The first thing Ron registered was his cheek pressing on a cool surface, his eyes glued shut with a whitish substance and after rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, he blinked hard in the semi darkness, his eyes following a ray of light flooding through a small crack in the window of his office.

Detaching his cheek from the table, Ron leaned back his rotating chair, stretching his arms, hearing few cracks near his elbow. Sighing quietly, he stared at the mahogany door in front of him, not really looking at it. He felt his eyes sore from the late night work, and he rubbed them again vigorously, trying to get rid of the remaining sleep. He was sure to have bags under his eyes now.

A dull pain began throbbing behind his skull, and Ron groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands. There has been too much stress lately, he felt so moody, irritated nowadays, snapping at Hermione at random intervals of time. He knew it was pointless sacrificing his sleep on this, there is no way Ron is going to find out about this case.

Lifting his head from his hands and getting up from his seat, Ron stared at the papers in front of him while rubbing his temple, littered all over his huge desk. Ink pots lay open, quills scattered over long till of parchment, but one paper on his desk caught his eye. With the heading written in bold, The Daily Prophet.

Ron gritted his teeth. Those reporters got on his nerves, and his hand always itched to blast them apart when they asked those ridiculous questions. Sweeping away the broken quills blocking his view, he stared at the large black and white picture decorating the front page.

The same. His sign. Two circles carved from silver metal with a line joining in the middle. That lightning shape piece attached to the left circle. How could Ron not recognize that? He still had it; the first ever piece left by him that night. Ron always studied it every night, pressing his fingers to the tip of the lightning shape, until it drew blood.

It relieved his pain. That was the only reason Ron stared at it every night, school memories of him, Hermione and.....he, embracing the pain, anger anf loss bubbling at the pit of his stomach and puncturing his skin with it once he made sure Hermione was asleep. She would definitely slay him alive if she knew about it.

The ministry of magic has never been this useless in history. People don't know what they are doing. They do not know what can be His next move. More deaths recorded in less than a month.

Ron seethed with anger when he read the paragraph next to the picture. He grabbed the paper from the table, crumbled it into a ball and threw it on the floor. Whipping his head back, he saw another copy of the daily Prophet.

Ronald Weasely of the Auror department with his team, has failed again to track down the mystery of Leah Smith's murder case yet again, even thought we all know who is behind it.

Is Weasely just backing up Him? Known to be best friends at school with Him along with his wife, Hermione Granger, is Weasely just covering up?

Ron felt anger bubble up to his peak point, and it forced a roar of frustration from his throat as he reached out and threw the contents of the table of the floor, papers flying in the air, ink bottles smashing to leak blue liquid and glass pieces falling everywhere.

He stamped on the papers, tearing few of them into half. He kicked the broken glass, picked a quill holder frim his desk and threw that on the floor as well, anger coursing through his veins.

Ron felt blood pounding in his ears, heart beating in his throat and hands shaking with fury as his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. The office door opened, and a tall, dark woman stood near the entrance, a confusion etched across her face.

Her long, black hair was braided down her back, leaving her side bangs free over her olive skin tone. She had a perfect, Greek nose, thin eyebrows and Asian eyes that surveyed Ron warily. "What's wrong?"

Ron made another irritated noise and turned away from the lady, running his hand through his longish red hair frustrated. "Leave me alone Shreya." He snapped.

Shreya narrowed her eyes as she simply looked at Ron. She entered the office, stepping over the broken ink bottles carefully with a slightly raised eyebrow. Her dark eyes landed on the crumpled and half torn newspapers strewn on the floor and she understood everything. She furrowed her eyebrows in annoyance.

"Why the hell are you looking at that shit again, Ron?"

Ron turned and looked at Shreya, who had Crosse her arms across her chest and was giving Ron a frown. "Maybe to remind myself that I am just a burden on the department."

Shreya sighed, and scratched her nose. "I don't know why are you stressing yourself on this. This was long back Ron, months back. I know they are just insulting you because of that rascal. Everyone is scared Ron. They just need a target to vent it out."

"And they chose me?" Ron yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. "Why, just because he was my best friend so I am supposed to be a traitor?"

"That's not what I meant,"

"Well apparently you agree with them," Ron retorted, glaring at Shreya, balling his fists. He had no idea why was he getting all worked up on her, a tiny part of his mind knew she was just trying to make him see reason but right now, his anger was controlling him.

"I'm not here to pick a fight with you!" Shreya said, her voice raised as well. "Since you are so immersed in self pity and guilt you don't even try to see the real thing. Wake up Ron! You know you still consider him as your best friend. You know you feel he is just led astray," Shreya was shouting now, her olive skin slightly flushed.

Ron was gritting his teeth again, because he would hate to admit it, but he knew she was speaking his fears.

"The reason why you failed in all our missions?" Shreya continued, each word slapping Ron on his face. "This is it. You still feel he has some goodness in him. Don't kid yourself Ron. Harry Potter is a sick, insane and twisted animal. He just proved that will those innocent people he has killed."

Shreya took a step closer, so that they were just a foot apart. Her eyes were cold as she stared into Ron's blue eyes. "He injured and scarred your sister forever Ron. I hope you haven't forgotten that,"

Ron inhaled a sharp breath. What the actual hell. Of course he hasn't forgotten that. Shreya turned on her heel and stormed out of his office, her robes whipping behind her. She stopped near the door, her hand resting on the frame and she turned her head forty five degrees, looking at Ron out of the corner of her eye.

"I had come to inform you that Fernandez has called us. Another mission," she said, and stood there for several beats, drumming her fingers on the wood before adding softly, "I know you won't fail this time Ron.

                                  *

What do you think about what Ron is feeling? Should he just push aside the feeling and embrace the bitter truth, or just give Harry another chance?