"Weasley!"

Ron looked up from his desk—which, incidentally, he could not see anyway, due to the mess of papers covering its surface—to see Kingsley Shacklebolt towering over him, looking aggravated. "Yes, sir?"

"How many times do I have to tell you, Weasley? It's Kingsley. Mr. Shacklebolt if you're dead set on being proper, but I'd rather you weren't. I've had enough propriety to last me a while."

"Kingsley, then. You need something?"

When Ron had entered Auror training, he'd expected to be practicing spells and countercurses all day, not sitting in an office shuffling papers. He'd also expected to skip right over this "apprentice" part and go straight to the good stuff based on past experience, but his mum and Hermione had insisted that he not do just that, and when those two joined forces, well, the only thing there was to do was go along. Harry had apparently gotten to skip the paperwork part of Auror training; his apprenticeship had him out rounding up the last of the Death Eaters with Moody, Tonks, and Lupin. Then again, with Ginny still in her last year at Hogwarts, Harry didn't have women around to bully him into "safer," "more respectable" assignments.

But as far as apprenticeships went, this one wasn't so bad, and Shacklebolt had proven to be not only an intelligent and capable Auror, but also very personable and patient, and Ron really was learning a lot from him. Even though he hadn't completed the necessary NEWTs, no one would be able to accuse him of not earning his position as an Auror after going through the extent of training Shacklebolt insisted on. Most of the time he was actually glad they had forced him into this position just because of that, even if it did mean he had to run Shacklebolt's errands and do his paperwork. But of course, he'd never let his mother and Hermione know that.

"I need you to go down to the Department of Mysteries for me. Croaker's got something for me that he says needs to be hand-delivered, but he's too busy to come up and I've got a meeting with the Minister. The wanker won't even tell me what it is!"

"No problem, sir. I'll get it for you." Ron pushed his chair back and stood, eager to be away from his desk for even a few minutes.

"Great! I should be back in about an hour. Have whatever it is up here for me by then, ok?"

"Sure."

"Thanks, Weasley. And it's Kingsley!" he added over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

As soon as Shacklebolt had gone, Ron sighed and slouched his shoulders. As eager as he was to get out of his office, he hated going to the Department of Mysteries, and he hated trying to find Croaker. The Unspeakable never told anyone where he could be found, so Ron always ended up opening door after door looking for him. He did his best not to enter any of the rooms there if he could help it—his experience during his fifth year at Hogwarts had taught him that the Department of Mysteries wasn't an entirely safe place to go poking around—but no matter what he tried, finding Croaker always took longer than he wanted it to.

Ron sighed again. If I've only got an hour, I'd best get started, he thought, and headed out the door.

A few minutes later Ron opened the door to the now-familiar circular room lined with black doors and eerie blue lights. He shut the door behind him and closed his eyes, waiting for the spinning to start. "Where's Croaker hiding today?" he asked, and the room stopped spinning. When he opened his eyes, the door in front of him was standing open.

Unfortunately, it was never that easy. The spinning room would show him which door Croaker had gone through, but that didn't guarantee Croaker was still there. He had a habit of going through multiple rooms to get to wherever he was going. Ron supposed Croaker thought he was being mysterious or something, but Ron just found it annoying.

But there was no other way about it, so Ron trudged through the open door. The only light in the room was the faint blue gleam coming from the room now behind him, and as the door swung shut, Ron muttered the spell to light the tip of his wand. A small beam of light shone directly ahead of him, and he made out a door on the other side of the room.

Keeping the light on the door, he actually made it a few steps before bumping into something. His toes collided forcefully mid-stride with the corner of something hard and heavy. "Ow!" He held his foot up and began to hop around, but as soon as he did he ran into something behind him, knocking it over and causing a loud, metallic clang. "Bloody hell!"

The door he was headed towards suddenly opened, spilling light into the room, and Ron could see Croaker's outline. "What's going on in here?!" he shouted, holding his wand out in front of him. "Who's there?"

Oh, that was way too easy, Ron thought. "Croaker, it's me, Ron Weasley. Kingsley Shacklebolt sent me down to get a package from you."

"Well there's no need to make such a racket!"

"It's bloody dark in here, I can't see!" Ron retorted.

Croaker flicked his wand and suddenly the whole room was illuminated. "Better?" Looking around, Ron thought himself lucky not to have run into something sooner. A quick glance showed him that the room was packed full of random odds and ends, everything from large chests of drawers (like the one he had just kicked) to small crystal figurines to stacks and stacks of books.

"There are things in here more valuable than your toes, Weasley, so watch where you're going!" And with that, Croaker turned and walked away from the door.

Not wanting to lose track of the man again, Ron picked his way through the clutter and into the next room, which looked just as full and untidy. Croaker was already half way across the room, sitting himself down in a cushy-looking blue chair and rifling around on a large desk that looked even messier than Ron's. Ron crossed the room and stood a few feet behind the chair, waiting for some further direction. A few moments passed with no response from Croaker. Ron spoke up cautiously, "Sir?"

Croaker flinched a bit, seeming to have forgotten Ron was even there. "What do you want?"

"The package for Mr. Shacklebolt, sir."

"Ah, yes." Croaker nodded his head toward a small brown package sitting on the corner of his desk. "That one. Careful with it, and don't open it. Bloody thing's been tampered with. No telling what might happen."

Ron stepped over a small pile of books and gingerly picked up the package. "I'll be careful, sir." But he doubted Croaker even heard him, as the man had already turned his attention back to his scattered papers.

Ron turned and waded back the way he had come, hoping Croaker had forgotten to put out the light in the other cluttered room.

He had. Ron closed the door to Croaker's office behind him and took another look around. Seeing only the two doors in this room, he breathed a sigh of relief. That wasn't too bad at all, he thought, a grin rising on his face. I'll actually have a minute to relax before Shacklebolt gets back.

The grin slipped off his face as another thought occurred to him: What if he comes back early? He'll probably just find more work for me to do. Glancing behind him first to make sure Croaker's door was still shut, Ron looked around the room again. There's got to be something in here to distract me. Just for a few minutes, then I'll get back.

And indeed there was. He saw the crystal figurines he had spotted earlier and bent to take a closer look. They turned out to be pieces of a very ornate wizard chess set. As he pressed his face closer to them, he heard a miniature voice shout at him, "What do you think you're doing, big nose?"

"My nose isn't big!" Ron argued. "And I was just looking!"

"Not big, ha! Your nose is bigger than my entire body, so watch where you're shoving it, would you?"

Ron snorted at the chess pieces and straightened himself up to look around again.

And then he saw it, leaning against the wall in the far corner: the Mirror of Erised.

He'd seen it once before, on Christmas night back in his first year. He had looked into it then and had seen himself as Head Boy and Quidditch Captain. For a moment he had thought the mirror showed the future, but Harry proved that theory wrong by revealing his own vision of his family. But Ron's vision had proven to be a glimpse of the future anyway: he hadn't been Captain, but he had played a major part in winning the Quidditch Cup in his fifth year; and the Head Boy badge had arrived for him in the mail, even if he never actually got to wear it at Hogwarts.

Harry had told him sometime later that Dumbledore explained the Mirror as showing the deepest and most desperate desires of our hearts. First year all he had ever wanted was to stand out, to be special in some way. Ron supposed he'd already accomplished that, and more so than he'd originally wanted. So the question was, what did his heart desire now?

Ron debated with himself for a minute. Shacklebolt will be back soon (you've got plenty of time), I really do need to get to my desk (the work will be there when you get there). I don't need to know (but aren't you curious?). Really. But inner debate or no, his feet carried him ever closer to the Mirror, and before he knew what he was doing he found himself standing square in front of it. One more step and he could see exactly what his heart desired. All he had to do was take one more little step.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Ron took another step forward. He opened his eyes and stared into the mirror. After a moment, his jaw dropped open. After another moment, he snapped it shut. Yet another, and he gulped.

The next moment he was leaving the Department of Mysteries, running back to his own office.