Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to the Harry Potter universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.

A/N: Sooooo… sorry to disappoint anyone, but I've kind of let most of my fanfic-writing go over the course of the last two years, on account of having finally started writing an original novel of my own. But this idea came into my mind and it was too bittersweet not to give it a shot. Probably not my best work, but I hope you guys enjoy it. :)

He was almost there…the keeper screwed up his eyes, vision fixed with a scowl on the approaching chaser…McLaggen wasn't going to get past him this time…

Chime. Chime. Chime.

But wait…McLaggen played keeper, didn't he?

Chime. Chime. Chime.

"Ron could you shut that off already?"

The redhead opened his eyes.

Chime. Chime. Chime.

It was his watch; wrinkling his nose the Weasley sat up and grabbed his wand, tapping the planet-studded face with a muttered spell. It shut off. He squinted and rubbed his eyes, looking around the common room.

It was still quite dark; no moonlight came in through the windows and dawn had yet to break gray and rose over the Scottish hills, so the only light to see by was the lamp which Harry had lit in the bathroom. Ron yawned and got out of bed. "Bloody terrible idea," he called to his roommate and captain, with the kind of grump and grouch only afforded to a best friend. "Before-class practice, why'd you schedule this again anyway?"

"Becauf'e-" He heard Harry spit and run the tap. "Because I want to run a few plays I saw the other team try during the match, alright? And bring a jumper, it's freezing outside."

"Thanks, mum." Yawning again with a stretch, Ron knelt down and started digging through the drawers of his bureau, pulling out a wrinkled but decently clean pair of padded training pants and an undershirt. He was just debating whether he should use his mum's maroon Christmas gift sweater and run the risk of ruining it (a possibility with both good and unpleasant outcomes) when he heard Harry swear loudly from the bathroom, followed by a clattering sound. Ron blinked, surprised.

"Harry, mate? You okay?"

"Bloody f-"

His interest piqued, the redhead stood and hurried over to find his friend clutching at his thumb, which was currently expelling frankly startling amounts of blood, with the expression of one who is trying very hard not to color the air blue. "Whoa," Ron said bluntly, blinking.

"Don't just stare you git, get your wand!"

"Alright, alright, no need to yell…" A little offended the redhead turned back and fetched his wand. By the time he returned several seconds later Harry had bled over the majority of one of Hogwarts' many white fluffy hand-towels. "Give it here," the redhead said brusquely. "Episkey!"

Immediately the cut sealed itself and his friend let out a profuse sigh of relief. Ron paused a moment to look around at the bloodied sink and hand-towel with a low whistle. "Looks like you got yourself pretty good."

"Yeah," Harry said sheepishly. "Er, sorry for shouting at you."

"S'okay. What did you do, anyway?"

"Er–" Ron looked up to find his friend quickly turning a rather strong shade of magenta. "I, er, I was– I cut myself shaving, that's all."

"You know you're not supposed to shave your thumbs, right?" Ron snickered. Harry threw him a look.

"Git."

The redhead chortled again, reaching for his toothbrush. "Good thing, anyway; you've been getting a bit scruffy, mate. I thought McGonagall was going to throw you out of class for code violation." He pasted his toothbrush and stuck it in his mouth, squinting at himself in the mirror. He needed a haircut, he decided. Lavender said he looked better with long hair, but honestly Ron thought he looked dumb. He'd tried to pull of the Charlie thing in fourth year, to absolutely no success.

It was only once he'd concluded this line of inquiry that he looked up and realized Harry was still staring down at his razor, turning redder and redder. "Erh, mafe?" Ron said around the toothbrush. "Some'in wron'?"

Harry muttered something unintelligible.

"Wha'?"

"I don't know how."

Ron stopped in surprise, and then spat out the toothpaste and washed his mouth. When he straightened back up Harry was not meeting his eyes. "You don't know how to shave?" he said, a little amused. Harry shuffled his feet and mumbled something. "C'mon, Harry, it's not like it's wandless magic."

"…Just… never learned, okay?"

"How could-" Ron stopped short. Harry finally looked up, green eyes a bit resentful. Ron felt horrible. "Shit. Harry, I'm sorry, I– I didn't think."

"S'fine." He shrugged a bit self-consciously. "I mean, it's not like Uncle Vernon was going to show me how, so I figured I'd just… figure it out on my own."

Ron wanted to go crawl in a hole. His dad had showed him how to shave two summers ago when he'd started needing it, and since Hogwarts had a strict dress code policy he'd never considered that any of the other boys in his year could have gotten away without knowing. But of course Harry had no one to ask.

The fact that Harry was an orphan honestly didn't come up that much; sure, they'd talked about it once or twice, and he knew his best mate missed his parents (and hated his aunt and uncle) but it was so much a part of his friend's life that Ron rarely thought about it in the concrete. Now he did. He realized, not for the first time but certainly more strongly than before, just how much he took his parents for granted, especially his father. His dad was a huge influence on him, Ron knew, and more than once the thought of his father's disappointed expression (not angry, just sad, like he'd expected more of you) had stopped the youngest Weasley boy from doing something which in hindsight would have been incredibly stupid. He wondered if Harry had ever dressed up and played "going to work" in his uncle's shoes as a kid. He wondered if Uncle Vernon had ever framed his nephew's finger-painted picture on his desk. Somehow he doubted it.

Harry was as good as a brother to him, Ron thought to himself, and that was with brothers to spare. He couldn't imagine life without his family, and it wasn't fair that Harry had to. It wasn't fair that he had to live with his shite relatives or had grown up not knowing anything about magic or didn't known anyone other than Hagrid and the Weasleys who cared enough to send him Christmas gifts. Ron looked down guiltily at the maroon sweater balled up on the back rim of the sink. There were a lot of things in Harry's life that weren't fair, and it made Ron angry that he couldn't fix most them.

But he could fix this. "Don't be daft, I'll show you," he said brusquely, grabbing his own razor off the sink. "It's not hard; just lather up your face and then shave against the grain."

"Okay…?"

"It's kinda something you've gotta see, here…"

Five minutes later Harry looked significantly less scruffy and was pulling on his own Weasley Christmas sweater, blinking like an owl as he put his glasses back on. It was starting to get lighter outside and the teammates tramped down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, brooms in hand. It seemed they were the first up, and Harry checked his watch. "They're going to be late."

"Your fault, for setting it this early."

"It's only for a week, you'll be fine."

Ron snorted, and Harry looked over and up. Ron was still quite a bit taller than him, though the gap was closing. "Hey, uh," he said quietly, shrugging. "Thanks."

The door at the top of the girl's dormitory opened and Ginny and Demelza exited, yawning and chatting quietly. The redhead clapped his friend on the shoulder. "No problem," he replied quietly, and then whisper-called up the stairs: "Oy, Gin! Hurry it up, we're already late!"

Ginny gave him a look and made quick work of hurrying down the stairs, reading him a whispered riot act all the while that set Harry and Demelza snickering. Soon enough the rest of the team had assembled and was clambering out of the portrait hole en masse, yawning and rubbing their eyes. Ron glanced over to see Harry still chuckling at Ginny's great quantities of attitude (yeah, lucky him, he didn't have to live with it) and apparently in a pretty good mood. Ron smiled to himself and shouldered his broom so it didn't drag the twigs on the stone floor.

Yeah, a lot of stuff in his friend's life wasn't fair. But Ron liked to think that maybe sharing his loud, obnoxious, smothering family helped. After all, Harry was family, too.

A/N: So there you go. Hope you liked it. :) Pax et bonum! -FFcrazy15