A/N: I've honestly never written anything that I can think of from Ron's perspective, so tell me how I do and if you can differentiate between it and other POVs I write.
"I'm worried about George," Hermione says to me.
"Why is that?" I ask, straightening my tie in the mirror. We were getting ready to have dinner with the family at the Three Broomsticks.
"Angelina tells me he's been very...different lately."
"Well," I say reasonably, wondering for a heartbeat if Hermione's fear was rational, "he is going to be a dad soon. Which must be a ton of pressure." I didn't even want to think about how much pressure it must be. Hermione and I have only been married for five months.
"I think it has something to do with Fred," she says quietly.
I tense and try to keep my voice sounding neutral as I button my shirt. "Hermione, it's been a year and a half."
"Just because you feel better about it," she points out, her voice slightly frosty, "doesn't mean George doesn't." With that, my wife heads out of the room.
I sigh. I know she's angry. She's probably right, too. She normally is.
Later that evening in the Three Broomsticks I kept an eye on George. He seemed normal to me-or at least, as normal as he had been for the past year and a half. I watched what he ordered. He drank a firewhiskey. Stayed relatively quiet. Hermione remained distant with me throughout the meal, and when Mum asked me how Auror training was going, Hermione answered before I could. "Oh, he loves it, don't you? I wish he could be around more and take a bit more interest in other things, but we're doing well, aren't we, Ron?" She turns to look at me, flashing an artificial smile to Mum while her eyes held a silent challenge.
I sigh. Hermione was good at this game. She'd done it before. "Being an Auror is a lot of work," I say defensively, glancing at Hermione. Her lips were a thin line and her eyes held nothing but disappointment at my answer to her earlier question.
Harry breaks in. "We've only got about a year or so left of training, so everything's good," he jokes. "Why don't we eat?"
"Sure," Angelina agrees. I look up quickly. George remains silent, his chair scooted back away from the table as he looks down at his feet. "George, can you order me a butterbeer and some Shepard pie? If you'll excuse me, I'm going to the restroom..." She stands and heads past George, Bill, Fleur, and Charlie, all of whom were sitting on that side of the table. George straightens and moves back closer to the table.
"So George," I ask, giving in to Hermione's sharp look, "when's the big day?"
"Hmm?" my brother asks, downing the rest of his drink. He seemed quite absorbed with something else.
"When's the baby due?"
"Oh! Oh! That's what you meant. I wasn't sure if you meant the wedding or the grand opening in Hogsmeade or the trial that I'm testifying in-did I mention that? I'm testifying against a few Death Eaters-anyway! The baby's due in about a month." It's the most I've heard him say in one setting since Fred had died, but it still doesn't sound like him. This seems forced. "December second, actually."
"Congratulations," I say, my voice formal.
"Yeah," he says. "I'm really excited."
Ginny clears her throat. "Speaking of the baby, have you thought of any names? Because, I mean, I'm sure that any baby would absolutely love growing up named after it's amazing aunt Ginny."
We all laugh but George, who gives a small smile. He is not who he was, Hermione is right about that. That doesn't mean it's anything to be worried about, does it?
"Ron, can I talk to you?" Hermione asks me quietly.
"We're talking right now, Hermione," I murmur back.
"That's not what I bloody meant," she says loudly. Everyone at the table turns to look at us. Dad gets a peculiar expression on his face. Mum frowns disapprovingly. Harry tries not to laugh. I feel my face grow warm.
"Well, why don't you tell me what you do mean?" I say tightly, standing up. Women. Hermione knows how to get her way.
We walk outside of the pub. Night is falling. It's chilly for November, and I pull my jacket around my shoulders. "Bloody hell, Hermione, you don't have to embarrass yourself to get my attention."
"Embarrass myself? Ron, that didn't bother me one bit, but I know it did you."
"Hermione, couldn't this have waited until we got home?"
"No Ron, I think I'd be smart enough to know to tell you when we got home then," she says pointedly. "Have you really not noticed?"
"Noticed what, Hermione? That you could've spilt bloody butterbeer all over me and I wouldn't be as embarrassed as I am now?"
"Grow up, Ron!" She's almost shouting at me now, and I flinch. "This isn't about me and it's not about you!"
"If it's about George, he's probably just worried about having a child out of wedlock. Or being a father. It's kind of a big deal, Hermione. You know?" I've been angry with her before, but she's furious now. I don't understand why.
"Did you see what he ordered?"
"Shepard pie, Hermione. How is that a big deal?"
"To drink! Did you see what he ordered to drink?" she exclaims, exasperated.
I sigh. "Firewhiskey. It's perfectly legal, Hermione, he's of age. Stop treating him like a child."
"Did you see how many drinks he's had?"
"Hermione, are you keeping a bloody tally of everything he orders?"
"He's had four whiskies, Ron, I don't think you understand."
"Hermione," I say, putting my arm around her shoulders, "I understand. I understand that you're very worried, or upset, and your hormones are out of whack today. Say, are you pregnant?"
"Stop joking," she says. "Angelina told me he drinks a lot. At home."
"So?"
"Do you really want your brother to be an alcoholic, Ron?"
"No."
"Ron, I want you to talk to George about it."
"Hermione..."
"Ron. This is serious."
"Hermione..."
"Ron. You'll talk to him about it."
"Fine," I sigh. The thought of confronting my grief-estranged brother didn't excite me in the slightest. "You owe me for this, though."
Throughout the rest of the meal I wonder how I will possibly be able to mention it to George without pushing him farther away. Fred is a touchy subject. As an unspoken rule, we normally don't talk about it in front of George. In fact, George normally isn't around to talk about anything. When I'd stayed at the Burrow he had practically lived in he and Fred's old room, and when he'd finally moved back into his flat above his store, I only saw him once a week or so, and we usually didn't discuss the Battle of Hogwarts. I know Hermione's right. I should do something about this. I just wish I wasn't the one who had to.
"What's up, Ron?" Harry asks me quietly. "You look really upset, mate."
Did I? "I'm fine," I say.
"Is it about Hermione?"
"No."
"You're a bad liar," Harry says, laughing. He raises his voice. "Ginny and I have an announcement to make!"
"Well?" Bill prompts.
"I'm pregnant," Ginny says, smiling.
I try not to choke on my food. Everyone cheers, me rather halfheartedly. As much as I'd been angry with Harry for dating Ginny, I was happy for them. I just didn't like being the one with all the bad news.
At the office the next day I still had no idea what I was going to do, and after Hermione scolded me the night before after dinner, I knew I'd better do something that day. I tried to mention it to Harry but for once he was oblivious. He kept chattering about how he hoped it was a girl, or how he was nervous about being a father, or all things natural when you find out your wife is pregnant. He never picked up when I hinted there was something I needed help with.
"What about you and Hermione? You know, my kids will need friends," Harry jokes.
"I don't know," I say. If I don't sort this out with George, I'll lucky to still be married, I think darkly. In the end I decide to send George an owl, asking if he'll meet me after work at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry babbles on as we fill out paperwork, and it takes all my willpower not to snap at him.
After work I head to the Leaky Cauldron and sit across from George. He was drinking a firewhiskey. Now that Hermione had pointed it out to me, it made my heart sink.
"What's up, Ron?" he asks.
"You need to stop that," I say, nodding to the bottle.
"What do you mean?"
"Stop drinking."
"It's not like I'm a drunk."
"That's not what I've heard. Besides, it doesn't make any difference."
"Did Angelina put you up to this?" He scowls.
"No," I say truthfully. Hermione did.
"I don't have a drinking problem, Ron. I don't know why you think I do, but this is very sudden. If you'll excuse me, I have a store to get back to..." He stands. My chest aches. I miss him so much, my real brother, not whoever this is.
"I'm trying to help you," I say desperately, following him out into the street. "I don't want your kid growing up with you like this."
He stops and whirls around. "I'm trying! Don't you see, Ron? I'm trying so hard!" His voice cracks with emotion. "I'm trying to be better, I really am!"
"You aren't," I say, and the words hurt. I see tears roll down George's cheeks.
"Don't you see, Ron?" he says quietly. "I have to forget Fred. I can't-I can't be the same. Ever. I can't be me anymore."
"George," I say quietly, "Fred would want you to."
He stares at me for a brief moment and nods.
The next month George and Angelina welcomed their son, Fred Weasley II into the world. And when I saw them at St. Mungo's, George had been sober for near a month. And he was grinning. Really grinning.
Maybe he can't be the same, but that was as close as I saw him to being who he'd been.