A/N: I guess this is how all great fan fic writers begin their stories...They always say stuff like 'Oh, this is my first fic and I'm sure it's awful, but please r/r!' Well, this isn't my first fic...it's my second and I'm sure it's awful, but please r/r.

Creds and Acks: Which, of course, means 'Credits and Acknowledgements,' duh. We'll have to start with the oh-so-goddessly J.K. Rowling for creating and owning each and every Harry Potter character (including Ron Weasley, which I envy her so greatly for). Also, to my fellow Sidekicks and Lobsters for loving the R/H and R, respectively. Of course, I have to thank my beta-er (beater), Del, who is my urging force behind keeping this fic updated.

Disclaimer: Sorry, no cool little acronym or abbreviation for that one. Once again, I have to begin with J.K. Rowling for creating and owning each and every Harry Potter character (and far more money than I could ever imagine *hint*hint*: don't sue). I think that's all. Happy reading!

In the Night

A quite large, spindly body slunk its way down the thin hall. Past one bedroom, two, three, four...safe at the stairs it paused for a breath of relief. A loud snore emanated from the nearest bedroom. The body tensed and stiffened as it waited for reassurance that no one was awake. A second identical snore echoed it's forerunner. Snore. Snore. Snore. Snore. Snore. Snore.

A welcomed silence returned as two identical coughs sounded through the dark.
Right foot positioned above the top stair, an ear reached out for any sounds of movement. The right foot gingerly tested the top stair for any creaks and groans before lowering down onto the uncarpeted wood. The left foot followed and the right again in a quick succession of footsteps down the rickety old spiral staircase.

Again, a pause was taken once the shadow had reached the kitchen door. No sounds. Across the old, warped wood floor, around the table set for nine (mostly only seven sat for dinner, sometimes six, except during the school year when there was a lonely two), past an old muggle radio with the antennae pulled in every which way and several knobs lost, and finally to the set of cages beside the sill of the largest window in the whole house.

"Whoooo..." A drowsy owl greeted his late-night visitor. "Whoooooooo..." A little louder this time. A second owl, awakened by the first, took the chance to stretch his wings, beating them down with a loud thwoop, twhoop.

"No time for talk, Pig. Could you please, Errol? We can't wake anyone up." Both birds seemed to understand.

An unsteady hand lifted the tiny latch and let the door swing open. The tiny owl bounced across his perch, the swinging cage creaked with age. The same hand thrust in through the tiny door and snatched up the smaller owl with practiced ease and care (so as not to create a scene with the hyperactive bird) and sat him upon the sill.

Bent down, face to face to Pig, Ron Weasley removed a quite lengthy parchment which had been tucked in the waist of his pyjamas. He fixed the letter to the frail little leg of his bird, securing it twice just in case.

"We can't let this get lost..." Ron nodded, lifting Pig and replacing him on the palm of his hand. He stood and pushed the window open, raising Pig so he could look into the bird's beady little eyes. They seemed to be avoiding him.

"Look at me, Pig." Ron commanded. The owl extended its jaw in what could have been a yawn. Ron laughed quietly. "I know it's late, I just promised I would reply to Hermione by tomorrow morning." He said, his face again serious. He lifted his palm toward the open window and felt the push-off as Pig took an unsteady flight, his right side drastically lower than his left under the weight of the letter.

*****

Upstairs, Mrs. Weasley rolled over in her bed. After bringing up Gred and Forge, a mother was aware of every slightest creak in the night. She glanced at the illuminated wizarding clock on her bedstand. Fred's on 'bedroom floor', George's hand was on 'bed', she could reach over and touch Arthur, she needn't worry about Percy, but Ron's hand was pointing to something else. 'Up to no good by the owl cages.' Molly read off the clock's face. She slid herself out of bed and down to the foot of the stairs, stopping at the kitchen. Through the dark she could see her youngest son holding his owl up closely to his face and heard a quiet laugh.

"I know it's late," Molly glanced at the muggle clock, three-twenty-seven, "I just promised I would reply to Hermione by tomorrow morning." Her stomach flopped as Ron sent his owl out into the night. 'At this hour in the morning?' She smiled, remembering all the late-night letters she had received from Arthur during their school days. Molly slowly turned and made her way back into her warm bed, snuggling closely to her husband (who replied with a gruff "Geroff..." like father, like son...). Molly smiled as she drifted off to sleep.

*****

Ron kept watching Pig for a few moments to make sure the letter wasn't going to anchor him down. Once he was only a tiny black speck in the moonlit night, Ron turned and started back across the kitchen.

Past the muggle radio with the missing knobs, around the table set for nine (but used to a lonely two), and across the old, warped wood floor the bare feed trod in silence. Shaded by darkness, the body stood poised to listen for any sounds. None. After testing the lowest step, the pair of feet carried their owner to the top of the staircase, down the hall, one, two, three, four doors down and on the right, and into a warm bed.

A heavy sigh escaped from two lips, on a calmed face, on a tired body. 'I made it...' He thought, pulling the covers around him. 'I sent the letter to Hermione and no one will ever find out.'