Houses- Hufflepuff- year2- Standard
WC: 1492
Prompt: Word [sorrowful]

QLFC- Falcons/Chaser 3
Prompt: Ron and his relationship with one of his parents
optional 1 : Object: skull
optional 2: "you have a kind of aroma about you." dialog
optional 3: Ideas devour the ages as men are devoured by their passions. quote Honore de Balzac

.o0o.

Ten days ago, Ron had fought for his life and those of his fellow witches and wizards in what would one day become known as the Battle of Hogwarts. After he gained access to the school so many things happened that he could barely recall it all—and everything went black after he saw his brother, Fred, broken and lifeless under a pile of rubble with pieces of skull showing where the rocks had shorn away flesh from his head. His brother, Percy, letting out a sorrowful moan and refusing to leave the younger boy's side. Ron did what he was told from then on, fighting next to whomever was beside him, breaking only when, much to his utter horror, Voldemort himself announced that Harry had been killed.

That wasn't to be, however, and once the fighting began again in earnest, he finally teamed up with fellow Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom, to fight the partially transformed werewolf, Fenrir Greyback. The two students had flawlessly parried with the werewolf and managed to bring him down. The adrenaline running through Ron's body didn't allow him to register the pain, as a last ditch effort by Fenrir had his sharp teeth embedded into Ron's thigh. When he escaped and put down the beast for once and for all, the bodies of the living were covered in as much blood and grime as that of the dead.

After the battle had ended, he found he couldn't look at George, his mother couldn't be consoled, and with Bill off with Fleur somewhere and Arthur being the conduit between the family and the rest of the wizarding world, it was down to Charlie to lead the family. As much as he wanted to stay at the castle and help put things back together there, Ron left that very evening for the Burrow. He spent a few moments too long holding onto both Harry and Hermione in turn, before disappearing into a column of green flames and tumbling onto the hearth of the home thatlooked the same, but felt so different when one red head of hair was missing.

Brushing soot from their shoulders, the remaining Weasley children stepped out of the Floo and everyone spent the night in the family room. It was the only room in the house, besides the kitchen, that had room for the brood. From the outside looking in, it would look like an overgrown slumber party. However, once the threshold was crossed into the house, the sorrow was so thick in the air that at times it was hard to breathe. Arthur had extended the couch for himself and Molly, and turned the ottoman into a bed for George. Charlie had taken it upon himself to help the rest of the family transfigure cushions into bean bags, and made sure everyone had at least a pallet to sleep on. The fire burned low into the night and one could tell who was awake when the soft snoring was replaced by sounds of muffled sobs. No one had the heart to ask to grieve in private.

It was that night, that Ron felt the first ticklings of unrest. Everyone took turns in one of the family's two showers. George's only attempt at conversation came as he was walking past Percy in the hallway who had felt the need to inform everyone of his intention to stay the evening. When a halfhearted, "you have a kind of aroma about you," was spoken by the stocky boy, everyone's heart broke; Fred didn't chime in with his own retort on the aroma of the estranged brother.

Ron was still numb to the world, and it wasn't until he ran the lather down the back of his thigh that he knew something was wrong. His entire leg burned like the fires of hell, and although there was a lot of gore other places, the crescent shaped wound on the back of his leg continued to weep blood even after all the other cuts had healed—even the dittany that Hermione had sent him home with didn't do a thing to staunch the bleeding.

Throwing a pair of shorts on, Ron walked out of the bathroom with his hair dripping wet, and a pink river of blood mixed with water that ran down his leg. He was looking for his mother. No matter how old a boy happened to be, when he was hurt and bleeding, the only one he wanted to help him was his mother.

"Mum, can you come look at this? I don't know what it is, but it won't stop bleeding?" Molly was sitting at the scarred oak table in the kitchen with a steaming cup of tea in front of her. Arthur was sitting on her right, and Ginny on her left. The baby of the family had her head resting on her mother's shoulder. Both women had red hair damp from showers, eyes red rimmed and glassy from tears, and fingers intertwined so firmly it seemed it would take a powerful unsticking charm to pull them apart. It smelled like every other evening he could remember spending in The Burrow had smelled. The scent of fresh baked bread and his mother's late night anise and ginger tea filled the room, and again Ron felt like it was just another evening at home. But one look into the faces at the table and he was slammed back into reality and reminded of the horrors of the day. His father's breath had caught in his throat, and Ginny's eyes filled with panic before she looked over to reassure herself that Ron was still standing. To reaffirm she was not about to lose another brother.

Molly's head whipped over to her youngest son, her eyes clearinged instantly as she looked her baby boy over. "Oh, Ronald. Show me what happened and we'll see what we can do to patch you up." Squeezing her daughters hand, she began to stand and make room for the large boy in front of her. "Be a dear, Ginny, and get my medi kit from under the sink."

"Here, sit by your mother, I need to shower myself, and Kingsley wanted me to send an update once we got in and settled." Arthur stood and gestured for Ron to take his seat. "I imagine they will be wondering aboutafter us, and I would like to find out how things are going at the castle."

"Ah, I can't sit right now," Ron's cheeks bloomed a soft pink. After everything that had gone on that day, and over the last few years, how something as mundane as a cut on the back of his thigh could turn his cheeks pink somehow seemed wrong.

"Well, let's see it, deary. I promise I won't bite, but I need you to stop bleeding all over my floor." The words were there, they were his mum's, but the fire wasn't. They were all trying to be themselves, even though there was a huge hole on the fabric of their family. She reached a hand out and recoiled when he lifted the hem of his shorts to show her the back of his leg.

"Merlin, Ron! What is that? It looks like someone took a bite out of you!" Molly's began running her wand over the affected area. Her brows shot up into her hairline, perplexed that none of the standard healing spells she had perfected over the years would touch the wound.

"I don't know, it must have happened when Neville and I were fighting Fenrir. He was the only one that ever got me down." The jumbled events of the day were swimming in his head. He remembered falling, and the sickening sound of the ground hitting his skull with both Neville and Fenrir on top of him. It was a blur of limbs and curses after that until the Gryffindors finally subdued the werewolf. The blood dripping from the half-turned man was not surprising to either boy. Now, however, Ron wished he had thought to ask more questions before he turned the monster over to the Order.

"Are you sure it was him? Do you know what this could mean, Ron?" The panicked look that consumed his mother shouldn't have comforted him. It shouldn't have felt good to have her concerned for him. It shouldn't have been a relief to have something else to worry about. They had just won a war that began before he was even born. But, for the first time, maybe since fourth year, Ron felt like he could take a breath. Ron felt like everything was going to be okay. Ron felt like a boy, and his mum as going to make sure everything was going to be okay.

It shouldn't have been a balm to Molly's motherly soul to have something to look after again. She had a son to mourn, but now, maybe, she would have another chance to save her son, Ron.