A Future Uncertain

Chapter 18: The Villa

The ministry seemed darker lately, Ron noticed. Nearly as dreary as it had when Voldemort had been controlling it. Everyone was moving fast through the grand hallway. The ceilings felt like they could nearly touch the sky, but even if they did touch the sky, none of that sunshine could break through the stone walls. Taking in a deep breath he sat on a nearby bench. People watching was the second worst part of the job, the first being paperwork.

He signed up to be an Auror to take out the bad guys... to duel them... to be where the action is- not to take Polyjuice and watch hundreds of wizards and witches pass him on their way to work. The only parts that made this more enjoyable than paperwork were the moments he'd lose himself in his own thoughts.

There was a raid today, but after fainting at Malfoy Manor he'd been feeling out of sorts. His supervisor took notice and deemed him unable to work on major projects for the next few weeks, which kept him away from anything interesting.

The grotesque "Magic is Might" statue of the pure-bloods crushing the Muggles had been torn down immediately after the war. But things were slow to get done around the ministry, and there had yet to be a replacement. All that remained was a large, ugly concrete opening in the middle of the hall. It may not be evil like the last piece, but not having a replacement made everything look dreary. Ron was in no way a patron of the arts, but he hoped a fountain or statue would return the place to how he remembered it as a child- or at least keep him from thinking about the concrete hole that separated the tiles from connecting.

Ron decided he needed to stop thinking about the decor before he started designing a replacement himself. Instead, he pulled out a newspaper and pretended to read. His hands were uncomfortable to look at. Where the robes weren't concealing him, age spots were covering his pasty-white skin.

He knew who he was supposed to be- a well respected pure-blood who hadn't taken part in either war, but was also well known to be anti-Muggle and anti-Muggle-born. He was at least a hundred and something, and spent little time outside of his house. That meant if he were going to pretend to be this man, the Aurors knew they would need to have a good cover for being in a public place. For today, the excuse was his granddaughter needed to file a claim, and he got winded after walking this far, so he sat down.

It wasn't too far of a stretch, he supposed; The man's granddaughter would need to file a claim. She just wasn't here today. She was in Hogsmeade, assisting some of the other shopkeepers whose stores were destroyed. If the man's granddaughter hadn't been endangered by the attack on Hogsmeade, there wasn't a chance in hell he would have allowed the Aurors to use his body to take down the attackers.

But it had happened, and Ron was stuck with this body for now.

"That's strange... I received my invitation last week," said an annoyingly familiar voice rung out over the crowd.

"They must have forgotten mine," a groggy, deep voice replied. Ron scanned the crowd. He'd remember those voices anywhere.

He set the newspaper on the spot next to him, and pretended to struggle getting up from his bench. Ron wasn't used to being this short, and even after he stood, there were too many people in his way to see past them. Ron pushed through the crowd, earning dirty looks, and returning them with equal vigor. He was an old man at the moment, and no one was moving out of his way. What happened to respecting your elders? Ron thought. He listened harder, attempting to locate them by sound, and quickly spotted them through the ugly clearing at the center of the room.

"What a jerk. It's not fair to exclude some people and invite others," Goyle complained while taking a bite out of a sweet.

Ron had to break character for a few moments if he was going to reach them by the time they got to the elevator. Using his discretion, he jogged for a few steps, earning surprised looks he brushed off.