A/N: It may be Labor Day, but that doesn't mean I wasn't hard at work getting this chapter ready for you! You all deserve it for your steadfast patience and inspiring reviews. Thank you!
A reminder of last chapter's shenanigans before I get to all that BFFery/resolution nonsense I promised you (and some items of business I didn't promise you and that will likely upset you):
Previously, on Tales:
At hearing a commotion from the hallway, Ron turned to find his front door literally fly by the living room entrance. It was in that instant that Scabior made his move.
"No!" Ron rasped when the ex-Death Eater pulled out a dingy bag from his cloak pocket. Ron slashed his wand in the air violently, but the ex-Death Eater reached into the bag and vanished abruptly, the Stunning spell missing him by mere inches.
Ron's face fell and he snarled, kicking at the pile of drapes behind him.
Scabior was gone, and Ron was alone.
The Tales of Weasley the Father
By dieselwriter
Chapter 32: The Tale of Home
Ron's shaking legs found solace when he slowly and carefully sat back on the floor, kneading his forehead with his fingertips. He ignored the harried footsteps echoing from the hallway, expecting Charlie to come rushing in at any second.
Someone did make an appearance moments later, but it wasn't Charlie.
"Where are you?" Mrs. Puckle—short, gray haired, frail old Mrs. Puckle—had never looked so intimidating. She may have been wearing a moth-eaten lilac robe and flannel pajamas, but the steely glint of her eyes held no mercy. "Where are you, you hoodlum?"
She moved her lit wand around the room, scanning every crevice for villains lying in wait. Ron smiled up at her bemusedly from his sitting position.
"Just missed him, I'm afraid," Ron told her.
"Merciful heavens!" she swung around, sparks flying out of the tip of her wand in surprise. Ron had never noticed how dark blue her eyes were until they opened impossibly wide when finding him. "Mr. Weasley!"
Ron grinned wryly at her.
"Just Ron, Mrs. Puckle."
"But where is the perpetrator?" she exclaimed, apparently far too flabbergasted to respond with her usual demand to have him call her Agatha instead.
"Wish I knew."
Ron continued to stare at her in sheer amazement of her ferocious presence, but the novelty of his own haphazard presence in his own home eventually wore off on his old neighbor.
"I can't say I haven't missed you and your family, dear boy, but that was during normal visiting hours. My health cannot tolerate these early morning adventures for long."
Ron's laugh turned into a hiss of pain when his back protested the act of levity.
"Nor can yours, it seems," she said worriedly, lifting her wand higher to let its lighted tip cast shadows across his pale face.
With the extreme lack of luck Ron had at his disposal, Charlie of course took that particular moment to enter the room, sporting a bloody nose. His wand rose immediately and threateningly upon finding Mrs. Puckle's wand aimed at his brother's face.
"Charlie, please don't hex my neighbor," Ron said imploringly.
Charlie took a moment to process the information, glancing between the elderly woman and his youngest brother, before lowering his wand uncertainly.
"Where's Scabior?" he asked.
Ron's ears began to burn shamefully.
"Portkeyed out. What happened to you?"
"Harry punched me." At Ron's appalled look, he continued, "Don't worry. I punched him back, much harder. I think he's still crying about it in the front yard."
"I'm assuming this is why you make more friends with dragons than actual people."
"With introductions like this, can you really be surprised?" Charlie asked, stepping forward to offer a handshake to Mrs. Puckle. "Charlie Weasley, ma'am. I'm very pleased to find my brother has such a vigilant neighbor."
"Agatha Puckle," she accepted his hand, surprising the dragon tamer with her strong grip. "Your brother is not often in need of such services. He is a very capable Auror."
Ron could practically feel his embarrassment radiating off of him; with the escape Scabior had just made, Ron felt anything but capable.
Charlie smirked as though the compliment were directed to him.
"One who could use a few more helping hands next time. I think it's about time we called this one in to Kingsley."
"Ron?"
Ron exhaled slowly, wondering if Harry had arrived only to further testify to his ineptitude. He looked up forlornly, ready to face the music, only to shrink back at the sight of his best friend. Harry looked very rumpled indeed; the black eye contributed by Scabior was compounded by the swollen left side of his face that was no doubt Charlie's work, and his clothes, which Ron had been unable to truly scrutinize before, had odd discolored patches of dirt and what appeared to be blood.
Ron knew he didn't look that much better, hunched over on the floor with his wounded shoulder and a back bleeding badly enough that it glued his shirt to his skin discomfortingly.
"Yes?"
Harry only hesitated a second before he surged forward. Charlie made an intercepting gesture but a rare, fierce look passed in Harry's eyes; a slash of his very recently acquired wand and a burst of light sent Charlie bonelessly to the floor.
"I suppose I deserved that," Charlie mumbled to no one in particular as Harry moved past him, completely nonplussed.
"Perhaps I'll alert the authorities instead," Mrs. Puckle said, her only reaction aside from a set of raised eyebrows to Harry's abrupt and aggressive arrival. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Weasley."
She threw Charlie a curt nod and didn't bother with a passing glance to Harry before striding purposefully out of the room.
"Pleasure's all mine," Charlie spoke into the carpet, barely able to do much else.
But Ron only had eyes for Harry. Having no real capability or desire to run or hide from his advancing best friend, he remained motionless, suddenly nervous. It was so common for Ron to have a few inches' height advantage over everyone else that when Harry finally arrived to tower right over him, his expression now serious but calculating, the redhead felt about the size of a house elf.
"You're not going to kick a guy while he's down, are you?"
Harry processed the half-hearted joke slowly. The silence and extreme height difference made Ron uncomfortable enough to attempt to stand up. When he struggled, Harry's left hand clamped onto his forearm and the right his upper arm. Ron wasn't sure if he was trying to steady him or keep him from escaping.
"You," Harry whispered the word harshly through clenched teeth, "are an idiot."
Ron kept his face impassive, even if he wanted to cringe internally, both at the emotion in Harry's voice and at the pain that accompanied every beat of his heart. He didn't regret his actions tonight though (minus the fact that Scabior had gotten away, perhaps), so he felt little need to cower at his best friend's words, even as said best friend tightened the grip on his arm.
"Harry—"
"Stop it," Harry was using the tone that brooked no argument, and Ron's mouth clamped shut on its own accord.
"Harry, I swear to Merlin—" Charlie started up threateningly in the background, but neither Auror paid him any heed.
Harry stood there silently, his green eyes piercing Ron's blue. Ron squirmed self-consciously at the intense attention.
"I'm sorry," Ron said eventually, because he really did regret Harry being dragged into his conflict with Scabior, and because the very thick tension really did need to be broken. "I didn't—"
"Stop it," Harry repeated, but there was far more compassion in his voice this time around, and Ron clammed up again out of interest rather than fear. "Sit."
And Ron sat, easily willing to comply to Harry's commands if he continued looking at him the way he did now, as a friend, rather than as some scum-covered toadstool as he had over the past two months or so.
Ron must have had too much curiosity held in his expression, because Harry's attention diverted to his wounded shoulder.
"You are an idiot."
Ron watched, unable to find suitable words, when Harry took his borrowed wand and set about healing the wound. The incantation was indecipherable as Harry sang it softly under his breath, but the gesture was soothing, especially when the laceration began to sew closed.
Harry's work was the only noise in the room, and the thought of filling the void was driving Ron's thoughts through an endless maze.
The calm, authoritative part of him that had Bill's voice wanted to discuss why they were even arguing to begin with.
His right hand involuntarily clenched into a fist. The fiery side of him that spoke in Charlie's booming voice wanted to give Harry a matching pair of black eyes.
There was a part of him that wanted to deliver a dagger-like quip, the part that sounded so much like Fred that it stole his breath away and held an icy grip on his heart.
The Fred-like things that Ron dreamt up were either egged on or reconsidered with George-like comments. The George part of him tonight urged the Fred part to cool his heels and see what options the other siblings in his head had to offer.
Percy's infuriating pride infected Ron every now and then, and tonight his part in Ron's mind was filled with a righteous fury that took him by surprise. It was not often that the Percy and Fred in his thoughts got along, but tonight they echoed each other.
Ron smirked in spite of himself when Ginny's voice filled his head, a cold fury that not only internally berated Harry but also himself with all of Percy's confidence, Bill's authority, and Charlie's violence.
But the part of him that won out most of the time, tonight not being an exception, was the part that was just Ron and not Weasley. It was the part that preferred to sit in Harry's helpful company rather than to strike up an argument. Two months without Harry was enough to keep him still and shut him up.
A night like tonight was more than enough.
"So are you just going to ignore me over here?"
Ron started, so absorbed in his own thoughts to remember Charlie's predicament, and then flinched when his movement caused Harry to miss a stitch.
"That was my plan, yes," Harry lifted an eyebrow and smirked at Ron. The simple, familiar gesture lifted Ron's spirits so quickly it was embarrassing.
"This position is very uncomfortable," Charlie whined, and Ron felt especially guilty in ignoring him, given all the support his older brother had supplied him with over the last hour or two.
"So's the whole left side of my face," Harry said coolly.
"So's my nose," Charlie said, recognizing his brother-in-law's icy attitude and shooting it right back.
"Can we just not do this right now?" Ron asked weakly, any initial hope he had felt dampening rapidly.
Harry looked surprisingly cowed at the reprimand, and Ron felt (perhaps undeservedly) bolstered in the small silence that surrounded them. He very rarely got the last word in, so he basked in the glow of the minute victory as Harry finished his work, not at the caliber of a Healer, but sufficient enough to keep the wound from bleeding.
"Do you remember the day you decided to join the Aurors, Ron?"
Ron jumped again when Harry sat beside him on the floor.
"No," Ron said slowly, only after he had sufficient time to think over how there had been an inkling of the thought of his future career in his fifth year before his mediocre Potions' OWLs and the whole Horcrux Hunt swiped it from his mind.
"Well I do."
"How do you remember—" Ron began hotly, not sure why it bothered him so much to think Harry knew him better than he knew himself.
It might have to do with the fact that it would have been truth two months ago, but right now it seemed insulting to think Harry should still know the ins-and-outs of his best friend's mind in the midst of their feud.
"Because I was there."
Harry looked through his spectacles pointedly, one eye nearly swollen shut, and Ron's anger melted away at the expression on his face.
Sunday: Attended weekly Weasley family dinner at the Burrow. Used George to corner Ron and convince him to send in his Auror Application, given the due date was only a week away. Ron threw a hissy fit and refused to talk to either of them for the rest of the night.
Monday: Convinced deranged warlock from Kathmandu that Voldemort really was defeated and returned him to concerned family. Ignored teasing from coworkers about surprise Jelly Legs Jinx the old wizard was able to hit him with before detainment.
Tuesday: Watched Ginny's Quidditch tryout for the Wimbourne Wasps. Tried and failed disastrously to remain anonymous, pissing Ginny off in the process of attempting to cheer her on.
Wednesday: Apologized to Ginny and Ron. Ginny only forgave him because her tryout went fantastic, even though the Wasps weren't the team she really wanted to impress. Ron did not, due to the fact that Harry insisted Ginny's great tryout was a sign of things to come occupation-wise.
Thursday: Took Auror exam. Spent most of the day fretting over a mountain of books and notes so tall Hermione would have been ecstatic had she not been so busy job searching.
Friday: Confronted by Kingsley Shacklebolt, who all but demanded Ron's Auror Application. Dry mouthed, Harry could do nothing more than stumble over words and promise it on his desk Monday morning. He had hoped it wasn't an empty promise, but a later discussion with Ron about his procrastination led absolutely nowhere. George's breakdown back in May, on the one year anniversary of Fred's death, was brought up, as was Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Hermione, and Kingsley Shacklebolt.
(Nowhere in the conversation did Ron mention what he wanted. He was quick to point out what George, what Hermione, what Shacklebolt, what the shop needed from him. Harry realized at the end of their argument, for that is what it ended up escalating to, he didn't even know for sure if Ron even wanted to be an Auror anymore.)
Saturday:
Harry knew better than to bother Ron at the shop on a Saturday during the summer. Nearly every store in Diagon Alley was packed this close to the start of school year at Hogwarts, but none more so than Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.
Despite this knowledge, Harry remained at a table outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor most of his evening, buying an inordinate amount of ice cream to make up for the fact he was using the shop as a stakeout spot. The old woman running the shop made sure to check up on him every half hour, not understanding why the savior of the Wizarding World was making himself a fixture outside her parlor but pleased all the same to have him there. She was no Florean Fortescue, but she still gave him sundaes topped with the works at half the price.
The whole set-up reminded Harry so much of the summer he spent living on Diagon Alley before his third year at Hogwarts that he almost lost his purpose of being there in the nostalgia of it all.
As it was, tonight would be Harry's final chance at making Ron see the reason in turning in his Auror Application. If he were to fail, he'd just have to submit the application himself and deal with the consequences later.
Harry really hoped it wouldn't have to come to that. He anticipated arguing with an upset Ron tonight. He did not want to fight with a justifiably upset Ron in a week should Harry go behind his back to turn it in.
At 9:30, when it was finally dark enough for the street lamps to light up, the subject matter of his thoughts finally appeared on the street.
Ron, despite being the tallest one on Diagon Alley, appeared a foot shorter due to his slumping steps on the cobblestone. The harried look and frizzed hair gave away the long day he had undoubtedly had at the joke shop.
The protective hold he had on George's coin pouch, an object that had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it much like Hermione's old beaded purse, let him know that it had also been a profitable day.
Harry rose to his feet slowly, not anticipating the upcoming conversation even if it was necessary. He hesitated confronting Ron, however, when his quarry froze to stare down the alleyway between Eeylops Owl Emporium and Harford's Theater. Standing in the shadow of a street lamp, Ron's pupils dilated and held a sliver of unbridled fear that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end.
They settled a moment later when Ron's expression changed to a mixture of amusement and pity. It wasn't a look he threw out often; it was reserved for those times he dealt with Luna Lovegood or when Harry shared an unpleasant memory of his Muggle past that could have been so simply fixed with the flick of a wand.
Still, Harry felt uneasy when Ron disappeared down the alley a moment later.
Any hope Harry had that the distraction was a stray cat disappeared as he approached the alley.
"Quit your yappin' and gimme th' bag!" a deep, desperate voice that was definitely not Ron nor a cat threatened. It was a voice that sounded familiar to Harry yet one he had not heard in quite some time.
"Who taught you how to hold people up?" Ron said in such an exasperated tone that Harry could picture the weary expression on his face. "You don't even have a wand on you!"
"Who needs a wand?"
Harry remained outside the lip of the alley, his own wand out and at the ready. Ron had made the conscious choice to enter into this conversation and Harry would not interrupt it unless he deemed it necessary.
Given the fact that the unknown would-be mugger was unarmed and Ron was not, Harry didn't anticipate his services would be required.
"Put that thing away before you hurt yourself."
Or perhaps the stranger wasn't unarmed. Harry only remained where he was because the intimidating authority in Ron's demand was such an unexpected surprise that Harry wanted to hear more of it.
"I'll tell you what, you put that down," Harry couldn't see it but could imagine Ron gesturing at whatever weapon the mugger was wielding, "I'll put my bag down, and we'll just sit here and have a nice chat."
"I don't wanna sit," the stranger said automatically.
"Well I don't either, there's a big puddle right here. Budge up a bit and share some of the dry ground, would you?"
There was an odd scuffling sound and Harry felt himself begin to relax a bit when Ron picked up the conversation a moment later.
"Now, what the hell are you doing out here demanding money from me?"
There must have been some non-verbal communication happening because Ron sighed after a beat.
"You come up with this ingenious plan by yourself?"
Again, silence at the remark.
"C'mon, Goyle, I've never known you to run a one-man operation."
Harry had to swallow his gasp at suddenly recognizing the voice of Ron's current companion as their old classmate Gregory Goyle.
"Don't see that bein' any of your business," Goyle answered Ron broodily.
"It wasn't until you dragged me into it!" Ron said accusingly, but there was a laugh in his voice that made Harry dredge up a smile. "Now who've you been running with for the last year?"
When answers were not forthcoming, Ron went with a different tactic.
"What happened with you and Draco?"
"You shut your face!"
"Hey, I didn't mean anything by it!"
Harry's grip on his wand tightened, but it did not sound like a duel was about to break out so again he remained where he was.
"I don't run with him no more," Goyle answered tersely a moment later.
"I didn't figure. I don't want to be around for the day when Draco Malfoy is so desperate for money that he has to send you to hit me up. Pretty sure the apocalypse wouldn't be far behind."
Goyle must've shown some amusement at the remark because Ron snickered.
"You can laugh; these are the jokes."
"I dunno how an idiot like you lived through the war."
Harry didn't disagree with Goyle's comment. It took a special kind of moron to purposefully enter a meaningful conversation with an armed would-be thief.
"Says the guy mugging me without a wand."
"I don't got one no more. Why d'you think I'm muggin' ya?"
Despite the subject matter both alley occupants laughed. Harry shook his head, unable to fathom how Ron was able to get into such situations and not only maintain his humor but also get his assailant to join in on it.
"So you're out here, working alone and wandless? How long have you been doing this?"
"Few months," Goyle mumbled. Harry was surprised to hear the regret in the two-word response.
"A few months? I'm impressed!"
The growl that accompanied Ron's exclamation made Harry squirm in his trainers.
"Sorry, I'm not trying to be a prat," Ron said defensively. "I'm completely serious. Living on your own for that long must be tough."
Even though Harry couldn't see the response and neither alley occupant knew of his presence, he felt a part of the conversation now.
"I'll tell you what, then; I'll give you a loan."
"I'll tell you what—" Goyle began hotly, but Ron intervened.
"Hear me out! A one-time loan tonight, enough to get you a wand. You do what you gotta do and I'll meet you back here, first of December. You pay me back with interest and we'll pretend like we never saw each other."
"I don't want charity—"
"It isn't charity, it's a loan. You have to pay me back, plus interest."
Some bystander with large boots took the brief silence between the two to tread on Harry's foot. Harry swallowed several swear words and only hopped on one foot three times before he was back to eavesdropping.
"Interest?" Goyle, now sounding cautiously optimistic at Ron's offer, still seemed leery of the stipulation.
"Yeah, let me see what I have on me and we'll talk real numbers."
Harry heard rummaging and the clinking of coins.
"I've got…14 Galleons, like 20 Sickles and a handful of Knuts. It's not much but it'll get you a wand and dinner at least. I'll give this to you tonight and come December 1st you'll owe me…let's say 15 Galleons."
"That's interest?"
"Sure. 15 Galleons is more than 14 and some change, right?"
Harry easily envisioned the puzzled expression on Goyle's face, having seen it so often when they were in class together. He could also sense the smirk on Ron's face, knowing that Goyle was getting the far better end of the deal and knowing that Goyle probably wasn't even aware of it.
"Sound like a deal then?"
There was a silence that lasted several moments.
"Is this a trick?"
"Why would I try to trick you?" Ron asked, sounding sincere. "You could have stuck me the second you saw me pass by the alley but you didn't. I know we didn't get along all that well at school—"
You can say that again, Harry thought, shaking his head at the idea.
"—but we're still classmates. I'd like to think that's the reason you didn't kill me on the spot."
There was another pause in the conversation before Goyle spoke up again.
"Yeah, maybe," he said.
"You gave me a chance, letting me talk to you tonight. So let me give you this chance, okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Goyle sounded a little less uncertain.
"We'll shake on it, then."
Goyle must have done something to appear untrustworthy because Ron went on.
"Don't shake unless you mean it, Goyle. I'll spend every day including Christmas hunting you down if you don't show up December 1st."
Goyle managed a snigger of a laugh.
"And I wouldn't bother with this kind of stunt again. I'm pretty sure I'm the only idiot on Diagon Alley who would give a loan instead of a good hexing to a wandless mugger. If you need more help just drop by the shop and we'll see if we can't find work for someone with your…skills."
Harry exhaled in place of a snort. Ron didn't sound like he meant it as a joke despite his hesitation, but the only skills Harry imagined Goyle to possess would be that of a bodyguard, which would provide little for a joke shop.
Harry had little time to ponder over Goyle's job prospects, however, as he heard a flurry of movement that made him rethink his choice of location. He moved as quickly and with as little noise as possible and not a moment too soon: Goyle, concealed by a large cloak, stumped out of the alley and headed in his direction.
Harry held his breath, but even as Goyle brushed past him, the Slytherin was clearly too stunned to pay total attention to who he was nearly walking into.
He continued onward down the sidewalk, and Harry could only guess where he would end up, although he would have bet a fair amount that his destination would be somewhere on Knockturn Alley.
"Well this night just keeps getting better and better."
Having paid a bit too much attention at Goyle's retreating figure, Harry grimaced at hearing Ron's voice right behind him.
"Nights are always better when I'm around," Harry beamed his brightest smile at his best friend.
Despite how frazzled Ron looked, he smirked and rose an eyebrow at Harry's remark.
Realizing a bit too late at what he said and the things it could imply, Harry ran a hand through his hair.
"You know what I mean."
"I'm sure I don't," Ron replied airily, heading down the street towards Gringotts once more.
"So that was something else," Harry said, keeping stride and changing the subject.
"You can say that again."
"I mean, that was some of the best negotiation work I've ever heard."
"I think you mean that that was some of the best negotiation work you've ever eavesdropped on."
"How could you hide such a talent from me?" Harry said with mock anger, all the better to deflect his shortcomings.
"How could you hide such a talent at espionage from me?"
"Hey, I'm already in the right line of work given my skills. It's this new crime-busting mediator Ron that's wasting away instead of honing his skill."
Harry looked over at Ron's smug expression and asked the question he had neglected to ask the previous night.
"Do you still want to be an Auror?"
Ron slowed his pace, and Harry felt partially guilty for asking the intimate question when he knew the kind of long day and night his tired best friend had and was having still.
"Probably," was his answer.
"Probably?" Harry echoed incredulously.
"You saw me back there. I'm pretty awesome."
"Oh no."
"I mean, I know Goyle's 99% buffoon and all, but still."
"I've created a monster."
"And the Minister of Magic wants my application. Face it, Harry: your best friend's gotten pretty popular."
Harry couldn't help but laugh.
"Here I was trying to be serious with you," Harry shook his head, trying to stifle a smile. "What was I thinking?"
"You were thinking of having a mature conversation with me, but if Goyle's 99% buffoon, I'm 75."
"That's generous."
"Walked right into that one."
They continued on in laughter for a moment, but Harry still wasn't satisfied.
"So do you still probably want to be an Auror sometime this year?"
"This year, next year…" Ron trailed off with a shrug. "I just don't want to jump ship without making sure everyone's okay about it."
"What are you on about? Everyone tells you they're okay with it! George and I have been telling you for a month!"
"George's been telling me for two months, actually," Ron said lightly. "But when he takes off a random day each month and comes back looking like he hasn't slept for a week, I tend to take his advice with a grain of salt."
Harry's gaze dropped, not knowing that particular fact about Ron's brother and business partner. It was only then did he notice that Ron was still holding tight to George's coin pouch.
"You gave Goyle your own money?"
The exasperated expression on Ron's face made Harry feel momentarily stupid.
"Are you taking the mickey? George would do far worse to me than Goyle ever could if anything happened to the shop's money."
"It's just…don't let this go to your head, but that was really nice of you."
"Ah, now you're making me blush."
"You're infuriating."
"So I've heard."
Sunday: Spent valuable sleeping hours debating what to do. Attended weekly Weasley family dinner and acted relatively subdued. Ron gave no indication as to what he was planning, even when Harry told him about the promise he had made to Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Monday: Nothing. Which is to say Harry had no contact with Ron or Kingsley, which was good in that no one (i.e. Kingsley) yelled at him but was bad in that no one (i.e. Kingsley again) thanked him.
Tuesday: Still nothing. (Took an Auror test and likely did abysmally, but with Ron and Kingsley both hard at work, there was still no communication with either of them.)
Wednesday: A mind-numbing nothing. (Arrested a pair of witches dueling publicly over the affections of a Muggle man. Ignored teasing from coworkers when both girls suddenly appeared far less interested in the handsome Muggle man they had been quarreling over and far more interested in him during detainment.)
Thursday: Spoke to Kingsley, all but begging to know if Ron turned in his application. The Minister offered him a disappointed look and little else.
Friday: Spoke to Ron, all but begging to know why he hadn't turned in his application. Ron, looking completely shellshocked and betrayed, demanded to know why Harry hadn't turned it in, because Harry had threatened to submit it for him if he didn't and Ron, quite frankly, hadn't wanted to do the work when Harry had been so eager to do it for him.
Saturday: Spoke to Kingsley with Ron, both definitely begging him to accept the late application. Kingsley relented, if only to rid himself of the pair from his home on his day off. Little did he know that this decision would solidify a permanent spot for the pair in his life, equally strengthening his Auror Department and weakening his stance on a zero-tolerance for nonsense policy in his Auror Department.
"I nearly forgot about that," Ron said, flinching as Harry pulled out another piece of window from his back.
Halfway through his story, Harry must have noticed Ron's discomfort and moved onto Healing his back without mentioning it.
"Only you could forget nearly getting mugged and/or stabbed by an old classmate," Harry replied offhandedly.
"Still," Ron continued through clenched teeth when Harry went to work on a new piece, "I think that's the time you decided I should be an Auror, not me."
Harry snorted, but since he was at Ron's back, Ron was not immediately able to distinguish if it was sarcastic or if he actually found humor in the remark.
"The first time I decided you should be an Auror was my first day on the job. That department was so corrupted I wasn't even sure I'd live through the first hour."
"Oh come off it…"
"You come off it!" Harry timed the exclamation with another glass piece removal perfectly, and Ron cringed, not having expected it. "It's easy to hide from the Minister of Magic and the Chosen One; it's damn near impossible to hide intentions, pleasant or otherwise, from you. You…bring out the best and worst in people. Your family—"
"Our family," Ron interrupted in a soft voice.
"Our family," Harry corrected humbly, "brings out the best and worst in me."
Ron still couldn't see Harry, but the sharp edge at the end of his words had finally dulled. There was a calm pause in their conversation, a hesitance from Harry that spoke of things he wanted to get off his chest but didn't know how to actually say.
When Harry stopped in his ministrations was when Ron knew he had come to a decision on how to start conversing with him again.
Before he could though, Ron spoke up, knowing quite suddenly he didn't need to hear anything.
"It's okay."
Ron couldn't see the reaction but knew it must've been good when he heard a wand clatter to the floor.
"It's not—"
"Yes it is. Forget it."
Ron could hear Harry retrieve his wand and didn't have to imagine anymore what his face looked like when he rapidly appeared before him.
Ron hid a smile when the non-swollen side of Harry's face looked so contrite it was nigh pathetic.
"Ron, I know I don't have to—"
"That's exactly right. You don't have to."
But Harry wasn't satisfied with the forgiving nature of his brother-in-law without an apology and went in for a hug. Ron reciprocated the gesture after the shock of it wore off.
"Where's Hermione to cry about this when we need her?" Ron joked, but sprang apart from Harry when the room was quite suddenly stormed by a fleet of Aurors in the same moment.
"About damn time," Ron could barely discern Charlie's grouching from the hubbub that had suddenly overtaken his house.
"Potter, Weasley."
Despite the respect they commanded as Aurors in the department, Harry and Ron had a knack for trouble and in those rare cases where they were caught it felt like they were right back at Hogwarts. Kingsley Shacklebolt was no Severus Snape, but he still cast a pretty impressive shadow as he approached the pair. The Minister was easily the most composed person in the room, granted that a majority of the Aurors looked as though they had been roused from their beds when called to duty (indeed, one gentleman was sporting a plush red robe rather than a cloak).
"I'm pleased to see the both of you mostly intact, but I'd prefer if we didn't have to have these sorts of meetings in the middle of the night."
"Like you ever sleep," Harry quipped.
Kingsley looked impressed by the remark rather than offended.
"You two finally make up?"
That wiped the smirk clean off Harry's face. Ron was inwardly pleased but his embarrassed blush at having the Minister of Magic know of their personal tiff hid it well.
"It's good to see. What's not so good to see is the aftermath."
Kingsley gestured unnecessarily to the debris that, aside from the injuries they sustained, was the only evidence of Travis Scabior's exploits.
"Now who would like to start?"
The sun had just peaked its way over Ottery St. Catchpole's horizon, and soft golden rays filtered through the windows of the Burrow as if promising the day to be nothing short of brilliant.
Rose blinked her eyes open blearily, registering Hugo's presence at the end of the bed, curled up in the likeness of a cat. Even after her father and uncle had left them to sleep, she and her brother had spent another hour making plans to visit the stream in her dad's story in order to fish for the Loch Ness Monster. She certainly didn't believe in such things, but Hugo had been so excited by the prospect that she put as much effort into the scheming as she would put into her homework.
She had been so swept up by his exuberance that she hadn't even kicked him out of her bed when their conversation had more or less turned into a yawning competition.
Despite the late hour at which she and Hugo had fallen asleep, Rosie felt wide awake at the dawn hour when she heard several stern voices coming from somewhere beyond her bedroom door.
Putting on a pair of socks to stave off the cold of the floorboards and wrapping a spare blanket around her shoulders, she cautiously made her way towards the door, taking care to make as little noise as possible so as to not wake her sleeping brother.
"I don't know what you expected, coming home looking like that—"
Rosie cringed at the hostile tone Grandmum used towards someone who had yet to defend themself.
"Molly," Granddad interrupted softly.
"Molly nothing," was her short response. "We get woken up at the crack of dawn to find out the pair of you were attacked last night and you intend to leave tomorrow on a mission to go after the lunatic? How am I supposed to react to this?"
"It was Kingsley's idea," her Uncle Harry was quick to say, and her heart immediately felt lighter at hearing his voice, something that had been missing from her life for far too long.
"And a brilliant one, too, considering it pulls two of my boys away from their families and right into danger."
"Danger? When have the pair of us gotten into any danger?"
The following silence led Rosie to believe that even though her uncle was allowed to crack jokes in the kitchen he was perhaps not yet forgiven for whatever indiscretion he had committed when arguing with her dad.
"I mean recently?" Harry tried again, but the joke was delivered so meekly that it only proved a precursor for more silence.
Despite the quiet awkwardness Rosie was able to determine the group to be clustered in the kitchen. She hid away in the shadow of the doorway right outside the room and continued to listen in.
"Look," her Uncle Charlie said, thankfully coming to Harry's aid, "it was Kingsley's idea to make a task force to hunt down the scumbag, he offered it to Ron and Harry, and they accepted. They're grown men and can make their own damn decisions; I don't know why we're even arguing about it when it's already happened. Let's just make breakfast and go to bed, because I'm starving and exhausted."
"We're discussing, not arguing," Grandmum stated, but her heated voice made her out as a liar. "And when grown men make decisions without consulting with their families—"
"We did consult with them," Harry interrupted. "Ginny and Hermione were both there and we all agreed this was for the best."
"Molly," her mother spoke next, surprising Rose. She hadn't expected her mum home from her conference for a few more days. "This is what they signed up for."
"I don't recall signing anything," Grandmum sniffed, and Rosie felt sad, suddenly, hearing how broken up she seemed over the decision that had been made without her.
"You weren't there, Mum," Charlie said next. "At Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and then tonight…it's always been Ron stopping Scabior."
Rosie immediately stiffened at hearing the name of the bad man who had burned her father's hands, attempted to blow up the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts, and was the reason behind her family's eviction from their own home.
"Scabior knows it, and now he's made it personal."
"Charlie," Granddad started to interrupt, but a loud slam made him stop and Rosie jump.
"He kidnapped Harry, Dad!"
His commanding voice was so clear and vehement that it reverberated off every wall of the Burrow. Rosie wrapped her blanket tighter around her shoulders, suddenly feeling icy cold. Having heard her Uncle Harry mere minutes ago was the only thing that kept her in her prime eavesdropping position.
"He stalked Harry while he was on his mission and then he kidnapped him, because he thought that was the only way to talk to Ron. This guy is a maniac and he's after Ron; don't you see that?"
Rosie felt rooted to the spot; it almost felt as though she could feel Scabior's presence right behind her, a dark and ominous shadow overtaking her and chilling her to the bone. The lump forming in her throat was as slowly suffocating as a hand wrapped around it.
"Stop it," her father finally spoke up, hoarse but assertive. Hearing his voice was like a balm, allowing her to breathe easier. "You don't need to scare them to defend my decisions."
"No one knows him better than you, Ron, and you're the only chance the Ministry has at catching the son of a bitch, and Mum and Dad ought to know that!"
"Then tell them that instead of saying he'll come after me and my family in the night like some kind of axe murderer!"
Harry snorted in laughter and Charlie gave a pity chuckle but her grandparents seemed less than amused, judging by the shuddering gasp of her grandmother and the sharp inhale from her grandfather.
"I appreciate all the family love right now," Dad continued, "but this is our best option and Scabior needs to be stopped as soon as possible. Why don't we just enjoy today and then tomorrow Harry and I will go on a mission of an undetermined length of time."
"Work as usual," Harry said offhandedly.
"Then I'd like to re-request breakfast," Charlie piped up. "Are waffles out of the question?"
Chairs were pushed around and footsteps made the floorboards creak. Rosie could hear her father speaking quietly yet comfortingly to someone—most likely Grandmum, whose sniffles made it sound as though waffles were in fact out of the question—but Rosie didn't want to be caught should anyone decide to leave the room. Instead, she headed back up the stairs to wake her brother up for breakfast.
The rest of the day was spent as described: after a waffle breakfast (her grandmother must have come around to the idea), Harry went home and her parents and Charlie went to take a nap while she and Hugo spent a few hours putting their Loch Ness Monster plans into action. Lunch followed after that miserable failure, and the afternoon was filled with Quidditch games and Gobstones and stories, but what Rosie remembered was the paling of her father's face throughout the day, the number of kisses he placed on the crown of her head, the feel of his fingers ruffling through her hair affectionately.
Hugo slept well that night, knowing that he had had a grand day with his parents, grandparents, sister, and Uncle Charlie; knowing that their father would be going on a mission the next day with Uncle Harry for a while; and hoping that when they got back they'd be able to move back home.
Rosie did not sleep well that night, knowing far too well why the day was spent the way it was with her parents, grandparents, brother, and Uncle Charlie; knowing the implications of and unable to unhear the conversation that she had eavesdropped on that morning; and praying that both Dad and Harry would come back home safely.
And in the morning, her father left.
A/N: Aaaaand, I'm a monster. A monster who writes terribly depressing chapter endings for those wanting happy conflict-resoluting endings. And yet real life doesn't work quite like that, and I hope you understand and can enjoy all the different sorts of feels I'm trying to get at.
I took a few author liberties about Diagon Alley's layout. I didn't think it'd be so obviously non-cannon to have Harry able to spy Ron's workplace while eating at the ice cream parlor, but if it distracted anyone, my apologies. And direct me to a map!
Next chapter ought to be a fun layout. I have plans, such plans! Mwuahahahaha!
As always, reviews are appreciated and especially tasty after a gut-puncher ending like that. You all are truly phenomenal readers to keep on reading, keep on reviewing, and keep on hoping. I will do my best to reward your efforts.
~dieselwriter
P.S. I hope the whole Harry/Ron resolution didn't come across as anticlimactic, because that's the opposite of what I wanted. Rather, I was hoping for some fourth year feels mixed with the whole concept of being such good friends that apologies just aren't necessary sometimes, no matter the indiscretion. If you feel cheated in some way, though, I hope you can take some comfort in the knowledge that the whole reconciliation scene got approximately 900 re-imaginings, 7 re-writes, and had at least one alternate outcome.
P.S.S. Waffles...because I'd love to leave you all on a good and delicious note. ;)