Ron had left the lamp on at his desk and a trick quill scratching out nonsense on a bit of parchment, trusting that the light and sound would fool anyone who didn't bother to look behind the wall of files surrounding his desk. A few hours of backlog wouldn't kill anyone (... or a few hours more, for recovery). He couldn't pass up the perfect excuse for a drink and skiving off.
He went up to the bar beside the two of them, fighting a weird sense of nostalgia. "Welcome back, stranger," he said to Dean, leaning over the bar to put in his own order, and then stretching over to give Neville a dry, incredulous look. "And you - I don't know if you're really brave or really stupid, but congratulations - I can't believe it." It made sense, in a way. He had sort of been the good one.