CHAPTER ONE

"Oi, Weasley! Fancy a pint later?" Ron lifted his head from the paperwork he had been pretending to sort. He was large and his cubicle was small, so all he had to do was look straight ahead and he could see the entire Auror Department, rows of heads ducked over desks, all clustered around the empty Head Auror office at the front. Once again, annoyance prickled at the back of his neck. Why was he stuck trying to write reports without banging his elbows against the cubicle walls while Georgina's office sat perpetually empty?

He turned his attention back to Neville, who leaned over his cubicle, arms crossed along the top and his round face grinning. For some unknown reason, Neville's easy smile annoyed him.

"Get off my cubicle, I've already had to cast about fifty reinforcement charms on it, and it can't take the weight." Neville withdrew his arms but his smile didn't falter.

"Are you calling me fit, Ron?" Neville asked with a wag of his eyebrows, and Ron barely resisted rolling his eyes. He preferred Neville back when he didn't have so much self-confidence.

"Reckon you ought to be since we're letting you train the new recruits. I don't want to get caught on my arse again because you've sent me some walking flobberworm who can't tell which way to point his wand," he grumbled, turning back to the paperwork he hadn't even started. Now Neville frowned.

"I've told you, I'm sorry about Daniels–" Ron huffed, annoyed at the reminder.

"S'alright, the scar's faded now and Hermione's stopped going shrill every time I've got him on a mission."

"How is Hermione? Big day, fancy new office and everything," Neville said, obviously changing the subject.

"I dunno, do I? I've been doing bloody paperwork all day. May as well be attached to the desk with a permanent sticking charm," Ron grumbled.

"Well," Neville said, realizing retreat was the only option for dealing with Ron's foul mood. "I'll leave you to it then." Ron nodded, turning back to his paperwork without a word.

These days, Ron was in a snit more often than not. Being an Auror was not all he'd imagine it would be when he was fifteen. Very few things were, as it turned out. He'd thought becoming a captain and leading his own squad would be an improvement, but in actual fact it was worse. He had triple the paperwork and was constantly undoing all of his squad's mistakes. At this point, Ron would rather complete all his missions solo and thought he'd likely have more successful outcomes. At least the mistakes would be his own, and he wouldn't have to spend all day glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one under his charge was getting themselves killed.

He missed the days when it was him and Harry out on the field together, finishing up what they'd started in taking down Voldemort and his followers. It had felt like they'd had purpose then. Sure, Dark wizards were always cropping up, and Ron knew that he did important work. But the sense of urgency was gone. All of the old Death Eaters had been caught, the last ones rounded up last year, trials over and sentences served. After the war, he had felt genuinely compelled to help Harry with this next step, especially after Kingsley had recruited him. But now it felt like he was simply going through the motions. After twelve years of Voldemort, Ron was tired of fighting. These days all he looked forward to was sitting at home with Hermione and having Sunday dinner at the Burrow. Well, and he enjoyed helping with the joke shop, but he would never admit that. He quite liked pretending he was being put out and doing George a massive favor out of the goodness of his heart.

But now he had something new to look forward to during the work day: Hermione had just transferred to his department. The thought cheered him, and he stood, nearly knocking over the tiny desk cramped into his sardine can of a cubicle.

Sod this paperwork, Ron thought, abandoning the stack and pulling on his dark red robe. It'll be here when I get back.

No longer needing to floo straight to Hermione's office with the hope she'd be in, Ron crossed the room and left the Auror Department. He walked to the other end of the hall, stopping at the last door on the left that read DEPUTY HEAD. He didn't bother knocking.

Hermione stood in front of a massive bookshelf, sorting through stacks of books. Her new office was spacious, with a large desk already littered with papers, a sitting area in front of the fireplace, and bookshelves lining the far wall. She looked up at his entrance and grinned.

"Ron! What are you doing here?"

"Reckoned I better say hi to my new boss on her first day. Wouldn't want to give the wrong impression, you know," he teased, moving to stand in front of her. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"If you were so concerned with creating a good impression you wouldn't let me catch you skiving off in the middle of the workday," she shot back, smiling. He moved closer, taking the books out of her arms and placing them on the bookshelf.

"Are you going to punish me, Ms. Granger?" She pressed her lips together in faux disapproval.

"That's Madam Deputy, to you." Ron wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her up against him, pressing their lips together. He could feel her smiling into the kiss, could practically sense the happiness radiating off of her. This promotion was something Hermione had been working towards for years now, and he could think of no one more deserving or equipped to take it on. When they broke apart, he kept his arms loosely wrapped around her, looking down at her new robes.

"Green suits you, love," he told her, rubbing his fingertips against the emerald satin at her back. She smiled, running her palms up the front of his robes, toying with the ministry logo embroidered in gold thread over his chest.

"Certainly more than red suits you," she teased. She knew that after twenty-three years of maroon Christmas sweaters and six years in Gryffindor, Ron was rather sick of wearing red. He rolled his eyes, though all of his annoyance had been left back at his desk.

"Rebuilt the entire department, but we couldn't pick a different color for the robes. After everything I've done for Harry, and he makes me wear bloody maroon."

"You could always come work for me," Hermione offered, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I haven't worked out an assistant yet."

"Don't tempt me," Ron said, only half-joking. "I'm already used to you bossing me around, might as well get paid for it." She hit him.

"Yes, well, now when I boss you around at work you'll actually have to do what I say. Talking of, didn't you tell me you had mounds of paperwork to finish today?" Ron groaned, breaking her grasp and moving to sit in one of her armchairs facing the fire. He dropped down heavily, stretching his long legs in front of him.

"Can't a bloke take a break and see his future wife's new office?" Hermione's eyebrows knit together at his sulky tone, and she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said, twisting around and taking her hand. He pulled her into his lap, and she shrieked.

"Ron! We're at work!"

"So?" he asked, kissing her. "This is one of the perks of having your own office. Why else would you go and get promoted?" Hermione laughed, in spite of her disapproval.

"Ron," she said firmly, pulling back and giving him a reproachful look. He noticed she made no move to get to her feet. "Absolutely not."

"C'mon," he murmured. "We never got to use the Prefect's bathroom to our advantage, but we're damn sure going to use this office."

Sensing that her protest had more to do with keeping up appearances and less to do with actual dislike, Ron began kissing down her neck. Hermione threaded her hands into his hair, and he resisted grinning in triumph. She tilted her head back, granting him better access. However, when Ron grasped the front of her green robe and began peeling it back, she stopped him.

"Ron." Her voice was breathy and thick with desire, and the noise shot straight down to the front of his trousers. He pulled back to look at her expression. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were glossy, and her hair was even wilder than it had been.

"It's my first day," Hermione continued. "We can't snog in my office on my first day of work." Ron grinned.

"Who said anything about snogging?" She sent him a murderous look.

"You are completely hopeless."

"You didn't seem to be doing anything against your will! Or was I imagining you kissing me back?" Hermione pressed her lips together tightly.

"It was a temporary lapse in judgment," she said, rising to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster. Which wasn't much, Ron noticed, as he zeroed in on the mark peeking out from the neck of her robes. He considered pointing it out to her but decided he'd prefer to face her wrath later on at home than get kicked out of her office now. He made no move to rise, instead sinking down further in his chair and trying not to sulk. Hermione nudged his calf with her foot.

"Ron, don't sulk," she sighed. Annoyed at his inability to hide his petulance, he frowned into her fireplace.

"I'm not sulking." The denial sounded weak even to his own ears. Hermione was quiet. Eventually, he sensed her moving closer and felt her hand against his hair. Determined to maintain his grumpiness, he made no acknowledgment, though he admitted to himself that it was a rather soothing gesture.

"What's got you in such a foul mood lately?" she asked, and her voice was that kind, open tone that made Ron's chest ache. It reminded him of failing his Apparation test and getting splinched and the weeks after the final battle when they seemed to orbit around one another, neither one ever out of the other's reach. His resolve cracking, he sighed and glanced back at her. Her dark eyes were soft and filled with compassion as she watched his face, patiently waiting for a response.

"I dunno. Nearly the anniversary, isn't it?" He didn't need to clarify which anniversary; five years since the Battle of Hogwarts loomed over both of them like an almost physical being. She nodded, but said nothing. "And everything's changed, but nothing has either. Feels like, I dunno, like I'm back at Grimmauld Place, stuck upstairs while everything happens on the other side of a locked door." Hermione frowned, her eyebrows furrowed

"What do you mean?" she asked. Her voice took on that slightly higher pitch that meant she was worried but trying to hide it. He finally stood, turning to pull her into a hug. Ron tucked her head beneath his chin and held her close.

"Nothing, I'm just feeling existential, I s'pose." Hermione pulled back to look up at him.

"Of course. That's perfectly normal, you know." Ron resisted the urge to scowl at her tone. It was hard not to get annoyed when she got like this, as if she had conquered all of her trauma while Ron was still trying to catch up. Logically, he knew this was just how Hermione coped, and nothing would come out of snapping at her except a row that would make him feel worse.

"Yes, I know," he said in a strained tone, unable to form a diplomatic response but at least managing not to sound cross. Still, Hermione frowned.

"I'm only trying to help," she said. Frustrated, he rubbed a hand across his forehead.

"I know, I'm sorry. I don't want to argue."

"I don't either." For a moment, neither said anything, the tension of unspoken words settling between them.

"Do you want to help me arrange my office?" Hermione finally asked. Grateful for a change in subject, Ron nodded.

As they shelved books, Ron considered that maybe this wasn't just Hermione's way of coping. Perhaps Hermione was over it; it had been five years after all. Perhaps Ron was the pathetic one. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

But no. She still woke up screaming from time to time, trembling and crying while Ron held her tight against him. And she still looked to him and Harry when things were tense, that meticulous look that meant she was searching their body language for even the most subtle sign of something out of place. Ron noticed how she angled towards them in meetings or public places sometimes, the way they all communicated with looks as if they were still on the run, holding their shared secret close to their chests. He wondered if they would ever give that up. Perhaps there were some things you could never heal from.

At that thought, he realized he'd been absently tracing the scars on his arms, faded but still visible. Scars from the brain that attacked him nearly a decade ago, back when the war had been an abstract, looming thing instead of something that kept him up at night.

"Do you think they'll ever go away?" Hermione's quiet voice startled him out of his thoughts. When he turned to her, she was looking at his arms, watching as he touched the scars.

"Dunno. I doubt it. Harry's still got his, doesn't he?" Hermione nodded. Her hand twitched, and he knew she was thinking about the invisible scars too, not just the line that marked her neck. At the thought, Ron's eyes flitted to the elegant column of her neck, her beautiful skin marred with the evidence of near death. If he closed his eyes, Ron could still picture her limp body, propped up with Bellatrix's knife. The silver blade winked at him in the lowlight of the Manor, taunting him as death closed in on them. It was sheer luck that they had made it out alive. Luck and sacrifice from Dobby, who laid down his life to save them. Even now, a lump formed in his throat at the thought of the elf, who he would never be able to thank. Gratitude and sorrow weighed him down.

Ron watched Hermione continue to shelve books, pausing every so often to flip through one and read a passage. The ring on her finger sparkled, casting prisms across her office. It was a family heirloom he'd gotten from his mother, passed down from her grandmother Adele Prewett. Goblin made, it was a delicate silver band set with moonstones, with an oval sapphire in the center. Ron had spent ages looking at engagement rings, from shops in Diagon Alley to muggle jewelry stores that Harry had taken him to, but nothing seemed right for Hermione. She wasn't flashy, and he couldn't see her with one of the standard diamond rings. Finally in his desperation, he had asked his mother for help, and she'd produced the ring.

"Blimey, Mum, you've been holding out on us!" he had cried. She gave him a long-suffering look.

"I only just found it when we were at Aunt Muriel's during the war. It was my grandmother's. She left it to me after she died, so I've no idea how it ended up with Muriel." Ron said nothing, but he had a pretty good idea how she ended up with it.

The heirloom ring was perfect, and he (correctly) thought Hermione would appreciate the history and sentimentality behind it. Being muggleborn, Hermione of course didn't have any magical family heirlooms, and this was the perfect way to show her that she was part of his family as well.

Now whenever the ring caught his eye, Ron felt as though his heart might burst from happiness. He could hardly believe that after all these years–after the war and all its danger, after taking down the darkest wizard in Britain's history and rebuilding the Ministry of Magic–that they were both alive and in love. And now they were getting married.

Abandoning his work, Ron took her left hand in his and turned her to face him. Hermione looked up at him, surprised.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"I love you," he told her. Rather than being confused by this sudden intensity, Hermione flushed with pleasure.

"I love you too."

They stood in silence for several moments, simply reveling in holding one another.

"I suppose this isn't a good time to tell you Witch Weekly is doing a spread on our engagement?" Hermione eventually said, tone weary.

Ron groaned. It was always bloody something. Couldn't he just have a few moments of undisturbed bliss? Seemed like a small ask from one of the saviors of the wizarding world.

"I know," Hermione agreed, who liked being in the papers about as much as he did and, as the bride, would surely be harassed on a far greater scale. Ron remembered how it had been for Ginny when she and Harry got married last year. He frowned.

"Can't we elope or something? Ruin their stupid headline?" Hermione was shaking her head before he'd finished talking.

"You know they'll write about us regardless. They've called my office a dozen times asking for a statement. I've half a mind to just give them an interview and have done with it," Hermioned admitted. "At least then I could control the narrative, perhaps talk about how important it is to get rid of the lingering pureblood legislation. I don't believe many people even know they still exist." She wasn't looking at him anymore, obviously caught in deep thought. Ron had of course heard this before, knew that this was Hermione's first plan of action as Deputy Head.

Sitting against the side of her desk, Ron watched Hermione weigh her options. All of her hard work had culminated in this moment, this office, this promotion, this opportunity for Hermione to achieve what she had always wanted to. And it made him incredibly happy to see. But he wondered where he fit in. He didn't have this same ambition and enthusiasm for his work that she did. Of course he enjoyed being an Auror, he quite liked working with Harry, and it was satisfying to help rebuild the department and catch the dark wizards he'd been fighting against for ages. But now it was done. Ron had gone into this job with a purpose, and now it felt as if that chapter had closed, yet he was still hanging around waiting. But for what?

As he watched Hermione pore over a massive tome, he felt like the only one who was drifting in aimless limbo. It wasn't just Hermione: Harry was Deputy Head Auror. Neville ran the Auror Training Program. Ginny had started a new job with the Prophet. Even his dad had retired and was spending his time on his collection of muggle things. Meanwhile, Ron was restless.

"Ron, could you pass me that book on magichemical composition? With the red spine? Ron?" Hermione said, disrupting his train of thought. When he caught her eye, she was looking at him expectantly and he had no idea why.

"Huh? Sorry, drifted off."

"Could you hand me the red book on the middle shelf? The one about magichemical composition." She spoke in that slow, deliberate way that he knew meant she was trying not to sound impatient.

"Magi-what?"

"Magichemical composition. It's a theory on how magic is concentrated in chemicals. It's one explanation for how magical abilities are genetically linked."

"Oh," Ron said, though he still hadn't the faintest idea what she was referring to. He picked up the book and pushed it across the desk to her.

"It has to do with what makes a person magic. It's quite significant in the debate on blood purity," she explained. Ron nodded, this time following her.

"Right. Sounds more like alchemy than law." Hermione stopped flipping through the book and looked up at him.

"You know, that's not a bad idea, Ron. Perhaps I ought to find some books on alchemy. I've got to start compiling a report on opposing viewpoints on blood purity. Blood isn't exactly a core component of alchemy but perhaps the theory could be applied…" she trailed off, lost once again in thought. Watching Hermione puzzle out something complicated had always been one of Ron's favorite things. The tiny pucker between her eyebrows, the way she chewed her lip, and finally, the expression of pure joy after she'd worked out the solution made Ron feel nearly dizzy with affection. Today, however, he felt sad watching Hermione page through her book at breakneck speed. Ron was no stranger to feeling inferior, but this was different: it wasn't so much that he felt as if Hermione was too good for him (although arguably she was, and now that she was his superior it seemed almost objectively true), but rather he felt that she was moving forward while he wasn't going anywhere. Not wanting to ruin Hermione's enthusiasm with his bad mood, he moved round behind her and dropped a kiss to her hairline.

"Now that I've done my part, I reckon I'll head back to my lowly cubicle. Can't get used to all this luxury, you know," he joked. Hermione glanced up and gave him a quick kiss on the chin before turning back to her reading.

"Thank you for stopping by. Come back this afternoon and we'll go home together. And finish your paperwork!"

"Yeah, alright," he murmured.

"Love you!" she called over her shoulder. Ron smiled fondly, wondering how often he'd seen this exact image: Hermione bent over a book, bushy hair obscuring her face as she worked out something brilliant. The joy it brought nearly took his breath away, and Ron was once again astounded at the way he could get doubled over with love from the most mundane things. He hoped he'd never stop feeling this way.

"Love you too."