We Were Gold

Malfoy left her office ten minutes later, with a smarmy little grin on his face. I sneered at him as made his way back to his cubicle. There was no reason for him to have needed to talk to Hermione first thing in the morning, and about a bloody cat of all things. I had been intending to continue the mood from the night before, see if I couldn’t manage to talk her into taking an early mark and apparating straight back to our bedroom, Crookshanks be damned. Of course, the git had to come in with coffee and pastry and completely steal her attention before I’d even laid the foundation to my seduction.

Harry stuck his head out of his office and waved me in. “I thought you said you had cleared the Hogwarts case,” he jumped without preamble. At my nod, he continued. “Where’s the paperwork, then? And why is the Headmistress personally owling me asking that someone else take over?”

I crossed my arms. “I haven’t had a chance to do the paperwork yet. I had to rush back here yesterday to make up with Hermione, as you requested!” I shot back angrily. “And it was sorted. There was a grindylow in a pond, tried to take him under. I assume one of his friends dared him to swim in it and when they realised how close they were to serious trouble, they Confunded him and let him wander back to High Street!”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He looked like he wanted to throttle me, but instead gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Take a seat, Ron.” I dropped into the seat petulantly; having just gotten back in Hermione’s good books, I was not looking forward to what promised to be a dressing-down. He sank into his desk chair, resting his head in hands before proceeding to wipe his glasses with his shirt tail.

“You’re my best mate. Probably my first one ever too, if I’m honest. But I’m not your friend at the moment, Ron, I’m your boss. We are aurors, our job is dangerous. People’s lives are at risk if we do it poorly. I know a Hogwarts assignment isn’t the most exciting. The board is antsy, and they call us in for nothing, knowing that we’ll drop what we’re doing and come. But a kid, a fourteen-year-old, shows up on High Street with no memory of how he got there. He barely knew who he was. That’s not nothing, Ron.”

I sighed. “There was no sign of any foul play. No sign of anyone, to be honest. You-Know-Who is gone, Harry. We don’t need to go looking for trouble when there isn’t any.”

“I was fucking there when Voldemort died, believe or not, Ron,” he spat. It had been nearly a decade since Harry had been this angry with me, and the last time he’d only been a child. The sight of him now, face red and hands clenched into fists, reminded me that he was an incredibly powerful wizard. “And believe me, I don’t have the resources to go looking for trouble right now; we’re stretched so thin that I still can’t assign Malfoy a partner. But when trouble shows up in fucking Hogsmeade, with a Hogwarts student no less, we investigate it thoroughly.”

“Okay, so what do you want me to do? Interview the shopkeepers for the umpteenth time? Give Veritaserum to everyone over the age of thirteen on school grounds?”

“No, Ron, I’d like you to do your fucking job. Properly. McGonagall doesn’t want you anywhere near this anymore; she thinks you did a half-arsed job, and I agree. Lucky me, I get to take Malfoy out into the field for the first time with the board of governors breathing down my neck. You can submit the report for this case, as well as all the rest of your overdue paperwork, by the end of the day, or you will face disciplinary action. You’re dismissed.”

I sat for a moment longer, too stunned to move. I knew Harry had been struggling with the promotion, but this was an extreme that I hadn’t been expecting. I stood, waiting for any acknowledgment from him, but he was engrossed in a file on his desk. I walked back to my desk in daze, glancing back at Harry’s office; he’d left the door open (presumably to allow memos to enter undamaged) but hadn’t looked back up at me once.

He hadn’t been joking about overdue paperwork, either. On my desk was a stack of parchment nearly six inches high, all requiring my detailed notes, official statement, or signature. I would be here for hours; some of these cases were from so long ago that I no longer remembered the details without having to retrieve the files from storage. Absolutely dreading the day ahead, I pulled a piece of parchment off the top of the pile, and, grabbing my quill, began to work.

At half past twelve, and nearly a quarter of the way through my pile, I stopped for lunch. My hand was aching, and my eyes had gone blurry about ten pages earlier. I stretched, moving from my hunched position for the first time in nearly three hours, almost knocking the picture of Hermione and me from last Christmas off my cubicle wall. The photograph was one of my favourites: we’re sitting in our matching sweaters on a sofa at The Burrow, arms around each other, with enormous matching grins. Just before the loop would end, picture-Hermione would lean up and kiss picture-Ron on the chin. I was reminded of Harry’s comments the day before and my temper flared. Who was he to pass judgements on the state of mine and Hermione’s relationship? How dare he question our happiness, just because it didn’t look like his and Ginny’s.

I grabbed my wand and badge and took the lift to the cafeteria. Hermione would inevitably end up working later than she intended to, even though we always met at 12:45, and I was already starving. She wouldn’t mind if I had finished my lunch by the time she arrived, she would just be happy that we were getting to spend some time together during the day. Plus, if I was already done and my tray was cleared, she would likely offer me her dessert because she hates eating alone.

As I finished my chicken tikka masala, I glanced at my watch. It was ten after one and I was still sitting alone. Hermione had worked through a lunch she had suggested, which she had only done after Malfoy had come to stick his pointy nose in our business this morning. This, on top of Harry reprimanding me, was what set my temper off, after bubbling under the surface since Monday when Malfoy was introduced. I cleared my tray, finishing the muffin provided in two bites, before stalking off to the lift.

The second the doors opened, I swept through the bullpen and to her office. The door was ajar, and I didn’t bother knocking before barging in. She was behind her desk, feet tucked underneath her, biting her lip in concentration while she made notes about the file she was reading. I cleared my throat, and she squeaked, looking up at the noise.

“Oh, Ron, hi. What time is it?” she asked bewilderedly, trying to smooth down her hair which was on its way to becoming sentient.

“It’s a quarter past one. Forget about me, did you?” I snarled.

She paled. “Ron, I am so, so sorry, I completely lost track of time. Did you want to go now?”

“I’ve already eaten, Hermione, as I sat there for nearly half an hour by myself, looking for all the world like I’d been stood up by the Golden Girl,” I hissed, giving in to the fury I’d felt since this morning. “Why suggest lunch if you were just going to blow me off, hm? Or did Malfoy come in here with a four-course meal and make you forget about me?”

She recoiled like I’d slapped her. “Ron, I would never, ever-not with Draco, not with anyone. How could you even accuse-you know me-I would never.” She had started crying, all her excuses starting to run together. “I got distracted with the case, and just completely lost track of the time. I’m so sorry, Ron.”

“After the bollocking you gave me last night over bloody cottage pie you let me sit alone in the cafeteria like an idiot, in front of the entire Ministry of Magic. Was my apology not enough for you?” Tears were streaming down her face as she tried to apologise once again. I raised my hand dismissively. “Save it. I’ll see you at home, if you remember where we live.”

I wrenched open her office door and slammed it behind me. I watched Malfoy jump at the noise looking around wildly. I stormed through the bullpen and threw myself into my desk chair. I yanked at my hair, using the sting to try to ground myself. I knew Hermione hadn’t meant to work through our lunch plans. She would never intentionally leave me alone when she had agreed to meet, the small, rational part of my brain reminded me. The larger, angrier part was questioning whether she would have dared to leave darling Draco sitting there alone, left to the wolves. She would have taken on the mantle of his protector, not allowing anyone to scorn the former Death Eater.

I tried to focus my breathing, the way Hermione had taught me after the war, in through my nose and out through my mouth. Eventually, I could feel my heartrate begin to slow, and the blood rushing through my ears fell silent. I reached for yet another parchment on top of my pile and pulled it towards me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall, blonde auror quietly making his way out of the lift and towards the legal department. My eye twitched, and I instinctively reached for my wand, desperate to hex him to ask him what the hell he was doing skulking away to my witch’s office. I imagined the look of horror that would be on both Hermione and Harry’s faces and turned back to my paperwork instead.

Thirty minutes later, after reading the same sentence for the sixth time, I stood. I had blown up at Hermione extraordinarily; I was surprised Harry hadn’t come over to berate me, but then again, I didn’t think he’d left his desk once today, let alone to visit her office. Malfoy was still missing, presumably playing the role of a sympathetic friend, whispering in her ear to leave me. I strode straight to her office, refusing to let them have another moment alone behind a closed door.

The door opened as I was reaching for the handle, and I was once again face-to-face with Malfoy, the smug git looking especially pleased with himself. “I’ll see you around Granger, Weasley,” he drawled, moving past me back to his desk.

I looked back in disbelief before remembering my goal. I entered Hermione’s office, gently closing the door behind me. I raised my hands as I approached, like she was a feral animal I didn’t want to agitate.

“Look, Hermione-”

She cut me off. “No, Ron, I need to say this. I’m so sorry for missing our lunch. I would never want you to think that it was intentional, or that I was doing it to get back at you for anything. I hope you know that you are a priority for me, I just got so wrapped up in my file, and I know that’s no excuse, and I really, sincerely apologise.” She looked up me teary-eyed and earnest. “I was hoping, if you didn’t have any paperwork to catch up on, that we could leave a little early, maybe get a drink and dinner in Diagon, like a date. Just the two of us.”

My heart swelled. I couldn’t remember the last time she had voluntarily left work before 5:30. She was truly putting her all into this apology. I thought of the stack of parchment on my desk, knowing that if she was aware of it, she would insist on me buckling down and staying late to finish it.

“I’m all caught up for the most part, just a few things here and there. Should be finished by 4:00.”

Her watery grin more than made up for the guilt I felt with my little white lie. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and Harry would be more anxious for the two of us to make up than to ride me again for overdue paperwork. I could catch up tomorrow.

She leaned over her desk and gave me a sweet kiss. “Okay, go, or I won’t get anything done. I’ll meet you at your desk.”

I deepened the kiss, briefly debating clearing her desk and setting her on top of it, making space for myself between her thighs. She would kill me, for messing up her organisation system, and I knew she would continue her apology in our bed later tonight. I straightened and sent her a wink as I left, absentmindedly whistling “Weasley is our King.”

I caught Malfoy’s gaze and smirked triumphantly. Whatever he had attempted to do by bringing her lunch, whatever trap he was laying to get Hermione into his arms, was all for nought. No matter how much he tried to ingratiate himself with Harry and Hermione and Ginny, nothing was going to change the fact that I had gotten there first. He would have to compete with me, and obviously, with the way Hermione was falling all over herself to make it up to me for missing one lunch, there was no competition.

I pulled another sheet of parchment towards me, feeling lighter than I had in days. Even the mountain of paperwork in front of me no longer felt insurmountable. As I filled in the details of a case I wasn’t even certain I had ever investigated, my mind drifted to the evening ahead. Maybe I could convince Hermione to transform her buttoned-up work clothes into something sexier; a nice, tight dress and sky-high heels, maybe. Since she suggested Diagon, there was a significant chance that the Prophet’s photographer would be trailing us. Hermione hated the publicity, but Merlin I loved to see my photo in the paper, especially with her on my arm.

I banished yet another completed report to Harry’s in-tray. I could feel eyes on me and looked up, spotting Hermione crossing the bullpen, enormous smile on her face. I shrunk my remaining paperwork down to the size of a matchbox and threw it in my desk drawer hurriedly. I stood to greet her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“All set, Ron? I thought we could go to Antoine’s,” she said shyly, tucking a curl behind her ear.

Antoine’s was her favourite French bistro; tiny and private, there was no chance we would be bothered by the general public there. I wanted to be seen; I wanted to flaunt my witch.

“I’m not in the mood for stuffy food and wine, babe. I was thinking Magica Italia.” I suggested the premiere restaurant in Diagon. We wouldn’t be able to get through the front door without setting off a frenzy; we would be guaranteed a front page photo in tomorrow’s Prophet. She nodded reluctantly. It was my apology dinner after all, we should be spending it as I see fit. “Did you want to change then?”

Malfoy smothered a cough behind us. I twirled around, but Hermione grabbed my arm before I could storm over to him. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? If anything, you may want to cast as ironing charm on yourself; you look a bit wrinkled.”

She was right, of course. Slouching over my desk all day had done nothing for my clothing. I gave her a once over; her pencil skirt clung to the curve of her arse, but her heels were something my Aunt Muriel would wear, not to mention the blouse she had buttoned up to her chin.

“Fine, what you’re wearing is will be fine. Can you cast the charm, though? You’re so much better at it than I am; I always miss a few spots.”

She sighed, but waved her wand, rendering me freshly starched. I put my hand on her lower back and guided her to the lift. Just as I re-warded my desk, I heard Harry call my name. Hermione and I turned as one.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry. Just headed off to dinner with Hermione,” I said significantly, trying to communicate silently with him.

He pressed his lips into a thin line but turned on his heel without a word. The slamming of his office door echoed throughout the bullpen. Hermione looked up at me quizzically.

“He’s a bit stressed with the new job,” I explained as we stepped into the lift. “More paperwork than he expected.”

She nodded sagely. “Ginny’s been furious with how many times he’s slept at the office the last few weeks. He’ll get settled. I wish he wouldn’t take it out on you, though.”

A sliver of guilt crept down my spine. I brushed it off; I would be finishing my paperwork tomorrow. Harry would be happy, and Hermione would be none the wiser. I shrugged noncommittally, grabbing her hand, and apparating us to the front of the restaurant.

As I’d expected, photographers were lined up down the block, and our arrival had caused quite the stir. Quick Quotes Quills appeared in front of us, magical microphones were being shoved in our faces, and it was all I could do to keep my grip on Hermione. I held my arm up as a guard and led us both through the mass of bodies to the entrance.

The doorman rushed down the stairs, helping Hermione inside, as I followed closely behind, straightening my collar. Adrenaline was pumping through my blood, and I loved it. It had been quite a while since our last unexpected outing; we made reservations and restaurants simply opened their private floos for us to avoid this kind of melee.  

“What a greeting, hey?” I asked as the maître d’ led us to our table, directly next to the open kitchen, in full view of the entire restaurant.

Hermione sat down with a huff. “That was horrible, Ronald.”

I smiled at her. “Yeah, but I’ve got you babe, you know that. Always.” She reached across the table to grab my hand.

“Signore Weasley, Signora Granger, benvenuto. Tonight, we are pleased to offer you our twelve course degustation menu with matching wines. On the house, of course,” our waiter was an energetic Italian man with a thick grey moustache.

Hermione raised her hand to protest, but I spoke over her. “How generous, thank you. We’re looking forward to our evening.” He left with a nod, and I glanced back to her. “Relax. We’re out for a nice meal, we’re inside now, and we can floo home from here. You can enjoy yourself now.” I lifted my wine glass in toast.

She clinked her glass with me. “It is nice to go out like this. I need to thank Draco for the suggestion.”

I inhaled my mouthful of, spluttering it all over the white tablecloth. “Sorry?”

She glanced down at the table, running her finger along her cutlery absently. “After you left, at lunch time, he came in to talk to me. He suggested that I apologise by taking an early day and going out.”

I swallowed. “Malfoy suggested that you and I go out for dinner?” I asked incredulously. Surely, I had misheard her. Malfoy wouldn’t care if I spontaneously caught on fire, so I found it incredibly hard to believe that he would have offered any advice to repair our relationship.

She nodded. “I’ve told you; he’s changed.”       

Any response I might have had was interrupted by our waiter bringing our first course: melon, mozzarella, and Parma ham tartines. We raised our eyebrows at each other gleefully, settling into a long evening with delicious food, and no further thought of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

I woke up the next morning to Hermione’s wand alarm, practically vibrating off her nightstand. Her hair was attempting to suffocate me, but I couldn’t be bothered with an armful of warm, naked Hermione. She turned into my chest, burrowing her nose into my neck.

“Good morning,” she rasped. “Thank you for last night.”

I kissed her forehead. “Thank you for last night. And thank you for keeping Crookshanks out for the evening.”

She giggled, before wriggling free, starting her morning ritual. I laid back across our bed, arms crossed behind my head. A loud yowling from the hallway finally got me up, and I crossed the room to open the door. Crookshanks hissed at me before slinking his way onto Hermione’s pillow, where he perched like a king.

“Oh, Crooks, handsome boy. I hope you behaved last night,” Hermione crooned as she kissed his fluffy, ginger head.

We finished our ablutions and made our way to the floo. As I reached for the floo powder I leapt back with a high pitched shriek.

“Goodness, Ronald, what is the matter?” Hermione asked, pressing a hand to her heart.

“Ask your bloody cat,” I panted. There, next to the wooden box filled with emerald-green powder, lay a pile of dead spiders, neatly stacked, and clearly intentional.

“Crooksie, you clever boy! You went hunting!” She clapped her hands excitedly. Four paws padded out of our room at the sound of his name, stopping to circle Hermione’s legs. At my glare, she rolled her eyes before holding the box out to me.

“Ministry of Magic atrium!” I called, throwing my floo powder into the grate. As I spun away, I could have sworn I saw Crookshanks stick his tongue out at me.

I dusted myself off in the bustling atrium, joined shortly by Hermione. I grabbed her hand as we made our way to the lift. We got in, along with half a dozen memos and a wizard who appeared to be oozing a slime trail like a slug. I shuddered, pressing against the wall, tugging Hermione along with me. We stepped out, stepping over the slime carefully, and were met by Harry, who looked like steam was coming out of his ears.

“Hiya, Harry,” I greeted, hoping to avoid a blowup in front of Hermione.

“After you’ve stopped by your desk, see me in my office Ron. Hermione, nice to see you,” he said, clearly seething.

I tracked his path back through the bullpen with my eyes.

“What was that all about?” Hermione asked, clearly peeved at Harry’s behaviour both last night and today.

I kissed her forehead. “Better go find out. I’ll see you later, alright?”

She nodded before turning and heading to her office. I gulped and made my way to desk. Malfoy looked up as I passed. I stopped, remembering what Hermione had told me at dinner.

“Look, Malfoy, I know we don’t get along. But thank you for, you know, talking to Hermione yesterday. She really respects your judgment, so I appreciate it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If it makes you feel better Weasley, I didn’t do it for you. She was upset, and I wanted to help.”

“You know, it does make me feel better,” I threw over my shoulder as I entered Harry’s office.

He was stone-faced as he threw up privacy spells. “What the fuck is the matter with you, Ron? Was I not clear enough yesterday?”

“Look, mate-”

“Deputy Head Auror Potter.”

“Okay, Deputy Head Auror Potter, I got quite a bit done yesterday, and I intend to finish it today. Hermione and I had an argument yesterday, and for that reason, I left early. To smooth things over.”

He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t give a shit, to be honest. All you two seem to be doing lately is arguing. Keep it out of the office. If it is not all on my desk, with every fucking T crossed and I dotted, by 5:00 tonight, you will be suspended without pay. Go.”

I nodded grimly, stalking back to my desk. I pulled the shrunken stack of parchment out of my desk drawer, enlarging it back to size. I grabbed a fresh pot of ink, and my favourite quill, and got to work.