"Take it back!"
The little red haired boy stood, trembling in rage, staring at his sister.
Ginny shook her head calmly.
"Mummy loves me more than you!" she insisted. "And she loves Bill more, and Charlie more, and Fred'n'George more, and Percy more!"
"That's not true!"
"Yes it is," returned the little girl, sagely. "I heard her say so to Daddy. She said, 'I love my children, but Ronald is on my last nerve!' She loves us all but you!"
Ron's lip trembled.
"She loves me!"
"Go ask her," said Ginny, smiling, secure in her young mind of the knowledge that her least favorite brother was unloved among them all. "See what she says."
Ron turned and fled without another word. He went into the house where his mother stood folding laundry. She looked the same as she always had looked to him- tall and plump and comforting and beautiful. But today was different, because he knew that she didn't love him.
"Hello, Ronald," she said glancing over her shoulder at him.
Ron didn't answer. His eyes were filled with tears. He could not ask her. He felt cold and alone.
"What do you want?" demanded Mrs. Weasley impatiently. "I've work to do, Ronald."
He had heard that tone of voice from her before, but it sounded oh, so different today.
"Nothing, Mummy," he said, turning away, his head hanging. When she heard her son's trembling voice, Mrs. Weasley turned around immediately.
"Ronald, what's the matter?" she demanded. "Are you hurt?"
"No, Mummy."
"What is it, dear?"
Ron burst into a flood of tears. Shocked, Mrs. Weasley dropped her laundry and held out her arms.
"Ron!"
He buried himself in his mother's embrace, shaking.
"What is it, Ron?"
He lifted his face off her shoulder and stared into her face.
"Mummy, do you love me?"
"Of course I do, Ronald - what a silly question! What's gotten into you?"
But Ron didn't answer. Happiness flooded him, and he buried his face in her shoulder again, his words muffled.
"I love you, Mummy!"