Under other circumstances, he might have considered her attractive. However, he and the grey-eyed witch with the pleasingly proportionate figure had reached a deadlock.

"If you'd just take my name--" he said through gritted teeth, before she interrupted yet again.

"Sir," she said, in a tone of voice that made it sound like an insult, "I don't think you understand. You are in the Minister for Magic's office. You don't just totter in off your broom and have an appointment--"

"Well, I'd like to make one, then. For about a minute from now." he said, leaning over to try and get a look at the appointment ledger laying open on her pristine yellow desk blotter.

She snapped it shut. "The Minister is not here right now. Furthermore, he doesn't have any appointments available for some time--"

"That's pants! I--"

"Sir!" She rose to her feet, voice climbing higher as well. "Sir, I'm going to have to insist you leave now, or else I'm going to have to call for--"

The handsome mahogany door beyond her desk opened, and a towering figure in long blue robes emerged. A large smile appeared on his face. "Ron. Welcome. Are you here to see me?"

"Hi, Kingsley. I was just trying to set up an appointment with you, but I was informed you have nothing available." He jerked his thumb towards the grey-eyed witch in the Ministry-issue robes.

"I've always got time for you. Come in." He fixed the witch with a imperturbable look. "Octavia, tell my twelve o'clock that I'm in with Mr. Weasley."

The change in the witch's expression was instantaneous. She turned from Kingsley to Ron, her slender eyebrows raised almost into her hair and her painted lips parted in surprise. "You're Ron Weasley?" she asked, pressing a hand to her ample chest. "You looked so much older in the Daily Prophet!Why everdidn't you tell me your name?"

"I tried to. Several times." he said, stepping into the comfortable inner office behind Kingsley. As the Minister shut the door, he fought back the urge to stick his tongue out at the secretary, settling instead for a smug smile.

"I apologize for that. Octavia is very… enthusiastic." Kingsley said, motioning Ron towards on of the angular wooden chairs in front of his mammoth desk. The blinds were up, showcasing a beautiful sunset in deep pinks and golds, despite the overcast Monday morning that dwelled on the street ten levels up. "Can I offer you something? Pumpkin juice?"

"Spiffing."

Kingsley reached into a cabinet behind his desk and came back with two tall glasses of pumpkin juice, one of which he slid across the desk.

"Thanks." Ron said, taking a tentative sip. "Hey, it's cold, too. Not exactly slumming it up here, are you."

"The position is not without it's merits. How have you been?" He settled back in his chair, propping his large feet upon the affably cluttered surface of the desk.

"Not bad. You?"

"I've been well, thank you. How is your family?"

"The usual. Charlie's getting married."

"Arthur told me. I'm waiting for my invitation." He tented his fingers in front of his face. "I'm sorry I missed Teddy Lupin's birthday. Molly was kind enough to invite me, but I was away on Ministry business."

"Rotten, that. We had enough food for you as well as an entire security detail."

"That I don't doubt for a second."

"Yeah, you know mum."

Kingsley nodded, and Ron felt suddenly reticent beneath his steady gaze. "I do indeed. Now, Ron, I'm always glad to see you, but this isn't a simple social call. Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"

He swallowed, nodded resolutely. "All right. Well, I've been thinking a lot about that night. You know, at Hogwarts. When Harry, Neville and I helped round up the Death Eaters that hadn't been killed."

"I remember very well. I asked you repeatedly if you wanted to stay with your family, bearing in mind your brother's death. But you were determined. As I recall, it was you who chased Amycus Carrow through the Forbidden Forest and brought him back to the castle."

Solely for something to do, he took a long sip of his pumpkin juice. "Mum didn't understand why I wanted to do it, especially since George and Lee had already gotten Rookwood. I… I can't really explain why, either, but it was… important to me."

"Yes. Yes, I could tell."

Ron had hoped that Kingsley would make a logical leap and suggest-- better yet, insist-- that he become an Auror, but he just studied him placidly across the desk. No, it was up to him to take the step. "Oh, well, um, I've been wondering… what would you think about me becoming an Auror?"

Kingsley did not answer for a long while, and Ron felt his face grow hot as the seconds ticked by. Finally, the bald head nodded slowly. "I think that it might suit you. Why, is keeping shop not dangerous enough for you?" he asked with a hint of a smile.

"Working for George is plenty dangerous enough, 'specially these days. I like it all right, makes good money and the hours aren't terrible, but that's what the twins wanted. That's what they're good at. Was, I guess, in Fred's case."

"What about you, aren't you good at it?"

"Not like George is. He really gets it, ya know? The stuff he comes up with almost always sells, plus he likes marketing it and making adverts and all that."

"And you don't."

"It doesn't interest me. I never really wanted to work in Diagon Alley, I just… well, after, ya know, Fred died, I just…" He sighed, trying to sift through the words. It seemed important, then, to tell him. "I didn't want George to be alone. I wanted to keep an eye on him."

"Now he's doing well?"

"Not good, but better. Almost a year of sleeping on his sofa and seeing him every day, it's been, and I know he hasn't gotten over it-- hell, none of us have, I still think about him all the time-- but he's.… He has Verity, and he sees his friends again sometimes, and I… oh, hell, I want to marry Hermione, soon, and now that George has his own stuff going on, I think I can start doing a bit of growing up myself."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the plush office suddenly seemed very large. Again, Kingsley did not answer immediately, and Ron focused very hard on the ornate hanging behind his desk, inadvertently committing the Ministry's motto, Veneficus Nitor, to memory.

"Yes. I see what you mean." He shifted in his chair, taking his feet off the desk and leaning forward. "Professor McGonagall has told me that you will be among the students taking N.E.W.T.s this May."

"That's right."

"And have you informed your brother of your decision yet?"

"Whoa, whoa, I haven't made a decision yet."

"You certainly sound decided to me."

"Well, yeah, I'm pretty sure, but I don't even know if you'll take me on. That's why I'm here."

"You know that Dawlish is head of the Auror Department now."

"Oh." He could tell a brush-off when he heard one. "Right."

"But I daresay that the Minister for Magic might have some pull in the matter." Kingsley continued, another ghost of a smile on his face. "Yes, Ron, I think that you would make a fine Auror. And if it's what you want to do, you will have my full support."

His stomach lurched in excitement, and he was suddenly aware that he was grinning so wide that his cheeks were hurting. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome. Now, though, we have some work to do." He took up a fancy tan and gold quill and began to write on a blank sheet of parchment. "You'll have to sit for your N.E.W.T.s-- Harry was admitted into the program before getting his, but--"

"But he's the Boy Who Lived, I get it." He was too elated to find fault with this.

"Well, yes." He paused, quill in the air, and then began to write again. "The new class won't begin until August, but I will speak with Dawlish and Faustina Preston, perhaps they'll allow you to sit in a few sessions with the current group. You'll have to meet with both of them as well, as the application deadline for the new class has passed, but I'm sure an exception can be made. Here is a list of recommended reading for you." Kingsley slid the parchment, covered with his small, blocky script, across the desk into Ron's hands. "And finally, you have to tell your family, specifically George."

"We've talked about it."

"No, I mean, you have to tell him, in no ambiguous terms, that you are leaving his employ at the end of the summer."

"I'll get around to it."

"I meant soon. Very soon. August isn't as far off as you think, as if he relies on you as much as I expect he does, he'll need time to find a suitable replacement."

Ron considered his brother's recent temperament and sighed. "All right, but I'm still going to wait a bit. He's got some... things to deal with."

Kingsley's left eyebrow raised just slightly. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"There's something I'd like to tell several people, but George'd end me. He'd slit my throat the Muggle way if I told anyone, and I mean it." He got up from the chair and stuck his hand out. "Anyway, thanks a lot, Kingsley."

"My pleasure." he replied, standing up and shaking Ron's hand firmly across the desk. "Expect an owl from me within the week. And give my regards to your family."

"Sure. See you later."

He exited the office, pleased to see both the grey-eyed witch and the large-set wizard with the fussy little moustache stealing glances at the clock as he passed. It was quarter past. He turned into the hallway and headed for the lifts, past many empty desks and cubicles of employees on lunch break.

The atrium was crowded, and he scanned the faces eagerly for Hermione before remembering that she was sitting in on hearings all day and very likely would not be breaking for lunch until mid-afternoon, If at all. As she repeatedly reminded him, there was a backlog of cases dating back to before the infiltration of the Ministry, and "justice is much better late than never."

As he was crossing the highly polished floor, someone jostled him. "Watch where you're walking, you gangling ginger oaf." the person grunted.

Ron spun around quickly, ready to lay into whoever it was, and found himself looking down into the smiling face of Parvati Patil. "Oh… was that you?"

"Yeah, not bad, huh?"

"Er… no." He looked up and saw Harry and a tall, weedy boy standing by the fountain, laughing. "Yeah, yeah, you got me, good job." he said, following Parvati to where they stood.

"My idea." Harry said with a nod. "What are you doing here?"

"Just saw Kingsley."

"Oh? Everything all right?"

"Fine, fine. What are you doing down here?"

"Waiting for Entwhistle to get back with the take-away." Parvati said, craning her neck and looking around. "He's taking his time."

"Want to join us?" Harry asked. "Assuming he ever gets back, of course."

"No, that's all right." he replied, exchanging a friendly nod with the weedy fellow. "Ron Weasley." he said, sticking out his hand. It was a shaking-hands kind of day, especially if Weeds was going to be a fellow Auror.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Andrew Kirke." They shook hands.

"Oh, of the pissing blood incident?" he asked conversationally.

"That's me." he replied, looking only mildly embarrassed.

"Yeah, Ron still harbours a desire to be an Auror, even after I told him about that." Harry said. This seemed to amuse Parvati.

"Really, Ron, you want to be an Auror?"

"Yeah." he said, bristling a bit at the titter in her voice. "Why d'you say it like that?"

"Because it only took you a hundred years to realize! Now all we need to do is to convince Neville."

"Longbottom? What, you think he ought to be an Auror?" Ron asked, attempting to picture Neville in one of his wands-drawn and hexing-down-doors daydreams. It took a few false starts, and, try as he might, he couldn't see Neville without the pockets of his robes overflowing with vegetation, though he did carry Gryffindor's sword as well as his wand.

"Of course." she said, as though his scepticism was idiotic. "Ginny too." She quickly averted her eyes from Harry.

"Neville and Ginny. Right." Ron said with a laugh.

"No, I'm serious."

He was about to make a sarcastic comment, but changed his mind at the last second. "You really think I'd make a good Auror?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, I do. Why, you don't?"

"No, I… well, I mean, I hope I'd be good, but…." he trailed off, looking at Harry for assistance. He just shrugged.

"Actually, I'm surprised that you didn't join us this year." she said, waving across the floor to a broad-shouldered blond with a brown paper sack in each arm. "Food's here!"

A few minutes later, he was on the street, approaching The Leaky Cauldron. He was about to turn into the alley beside it, but instead entered through the front door. It was his day off, after all, and there was no guarantee that there was actually anything edible back at the flat. As usual, the place was crowded, but that was fine with him.

"Hi, Ron." said the witch behind the bar as he took a seat.

"Hi, Hannah."

"What can I get you?"

"How's the steak and kidney pie today?"

She smiled as she reached behind the counter, popped the cap on a bottle of butterbeer, and set it down in front of him. "How's the steak and kidney pie every day?"

"True. I think I'll go with that."

"I'll have that up for you in a few minutes." she said with a wink as a gnarled old warlock in moth-eaten tweed breeches flagged her down from the other end of the bar.

He brought the butterbeer to his mouth and drank, studying the ranks of dusty bottles that stood behind the bar. The last (and, he was pretty sure, first) time he'd actually seen any of them being used was at Christmas, when Seamus and Dean had nearly driven Tom mad ordering a large assortment of Muggle drinks. He smiled at the memory of the toothless old bartender muttering angrily to himself as he read off an ancient pamphlet, concocting drinks with stupid names like Psycho Tsunami, and setting them down in front of Dean and Seamus with a look that was perfectly clear in its' meaning-- that no tip they could leave would be good enough.

As he drank, he felt as though someone was staring at him. When a minute or two had passed and the feeling was still there, he turned, surveying the large dining room with a furrowed brow. No one seemed to be paying attention to him at all. Bemused, he turned back to the bar.

Hannah appeared a few moments later and placed a large plate brimming with food down in front of him. "Thanks." he said, surveying it with relish.

"You're welcome." she said, pulling a napkin-wrapped parcel of silverware from her apron pocket and sliding it across the bar to him. "How've you been?"

"Fine." he said around a mouthful of pie. "You?"

"Fine." she replied, leaning forward and resting her head in her hand. "Your brother was in here earlier."

"Which one?"

"Oh, right. The one that works at the Ministry. Percy."

"Yeah?" He carved off another piece and crammed it into his mouth. Why did she insist on having a conversation as he stuffed his face?

"He didn't say much."

"He didn't fill you in on the latest regulations regarding maximum feather length for messenger owls? I'm shocked."

She shrugged. "He looked sad."

"They probably repealed the law about how much scurvy-grass you can buy at once." he said with a snort.

"Oh stop. We're getting close, you know… everyone's starting to look like that."

He paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "Close to what?"

"You know. A year since. It's just over a month away."

It hit him like a Stunning Spell. A year ago, he'd been holed up in that miserable tent, trying to sort out Hallows and Horcruxes and pick up Potterwatch broadcasts. A year ago, not even, they were found by Snatchers and dragged to Malfoy Manor. It dually seemed as though it had happen a few days ago and had never happened, that it all took place in some awful dream he'd had once, or a book he'd read. It had taken such a long time to fall into the routine of daily life again that it seemed impossible he'd actually lost himself in it. Of course he still thought about Fred every day, and sometimes he had nightmares about the forest, or the basement at Malfoy Manor, or that night at Hogwarts, but--

"Ron? Ron, are you all right?"

Hannah was standing over him, a look of concern on her pale face. He realized that he was still sitting with a forkful of steak hovering six inches from his open mouth. He blinked. "Oh, yeah, sorry, I… blimey. A year. I can't believe it."

Relief spread across her face. "Yeah, I know, it's hard to believe. They say the Ministry's planning a memorial service at Hogwarts, but I haven't heard anything else-- "

Across the room, there was a loud crash, replete with what sounded like a lot of breaking glass. Hannah gave Ron an apologetic smile and hurried around the bar, pointing her wand at the broom in the corner so that it floated along after her. He turned back to his plate, mind still reeling over the realization that they were swiftly approaching the one-year anniversary of Voldemort's fall.

A memorial service at Hogwarts. He wondered what that would entail, if he'd be required to go. He hadn't actually been up to the castle since returning to The Burrow the day after the battle, with Fred's body wrapped in a plain white sheet stripped from one of the dormitory beds. It had looked broken and scarred when he'd left, but different people had told him that it had been returned almost to its original state in the... well, in the almost twelve months since he'd seen it. Seeing it again would be nice, but he wasn't sure he could handle a memorial service. In that week afterwards, he'd been to enough funerals to last him a lifetime.

Hannah still hadn't returned by the time his plate was clean, so he left a small pile of Sickles on the scarred surface of the bar and headed for the back door. As he was crossing the dining room, he thought he saw a familiar face, but the person turned away quickly, and he was left staring at the back of a girl with curly dark hair as she ascended the staircase to the rooms above. He shook his head and continued on. There were always way too many people in The Leaky Cauldron, he didn't know how Hannah managed it.

The tiny courtyard behind the pub was empty, and as the bricks dissolved to admit him into Diagon Alley, he noticed that the cobbled street was nearly deserted as well. Being Monday, as it was, most of the shops were closed, but Gringotts still had patrons, mostly shopkeepers by the look of them, trickling in and out.

"Hello Ron." said a middle-aged witch coming down the marble steps of the bank. He recognized her as Alicia Spinnet's mother, owner of The Light Fantastic, a chic little shop a safe distance from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that seemed to deal exclusively in illumination orbs, mostly of the ornamental, frou-frou, or expensive variety.

"Hello, Mrs. Spinnet." he said with a nod.

"Is George going to the proprietor meeting at the Ministry next week?"

This was the first he'd heard of a shop owner's meeting at the Ministry. "I'm not sure."

"Oh, I know, awful timing, isn't it? That's why I'm sending Alicia in my place."

"I'll be sure to tell him." Ron said, knowing that this information pretty much guaranteed that he'd be attending. Maybe he could convince George to send Verity instead.

"Have a nice day." she said as they parted ways.

He reached the door to the flat a few minutes later and, as expected, Pigwidgeon began to hoot as he climbed the stairs. The living room was in its typical disarray, with most of the clothes and detritus on the floor and laying over the furniture belonging to him. George was sitting at the dining table, surrounded by stacks of paper and overflowing binders, heavily engrossed in reading something.

"Did you know it's almost a year since the battle?" Ron asked, opening the door to Pig's cage and flopping down on the sofa as the tiny owl began circling the room, tootling importantly.

"Shut your gob a second, will you, this is important." George said without looking up, smoothing the sheet of parchment in front of him and bringing it closer to his face.

Ron lay back, ticking off the number of times that Pig passed above him. At eight, he sat back up, peering over the back of the sofa. George was still seated at the table but now stared blankly at the far wall, a hazy expression on his face. "Everything all right?" he asked tentatively. He tried not to ask too many questions these days.

George turned his head slowly to him, and Ron tried not to flinch. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, holding up a few pages of heavy ivory parchment covered in cramped green writing.

"No?"

"It's a letter from Thessalonius Zonkonowksi."

"Who the bloody hell is that?"

"The owner of Zonko's."

"That's his real name?"

"Yeah, I can see why he went with 'Zonko's.' Anyway, he says that he'd decided not to re-open. He wants to know if I'd be interested in buying the property in Hogsmeade."

"Weren't you and Fred going to buy it beforehand?"

"Zonko could never make up his mind-- he was going to re-open, he wasn't, he was going to retire, he wasn't. Got a bit boring, quite frankly. But he says now that he's already made the decision not to re-open, and, before he puts it on the market, he'll sell it to me, as well as everything in it." A slow grin spread across his face. "He's even offering it to me at a discount."

"Are you going to buy it?" he asked as George got to his feet.

"I'm going to seriously consider it." he said, walking into the kitchen, where Ron could hear him rummaging around in drawers. He re-appeared a moment later with a sticky bottle of blue ink and a rather straggly-looking quill. "Right now, I'm going to write him a letter and ask when he can meet me in Hogsmeade to show me the place."

"Sounds good."

"And Ron, if I do end up buying it?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm tapping you to manage it. Hell, we'll be partners. It'll be Weasley and Weasley again, just, you know, different."

He sat down at the table and shook up the ink bottle, whistling out-of-tune as Ron turned away, suddenly feeling rather sick.

Author's Note: Have to say thanks to one of my favorite authors on this site, Kerichi, for the character of Mrs. Spinnet and her shop, The Light Fantastic. They play an part in one of my favorite stories, "For Bitter or For Worse", which is just awesome. If you haven't read it, you should. Her characterisation of Alicia is vastly different from mine... I like hers better!

Sorry for the shortness of the chapter! I'm trying to get ready for vacation, hence, I neglected poor Ron's chapter for most of this week. Still, I'm pleased with how it turned out. I really enjoy writing Ron, his interaction with other characters and his thoughts and even his sentence structure. I always feel like I can't get him quite right, but I do like to try.

For the curious, Veneficus Nitor, the Ministry's motto that I totally made up, has a couple of possible meaning in Latin. The first part, veneficus, means either "magic" or "witch/wizard". Nitor has a few translations, including "brilliance", "splendor", "to strive or exert", "to lean" and "trust in". While I was going for the meaning "trust in magic", I like some of the other possible meanings, including "magic(al) splendor" and the like. I'm not sure how accurate this is, but I did take three years of Latin in high school! God bless my Catholic education for providing such useful classes as Latin, because we all know that, like calculus, people use it every day.

Thanks to everyone for their reading and reviewing! You all are way too good to me, I can't believe I already have nineteen reviews and a crapload of hits, LOL. The kind folk who reviewed the last chapter are: Jasperella, Strawberry-Swirls, cinroc, snaplappl21, Gray Eyed Beauty, StevenCarnell, smushly, crystalight22 and Babble. sings And I-I-IIIIIIIIIIII will allllllllllways love yo-uuuuuuuuu! bows