SANTA MONICA

When Ron first moved to LA, he lived in a small, one bedroom apartment in what could only be described as a crack house. It didn't take him long to realize that if he moved 15 miles down the coast he'd be able to find a much nice place to live.

He and Harry are sitting on the balcony of his apartment, eating lunch, and watching the scantily clad women rollerblade through the park below.

'I love America,' Ron says with a smile and Harry grins a little.

'So, who's in?'

'Hermione is in,' Ron says. 'She's developed a case of bronchitis and has put in for a transfer to warmer climates. Because the casino in London is considered a sister casino of the Bellagio, she'll be able to come over without too much trouble.'

'That's a nice way to start,' Harry says with a small smile.

'I love working with Hermione,' Ron says and Harry can't stop the grin that forms on his face.

'Of course you do.'

Ron laughs lightly, eats a bite of his sandwich.

'What about drivers?' Harry asks.

'I talked to my brothers yesterday,' Ron says around a mouthful of roast beef that Harry could have done without seeing.

'The twins?' Harry asks, a little surprised.

Ron nods. 'They're in Salt Lake City, six months off some job they pulled in Glasgow. I got the sense they're having trouble filling the hours.'

'Sounds like them.' Harry picks up a French fry and takes a bite. 'Electronics?' he asks.

'Neville Longbottom.' Ron takes a sip of his water and glances out at the park below. 'Neville's been doing some freelance work for the Ministry of Magical Defense.'

Harry frowns a little. 'How are his nerves?'

'Okay.' Ron shrugs. 'Not so bad you notice.'

It's at that moment Neville walks into the park. They watch him approach Ron's apartment building. He looks a little lost, as though he's unsure of where he's going, and he isn't paying attention to his surroundings. Without really meaning to, he walks into a group of six dogs, all being walked by a woman on rollerblades. Ron laughs lightly as Neville gets tangled up in the leashes and clumsily pulls himself out of the mess.

Harry shakes his head. Same old Neville.

'Next item on the list is munitions.'

'Oliver Wood,' Harry says without a second thought.

Ron frowns. 'Dead.'

Harry's eyes go wide. 'No shit. On the job?'

'Sun cancer.'

'You send flowers?'

Ron shrugs. 'Dated his wife for awhile.'

They're both quiet for a minute or two.

'Dean?' Harry asks.

Ron frowns a second time. 'He's in town but there might be a problem with availability…'

There are many things that are capable with magic. Life achievements, medical advancements, the righting of serious wrongs. All of these are important but for some things, the Muggle approach is just a lot more fun.

Blowing up things happens to be something Dean Thomas prefers to use Muggle methods to achieve.

Currently holed up in the basement of Pacific Trust Bank on Melrose in Los Angeles, he's waiting for the last of his crew to get around the corner so he can blow the canisters surrounding the lock on the bank's massive vault door. When the last man rounds the corner, he hits the button and waits for the multiple booms to cease.

He comes into the hallway, followed by his crew, and shimmies up to the vault door, which swings inward easily with the gentle push of his hand. He smiles at the various shelves that line the vault, pirouettes just slightly, and claps his hands together.

'Lovely,' he says and takes a step into the vault.

The alarm sounds, shrill and annoying, and he loses his smile instantly. 'You tossers!' he hollers at the crew behind him. 'You had one job to do!'

It doesn't take long for the SWAT team to find them and they exit the building surrounded by large men in black vests carrying weapons. They separate Dean from his crew and put him in the back of a squad car, his hands cuffed behind his back.

There's a Bomb Squad guy kneeling next to him, trying to get information out of him.

'And that's all you used during the event? Nothing else?'

Dean throws an indignant look on his face. 'You accusing me of booby-trapping?'

'Well, how about it?'

'Booby traps aren't Mr. Thomas' style.'

They both look up to see the surprise guest. Dean smiles at Ron while the cop's back is turned.

'Isn't that right, Dean?'

Dean grins. 'That's right.'

The cop stands as Ron pulls a badge out of his trench coat and flashes it at the cop. 'Peck, Interpol. Let me venture a guess. A simple G4 mainliner, double-coil, back wound, quick fuse with a drag under 20 feet.' The cop nods in a confused manner. 'That's our man. Tell me, have you checked him for booby-traps on his person? I mean really checked, not just for weapons…'

The cop's confusion becomes tangible and Ron reaches past him to pull Dean out of the squad car. He yanks him around, pushes him face first into the back of the car, and searches him.

'Go find Griggs and tell him I need to see him,' he tells the cop.

'Who?'

'Just go find him, will ya?'

The cop mutters something about 'goddamn feds' and stocks off to find the imaginary man Ron asked for. Ron puts a series of small pieces into Dean's handcuffed hands.

'How fast can you make something out of what I just gave you?'

There's a flurry of constrained movement. 'It's done. Thirty seconds all right?'

'From when?'

There's an audible snap and Ron steps away from Dean, who deposits the device in the back seat of the empty squad car. 'Now.'

They step back from the car, careful to make sure no one's paying attention.

'Ten seconds?' Ron asks.

'Not quite. Is Harry here?'

'Around the corner.'

Dean laughs. 'Be good working with proper villains again.' He motions with his shoulders. 'Okay, go.'

Ron turns back to the chaos and shouts, as loud as humanly possible, 'Everyone down! Get down! There's a bomb in the…'

The explosion blocks out the end of his sentence and both he and Dean use the diversion as an opportunity to get the hell away from the scene.

'Oh, they weren't expecting that shit, were they?' Dean laughs as they run down the street and around the corner to where Harry's waiting for them.

Harry's never been that big a fan of circuses. There's something melancholy about each performer and, to be honest, clowns freak him out, so when Ron suggested they go watch the Chinese National Circus he was less than thrilled.

In fact, he was adamantly against it until Ron mentioned popcorn and then he gave in just a little.

They're watching the funambulists get ready for their routine. The announcer, who has a voice reminiscent of an annoying cartoon character, tells the audience that they're about to see the Amazing Chang.

'As in Cho?' Harry asks with a quick look at Ron's face.

'She'd be an asset.'

They watch her perform for a little while.

'So she can hang on a rope,' Harry says.

'More than that,' Ron assures him.

'We need a grease man, not an acrobat. Who else is on the list?'

'She is the list.'

Harry watches her a moment longer, turns to Ron. 'Who else?'

Ron smiles a little. 'Just watch.'

High above the crowd, and using only her legs to support her, Cho vaults herself from one hanging rope to the other, a perfect back flip, and catches herself using only her legs. When she flips onto the stage, the crowd erupts in applause, with Harry's hands creating the loudest cacophony of sound.

'We got a grease woman,' he says to Ron.

Ron smiles. 'We got a grease woman.'

They exit the circus tent with the rest of the audience and make their way across the parking lot to Ron's Cadillac. The top is down and they climb in, wait for everyone around them to leave.

'We need Albus,' Harry says as they watch the cars leave.

'He won't come. He swore off the game a year ago.'

Harry looks at Ron with surprise. 'He got religion?'

'Ulcers.'

Harry goes back to looking at the cars. 'You could ask him.'

Ron sighs, starts up the Cadillac. 'I could ask him.'