren't a—drat it." He groaned. "I'm horrid at this sensitive stuff. Look, you've had a bad enough time without the press accusing you of killing your fiancé. If the Aurors were behind that suspicion, and if I'm now in charge of the Aurors, than I bloody well want to fix this mess. Which begins with an apology and me asking what I can do to help you."

Cho was half turned from him, expression tight. "You could bring back Rogie." The kettle whistled. She took it off the burner and poured the steaming water into mugs. "But you can't. So don't give me any idiotic reassurance about that."

"I wasn't planning on it. Thanks." Ron took the cup and set it on the table. His hands were almost too warm from the boiling hot porcelain. He put his fingers on top, blocking the steam. Cho sat down.

"Do you want me to sign something about not suing the MLE?"

"What? No." He shrugged. "Frankly, I'd probably be a witness for you. But you won't do it because you're sick of having your name in the papers. I'm not here because I'm afraid of you suing. I'm here because I feel bad."

Cho hmmed. She cupped the mug in her hands, leaving it by her lips without taking a sip. "Fine. I accept your apology."

Ron gave a start, not thinking the conversation had been leading to this.

She saw his confusion and sighed, wet hair sloping down her face. "I don't think you had anything to do with it. You were always kind at the Ministry. While plenty of others were questioning me about Rogie, you bothered to listen. So you're alright in my book, Weasley. Don't do something stupid as Head Auror to change my mind."

Ron let out a breath he'd been holding. He took a sip and his scorched tongue instantly regretted it. He quickly set the mug down.

"Lord knows the Prophet's reporting you're doing everything under the sun. I only care that you're tracking down the Sweenies." Cho coughed, rubbing her nose. Her tea was set down as well. "Monsters, the lot of them. I wish the Ministry was more competent."

"You and I both. But we're trying. We're kinda improving, too, so I wouldn't count us out yet."

She took her hand from her nose while blinking. "They've reported two more disappearances. It—achoo! It, it seems more grim every day. Even with people in an uproar about everything else."

"Gesundheit."

"Thanks. Dratted cold." Cho glared cross-eyed at her nose. "I keep getting sick! For weeks after Roger vanished, it was like every night I had sneezing fits. Even now, apparently the very talk of him makes me—makes me—choo! I never get hay fever, though it might be that."

"Bless you. Stress can be dead awful, that could be the culprit." Ron conjured up a tissue and handed it to her. He eyed the tea, wondering if it was safe yet to take a drink. He wished it was something stronger. "Are you talking to anyone? I don't wanna pry, I was trying to get Hermione to do the same after Harry dropped off the face of the Earth. She was pregnant, y'see, and was getting nervous. I knew Ginny wouldn't go for it." He shrugged, hoping he wasn't overstepping. "I've heard not all shrinks are awful."

She gave a shaky smile while shaking her head, tissue by her nose. "No therapist. If the press got wind of me talking to someone, or if I took any meds…ugh." She blew her nose. "I'm not good at coping, I just ignore it all. Roger's different. He got through the post-war with malibu lemonades. I'd always tease him about the drink. He'd say it was more rum than lemonade—'Where'd all the rum go? Into this drink!'" She snickered.

Ron stared blankly.

"Sorry, it's a stupid joke." She got a hold of herself. "Rogie loves muggle shows, you see. He always quotes Jack Harkness—no, Captain Jack Hark—no, I'm still wrong." She frowned, setting down the tissue as the sneezing subsided. "Captain, Captain…Bird. Some sort of bird name, at any rate. Rogie has all these quotes about rum and dirt. I always got them mixed up, but he loves muggle pirates."

"Uh huh." Ron wondered if Cho had taken something before he came in. She'd seemed sober enough though was now getting sloppier.

"It's not important." She waved this away. "I've cried enough and I'm sick of nostalgia and feeling helpless. It's not like I'm the only one who's lost someone, after all. Your sister's mourning a husband. You're mourning a brother."

A chill swept through him. If it'd been nearly anyone else, he would have screamed at them. Instead, he bit his tongue. "I have better things to do."

"Haven't you seen the Prophet?" She arched a brow. "I have to read it, I want to know what they say about me. They've made it clear what they think about Harry Potter. That there's no possible way he could be alive, because the kidnappers would have killed him. Every Death Eater and criminal hates him, after all. According to anyone and everyone that matters, there's no chance they'd be left alive. Not without a ransom."

Ron's hands tightly gripped the mug. He fidgeted at how long the gaze was lasting, but didn't trust himself enough to speak. It was Cho who softly broke the pause.

"I see." She leaned forward, lips red and eyes red and nose red. "You still think he's the bleeding Boy Who Lived, don't you."

It wasn't a question. Ron opened his mouth then closed it. He looked down at his drink.

She gave a choked laugh, raising her mug in a mock salute. "Cheers, Weasley. To us delusionals."

He gave a low sigh. "I'll drink to that. Do you have anything stronger than tea?"

Cho did have something stronger. Two glasses of wine in for Ron (four for her) and he found his tongue was pleasantly looser. The afternoon sun was setting hazily through the window.

"You know the last thing I said to Harry?" He gruffed, holding the delicate glass. She was resting back in her chair, every so often rubbing her nose with the tissue. "No, s'not important. It was something about him having a migraine. But I spent those last few months driving him up the wall. Purposefully doing that, too, trying to get him to demote himself. How pathetic's that?" He took another drink.

Cho stared at him blearily. Her hair was no longer wet and had dried curly. "Huh. You were jealous?"

"Christ, no!" Ron almost laughed at the comment. "I hate being Head, never wanted the job. Nah see, when Harry was promoted we weren't partners anymore. I missed the bloke. So I made his life hell." He stared down at the drink, the modicum of amusement having fled. "I never apologised for that. 's a trend of mine. I've always been able to make up for it at some point, least, but now?"

"He might've died angry at you." Cho sagely nodded her head. Then stopped and nodded again, in case he didn't get the message. "But hey, you 'pologised to me. Hey, hey Weasley?"

"Yeah?" he asked miserably.

She leaned forward. Her tongue drunkenly plucked out the words. "D'ya really think they're alive?"

There was silence.

"Cause I," Cho snickered to herself, grabbing for a glass. Though it was empty she made to drain it into her mouth. She continued, setting it back down, "cause I, hand over heart, think Rogie's out there. But if you don't? You gotta move on."

"I never said Harry wasn't alive."

"You WANT him ta be alive," Cho drawled, "so you can say sorry. That's a, a fucking miserable thing to have over you."

He didn't answer.

"But Boy Wonder, I bet you anything, forgave you. He's that sorta bloke. Even forgave Marietta, eh?"

Ron looked at her, frowning. "Who?"

"My old friend. DA mess, 'member? She told ol' Umbridge 'bout us," Cho said nimbly. "Well a couple years back I saw her and Harry chatting at some function. Don't know. But see, what she did was faaar worse than your's."

With the alcohol, he was slow to recall what Cho was talking about. Even then, he had no idea why Harry would have talked to Marietta Edgecombe. Though, Ron had to be relatively civil to people like Malfoy at the Ministry, so that was probably it. "It was at most a school grudge. After everything, I don't think Harry cared 'bout little things like that."

Cho kept staring at him. Ron vaguely realised it was supposed to be a pointed look. It was only then that he noticed what he'd just said. The ex-Ravenclaw, seeing this, snorted.

"God, you Gryffindors." Her arm came up to her head and mouth, muffling her slurring words. "So bloody thick."

"That's what makes us so lovable."

Cho started snickering but ended in a sneeze. She leaned over the table. This capsized her practically empty glass, but she didn't care. "Another glass to Roger and Ha…ahh…aahhCHOO!"

Ron was just tipsy and depressed enough to find this the most hilarious thing he'd ever seen. While he was snorting on his own drink, Cho was climbing back into her seat, hiccoughing with sneezes and glaring at him.

"Sorry, sorry." Ron wiped away tears of mirth, feeling bad. "I shouldn't be laughing. Gesundheit again?"

"Can't belie'e how long this is lasting!" Her sneezes died off as the tissue made a valiant attempt to block off the germs. "I'm not sick! I'm just snee—sneeze—oh. I'm the one bein' thick." She stared at him accusingly. "You have a cat, don't you."

"Yeah?"

"That sheds like mad?"

"I guess."

"I'm bloody well allergic!" Cho batted the air in front of her like this would drive off the allergens. This didn't work, as her body was wracked with another sneeze. "How, how many do you own?"

"Just one, sorry." Ron looked down at himself, only now noticing Crookshanks tell-tale orange hairs scattered over his jacket. "A half-kneazle."

She seemed even more morose at this information. "A kneazle? Like it could be any—any—aaCHOO! Worse!"

"Sorry!" he said quickly, thinking it was probably time he left. As he was grabbing his almost empty cup for a final drink, an odd feeling came over him. There was a word he couldn't quite place. He looked askance at the irritated, sneezing, and tipsy woman. "You're allergic to cats?"

"Clearly!" Cho huffed, still cursing about delayed reactions and idiot pet owners.

"Kneazles too?"

She didn't answer, only sent him a deathly look as she coughed.

"You're allergic to kneazles?" Something seemed off. Cho was clearly allergic, so why did that make him uneasy? It was the kneazle part that bothered him. So what if she wasn't a kneazle person. He hadn't been a fan of them for ages, not until one had started lazying around his house. It wasn't as though she…

Ron froze. "YOU'RE ALLERGIC TO KNEAZLES?" He shouted maybe too loudly. He also maybe shouldn't have spun around with a stomp to the floor.

"Yes." She blinked at his abrupt and frenzied question. "No need ta, ta shout."

"You've never owned a kneazle?" Ron grabbed hold of the table.

"Obviously!" Cho gave another sneeze, edging away from him.

"You've never owned a kneazle?" he repeated, mind racing. "There's never been one in your flat? Your fiancé didn't have one?"

"Roger? No." She waved the tissue in-between them, too busy with sniffling to properly get away. "He really li-li-liked cats, but he—choo!—liked me mo-more, acHOOO!"

Ron felt sick to his stomach. He let his grip fall. "The Aurors, after Roger vanished, no one asked you about a pet? About a dead animal found in your flat?"

"Of course noOO! Not." Cho gingerly wiped streaming tears from her eyes, struggling to keep from coughing. But she then paused, squinting at him in partial realisation. "There was a dead kneazle at my place? Urck, no wonder I couldn't stop sneezing. That's revolting, poor thing. I'd always thought it was the st, st, stresHOO!"

"Blimey." Ron sat back, amazed. He felt entirely sober. "I, I've gotta get back to the Ministry."

A/N: We're almost to the point where the mystery's solved! Most of it comes together in the next chapter. These two chapters were originally going to be combined, but it was getting lengthy.