Fulcrum: the support or point of rest, on which a lever turns.

May 4, 2000

Two foaming mugs of butterbeer thudded against the table, sloshing amber waves onto the sticky wood.

"So what are we drinking to, tonight?" Ron asked, taking a hearty gulp.

Harry mimicked him. He wiped the foam from his lip with a knuckle and stared broodily down into the swirling depths of his drink. "Shepherd suspended me," he muttered at last.

Ron choked on his second swig, spraying butterbeer all over the floor. Gasping, he stared at Harry in horror and incredulity. "She does know your name doesn't she?"

Harry's lips twitched in a grim half-smile. "Yeah, and she's never given a damn. She goes by what people do, you've got to give her that."

"So having 'defeater of the most powerful dark wizard in a century' on your resume doesn't impress her?" Ron demanded. "What the hell is she suspending you for, anyway? That thing in Cornwall? That's hippogriff shit, that is."

He rose half-rose out of his seat as if he intended to march back into the Auror office and confront Eleanor Shepherd right then, but Harry shook his head. "No. I mean, I broke protocol for the second time. For anybody else it'd be a strike."

"Yeah, well, their protocol's –"

Harry smirked into his mug in spite of himself as Ron went on and a couple of women at the next table gave them scandalized looks. "It's just the worst timing," he interrupted eventually. He would have liked to hear what Ron thought Eleanor Shepherd could do with her rule book, but the women were looking around for the owner of the pub, now. "You know, with the wedding and everything."

"Well, those arseholes in MLE called us into an emergency situation on May the bloody second. What sort of state did they think they were going to get us in?" Ron grumbled. "Look, mate, this is total shit. I was there. I'll give testimony in court room ten if I have to. Merlin's saggy –"

"It's fine, Ron," Harry sighed, setting down his empty tankard and signaling for another.

"It's bloody well not fine."

"Shepherd doesn't need any more bad press for not booking me when she ought to."

Ron muttered darkly under his breath, and Harry found himself grinning again.

"Blimey, I haven't seen you this outraged on my behalf since the Minister burnt a hole through my shirt."

Ron rolled his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and drained the last mouthful of his drink. "Yeah, yeah, clearly I'm blinded by affection." He kicked Harry's shin under the table. "But seriously, are you really just gonna sit back and take it?"

Harry shrugged. "S'pose I can bite the bullet this time and let Shepherd get her show in. She'll have it out of her system, then. But, uh, thanks. I appreciate the support."

Ron punched him consolingly on the shoulder. "One day we'll be running the place and then we can tell those codgey, old bureaucrats they can –"

Harry shook his head as Ron steam-rollered on, driving away the sick feeling from his disciplinary meeting just an hour before. Five minutes later, the women beside them had gotten a hold of the manager and they'd been asked to leave. As they pushed their way out of the crowded pub, Harry flung an arm over Ron's shoulder.

"You're good to keep around, mate."

"Aw, shove off."

"Yeah, you too."

A/N: So… it's technically past midnight, but I'm counting it as the 16th. I'm very tired. I apologize if the ending deteriorated. I feel like Ron functions as Harry's fulcrum in a lot of ways, the steady support behind his force. I have a hard time capturing their friendship although it is one of my favorites ever. Well, drop me a line or something if you feel like it. Love you all!