18 September 1998

"What is it?" Ron asked irritably to Neville, as his ex-classmate and current partner on the Auror Squad, sighed for the third time in the last 15 minutes.

Neville shook his head lightly to indicate it was no matter, then shook his head again with stronger jerks as if to persuade himself that it really was no matter.

Ron nodded, convinced that he had done his bit by showing the appropriate level of concern, and went back to trudge through transcripts of Death Eater interrogations to spot any leads that Aurors on the field could pursue. This had to be the least dangerous thing he had ever done in the fight against the Dark Arts. They weren't even doing the questioning, leaving the job to senior Aurors who had also been members of the Order. Not that there was any great need for questioning, Ron had felt when viewing their memories in the Department's pensieve to transcribe them (all he had done for the first month after his training) – Lucius Malfoy was singing like a phoenix. He had already given the names and crimes of every known Death Eater and incriminated half the Ministry for aiding and abetting war crimes. The Auror Squad had also been much depleted thanks to his testimony. To Mum's delight, this helped fast-track many of Hogwarts's recent alumni, her youngest son among them, into coveted government employment. She would have been happier of course if it was a safer job – something similar to what Dad or Percy did, but then she had no way of knowing (and Ron was certainly not going to admit) that 80 per cent of his considerable working hours were spent reading.

Still, it could have been worse. At least he was in good company, and reading reasonably interesting material. If only he had the ability to go through it as fast as Hermione, Ron wouldn't have to spend so many hours doing it. He even had to come into work the next day, a Saturday, to make up and it rankled because it was Hermione's birthday, as well as the first Hogsmeade weekend. Harry, the-Git-With-All-The-Luck, had managed to land a case right in the Scottish village, where someone had reportedly sighted Rabastan Lestrange. Ron was certain that it was a hoax; after all he spent 20 per cent of his considerable working hours following up on owls from batty old codgers from across the country, who regularly managed to delude themselves about the presence of suspicious activity in their placid neighbourhoods. Only once had these calls amounted to anything – and even that was a break-in attempt for theft – a job for Hit Wizards, not Aurors.

In sum, Harry was currently enjoying a few days ostensibly patrolling Hogsmeade while sneaking off in the evenings to meet Ginny. The 'sneaking off' bit was necessary even in adulthood because Harry's partner was Dawlish, who, channelling Snape's spirit, had decided to hate his younger colleague with a vengeance. Of course he was a fool to believe that seniority in age and experience made him the Chosen One's boss. Anybody (except Harry himself) could see that he was being groomed to take over as Chief once Robards retired. Dawlish on the other hand was destined to retire from the Squad as a mid-ranking Auror, especially given how he had sided with the Ministry during the War. Malfoy's testimony did not put him in the dock though. He was also examined for signs of undergoing the Imperius curse, but the Healer reported in the negative. The general consensus was that Dawlish's only crime was being a sycophantic idiot.

To spruce up the Squad, he, and others of his ilk were made to undergo re-training with the new batch of recruits. It was one thing to go into physical training with people who were half your age and not match up to them (and they didn't), another to be shown up for poor spell-casting by kids, most of whom had learnt Defence from a bespectacled 15 year old. That made Dawlish different from Snape though, Ron corrected himself. At least his resentment was based in jealousy, a sentiment with which Ron was familiar. Snape on the other hand had nursed a thoroughly creepy crush on Harry's mum, a fact that his friend had taken disturbingly well. If Ron had been told that Moody, or Lupin for instance had been lusting after Molly Weasley…though they were never mean to Ron. Maybe Slughorn had fancied Mum…

"…and she said no", Ron looked up as Neville stopped speaking and looked expectantly at him.

"What?" he asked to indicate he hadn't been listening.

Neville sighed. "I asked Hannah to marry me last night and she said no", he repeated softly, continuously throwing furtive glances at the desks in the vicinity to see if anyone was eavesdropping.

"You did what?" Ron asked, thoroughly nonplussed.

Neville sighed heavily again, then raising his voice a little and said, "I asked Hannah to - ."

"I heard what you said!" Ron interrupted loudly.

Proudfoot looked up from his desk, frowning. Ron mouthed an apology to him, then turned to Neville and whispered hoarsely, "What did you go and do that for? You are barely of age!"

"That's what she said", Neville intoned sadly.

Ron felt a little relieved at that. Apparently only Neville was a precocious prat, others of their age thought they were too young to get married too.

"But, we aren't kids you know", Neville insisted. "I mean how many 18 year olds have survived a War? And we wouldn't have to marry right away; we could be engaged for a year or two. Our parents got married young too. What is the point of waiting anyway? You know when you know, right? Like aren't you sure that Hermione is the one? The one you will marry someday?"

As a matter of fact, Ron was sure of no such thing. He wasn't even sure that she was his current girlfriend. Sure she had kissed him a few times, but she had never said anything about specific terms. And it was Hermione, if she thought he was her boyfriend, she would explain it to him in clear terms, right? And all her letters from Hogwarts to Harry and him were of similar length. And both were signed, "Love, Hermione", just the same. (He had checked after getting momentarily excited on receiving his first letter from her this year).

He probably should have said something to her before she left for Hogwarts, he chided himself, but, and there was no better way of putting it, he had been scared. Her being his friend for years only made any conversation along those lines awkward as hell. He could drop coy hints but Hermione was such a serious person he couldn't ever imagine flirting with her. He couldn't even take the initiative to kiss her, always picturing her as stiffening at his forwardness, pursing her lips in a McGonagall-like fashion and saying, "Honestly Ronald, who told you, you could take such liberties?" He had swallowed his fears and tried to kiss her at King's Cross when he went to see her off to the Hogwarts Express, but he had caught Hermione's father shooting baleful glares at him. That had made Ron quickly change his stance, dropping a clumsy kiss on the top of her head and offering her a one-armed hug. She had seemed slightly put off but accepted it anyway.

"Well…aren't you?" Neville wondered aloud at him, expecting an answer to his previous question.

Ron ignored it. Instead he spent the next ten minutes trying to drive some sense into Neville about 18 being much too young to marry.

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Eighteen was not just too young to marry. It was also way too young to have a job and keep house, Ron thought glumly, as he later made his way to Diagon Alley for a spot of lunch. Harry and he were making a valiant effort to cook, after Hermione had railed at them for trying to get Kreacher to do their house-work. They had been easy to convince. Even though Kreacher no longer addressed them by bigoted epithets, he made his disapproval of the small flat clear by muttering discontentedly under his breath for the entire duration of the time he had visited them. Things like 'poverty struck young brats', 'smaller than Kreacher's attic', and 'the kitchen doesn't have a door' were heard.

Not even a month in, Ron would take hours of Kreacher's supercilious commentary if that would mean that he could avoid a hastily made corned beef sandwich forever. That's all he had managed to bring to work today, and nothing could induce him to gulp that down in the cafeteria while Neville whined about his heart-break. So Ron made an excuse about lunch plans with George and made his escape.

Now that he was there, he decided to catch up with George, anyway. Even though they lived close to each other, Ron had rarely seen his elder brother outside of the Burrow after the War. Mum had been pushing him to stop by the shop more often, but his work hours often coincided with the store timings. Of course, George lived just above the shop, and Ron could have made the effort to climb the extra flight of stairs, had he wanted to. Truth be told, he hadn't. Being alone with George was the fiercest reminder of Fred. Ron continuously felt guilty about it – how he had somehow bypassed the mourning period by throwing himself into his job and then moving out. He also reckoned that it couldn't be healthy, what he was doing.

And he wasn't alone in this. George had shown up at the cemetery at the time of burial but was conspicuously absent at the memorial service. Mum had found him in his old room after the service, passed out from drinking, but had lacked the will to scold him for that. That was George's one moment of weakness. After that, he had busied himself in opening a new branch of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes in Hogsmeade, talking exclusively about his plans every time he came to the Burrow. At times he would try to be his old self, ribbing Percy for his officiousness and teasing Harry and Ron about their love lives, but those moments were few.

Which is why Ron was pleasantly surprised to spot George through the store's window, laughing raucously at something a ginger-haired man in front of him (who had his back to Ron) was saying. The sign in front of WWW showed that it was closed for lunch, so Ron knocked on the window to catch his brother's attention. George waved back, and pointed his wand to the door to let Ron in.

Ron entered to see that George and his friend were both still laughing about their shared joke while holding bottles of firewhisky in their hands. They had likely been drinking for some time, if their cheery disposition was any indication.

"A bit early for that, mate?" Ron asked, pointing at the bottles.

"It's a celebratory drink", George waved him off. "This", he said, indicating the other man in the room, "is Frank White, the newest employee of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. He will help me with research, but mostly man the Hogsmeade branch".

Ron nodded at the man, who was flashing him an open, friendly smile. He was clearly older than them, and with his head full of red hair could probably pass off as an older brother to Bill. He had a thin visage with a luscious moustache that seemed a little out of place. But before he had even said a word aloud, Ron took an immediate, inexplicable dislike to him. Auror instincts, he reassured himself. Really. No, it had nothing to do with Frank White's upturned nose that reminded Ron of Zacharias Smith.

"Fancy some lunch? I could get something from Fortescue's and we could eat in here?" Ron offered.

"We just ate", Frank replied.

Ron grimaced, but reminded himself that the man's high pitched voice was still not a justifiable reason to hate him.

"Oh okay, I will see you around then", he said lightly to George who nodded at him and Ron left to eat alone.

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Ron dropped into the Burrow for dinner, trying to avoid the horror of cooking and eating for and by himself. Mum was ecstatic to see him, even though it was the third time this week, and whipped up a chocolate pudding for dessert on the spur of the moment. After the second helping of said dessert, Ron briefly considered moving back home, but dropped the idea once she started asking questions about how much money he was earning, was he earning the same as Harry, when would he be promoted and the like. It was close to midnight when he finally told her that he had to get back home as he was working the next day. She tried to convince him to stay over, but he refused since he wanted the privacy of his flat to make a Floo call to Hermione (he had resolved to at least try and flirt with her today) to wish her for her birthday.

This was a new practice at Hogwarts – McGonagall had authorised parents to contact their children in Hogwarts through the Floo for emergencies or special occasions like birthdays and holidays. Ron had owled Hermione in advance to wait by the fireplace in the Common Room, pleased with his planning. If he couldn't be there physically, at least he would be the first to wish her, he thought, as he threw in the powder into his fireplace, while kneeling on the floor.

As it happened, he wasn't even close to being the first to wish her. The whole of Gryffindor seemed to have assembled in the common room, huddling around a few chairs as they lustily sang the last refrains of 'Happy Birthday'. He couldn't spot Hermione from his position but he was sure she would be in the middle of the huddle possibly cutting a cake. He tried to catch the eye of a couple of fourth years before the huddle broke apart and people started dispersing to different corners, and Ginny finally spotted Ron. She called out to Hermione who was still being fed by cake by Demelza Robbins while Coote and Creevey looked on. Hermione looked at Ginny who pointed at Ron in the fireplace. She smiled at him and indicated that she would be over in a moment. In the meantime, Ginny had sauntered towards Ron with a bottle in hand.

"Hello brother, fancy a sip?" she asked, tauntingly proffering the bottle.

"What is that? Firewhisky?" he asked accusingly. Was he the only responsible Weasley child anymore, who did not drink in the middle of the work day or when he was an underage student in school? Oh well, she had turned 17 last month. Still, she was in school premises! How was Hermione fine with this?

"Yes", she replied, winking. "Madam Rosmerta has been in a very good mood lately. Not as particular about alcohol finding its way to under-age students".

"You got Harry to buy these for you, didn't you?" he asked.

Ginny shrugged. "He was there. But these were industrial quantities we were buying, so she must know that we would bring it to Hogwarts", she pointed out.

Of course she knew. But Ron had always suspected of Rosmerta of having a soft spot for Harry. In any case, now he was the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, who could resist that?

"Didn't Hermione object to this?" he voiced his previous doubt.

"Nope", Hermione answered. She had finally made her way to the fireplace, and was now beginning to squat on a cushion in front of it.

"Why not?"

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly. "It would seem hypocritical if I was downing alcohol while telling others to not".

"Y..you drank?" Ron spluttered.

"Yes, I am of age, as is everyone who is drinking. I stopped the under-age ones from drinking, didn't I?" she said, turning to Ginny.

Ginny nodded approvingly. "Some of the younger ones may have taken a sip or two. But they are mostly sticking to butterbeer". Then she got up to go join some of her classmates who were singing a recent hit by Celestina Warbeck in a very drunken, off-key manner in one corner.

Hermione seemed to be humming along absent-mindedly with them when he interrupted her to wish her. She thanked him in a sing-song tone.

"You are drunk, aren't you?" he asked, narrowing her eyes at her.

"No, merely tipsy", she answered primly.

That made Ron smile.

"So Hermione, 19 huh?" he teased. "Quite the cougar, aren't you, with your interest in younger wizards?"

"Who?" Hermione asked innocently.

"Muh..I mean…you know…we…", he stuttered, resigning himself to a failed attempt at flirting. Maybe this is all he would ever be – Hermione Granger's best friend – who carried a torch for her since fourth year. And she would graduate out of Hogwarts, be brilliant at her job, and marry another brilliant bloke and produce brilliant little brats with him. Then he would forever hate those brats, just like Snape, though Ron didn't see himself teaching at Hogwarts. Maybe they would grow to be Aurors, and Ron would act out his hatred towards them then.

"…so many. I am the oldest student at Hogwarts. All wizards here are younger", Hermione was saying now, with a smile on her face.

Merlin's beard, was Hermione Granger, his bossy, studious best friend, flirting back? Harry needed to see this.

"I mean there is Ritchie Coote, there is Draco Malfoy, he is younger you know, and then there is Zacharias Smith, Michael Corner, Terry is also younger but he didn't come back. He joined the Aurors, I think…", she was listing on her fingers.

Ron was aware that she was trying to rile him up a little, but he could only stare at Hermione in delight and amusement. Hermione seemed to notice this, as her smile turned into a completely uncharacteristic smirk.

"But I don't know why you would think I'm interested in younger wizards", she said with deliberation. "I mean all evidence points to the contrary – there was Lockhart, and then there was Vict-"

"HERMIONE, WILL YOU BE MY GIRLFRIEND?" Ron finally burst out.

Oh well, what was new? As in everything else, Hermione Granger was a consummate flirt while Ron Weasley was pants at the same activity.

There was a momentary lull in the noise levels of the common room before Ginny and her friends started hooting. There was also a whole lot of sniggering from the younger kids while some of the older ones were laughing boldly. Ron scowled at them before turning to face Hermione again.

"I will owl you Ron", she said, beaming at him. "Good night".

"Good-night", Ron replied and retreated from the fire-place, back to the confines of his tiny flat.