House: Hufflepuff

Position: Prefect

Category/Prompt: Creature!AU

Word Count:1563

He walked out of the remains of the castle bleeding and broken, like many others. Unlike them, however, he was marked by Fenrir Greyback. The crescent shaped scar on the back of Ron's leg burned for days; and like Harry's lightning bolt, it called to its maker and connected them in a way that no one but Harry could fully understand. The man in him wondered what would have been different if he hadn't fought Fenrir with Neville, while the wolf in him knew he was better for it.

.o0o.

The first full moon after the battle Ron paced his room in the Burrow uneasily. Percy and Bill, who'd stayed in town to attend the many funerals, stood guard to keep Ron inside. Charlie took to the sky on his broom to watch for any sign of the werewolf prowling about. Everyone was sure Fenrir was going to come back for Ron, but no one knew why.

Unbeknownst to anyone, except Ron, Fenrir had found the Burrow that night. He circled the home for hours waiting for an opportunity to get to the boy. Ron felt the pull to go to the werewolf but couldn't get out of his room. Finally, at dawn, he was able to rest. The urge to leave had waned with the moon's setting and things had gone back to normal, almost.

A hot summer night, the August sun had scorched the grasses and left the ground warm hours after sunset. Ron found himself lying on the ground next to Harry. Molly and Arthur were off on a week-long holiday to see Bill and Fleur, and the firewhiskey was flowing like water.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping? Your Auror test is tomorrow, yeah?" Ron looked over to Harry. His glasses were folded and hung from his shirt collar—they slipped down his nose one too many times during a raucous game of Kings and Assholes and Harry announced that he no longer needed them—and he seemed to be straining his eyes to see the stars.

"Yes, it's tomorrow. I still don't know why you aren't taking it with me." Harry's emerald eyes turned to Ron, who was holding back a laugh at his best friend's attempt at a scornful look.

"Mate, you need to try harder if you want to intimidate me with a look," Ron scoffed and looked back to the sky. "Where do you think Ginny gets it from? My mum's been making me do things without asking for years."

They lapsed into silence, and after a moment, a few things happened simultaneously. First, Ron heard the soft snuffles that he knew to be Harry sleeping. Then, he felt his scar begin to tingle. Lastly, it was as though there was a string tied to him that pulled him into the woods at the edge of the property.

That night his world changed. He stopped being the boy who helped the boy who saved the world, and became a werewolf who endangered it.

.o0o.

It had been three years since the battle of Hogwarts has changed the wizarding world. It was a few months later when Ron's life was changed forever. Harry passed his aptitude tests at the Ministry with flying colors and began Auror training right away. The anti-werewolf legislation passed by Dolores Umbridge years ago was yet to be repealed by the slow-moving Wizengamot, which meant that Ron was not able to join his friends at the Ministry. Instead, he had gone to work with his brother to rebuild Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. The world needed to laugh again, his mother said, and Ron dove headfirst into rebuilding the W3 brand. He somehow found a way to make sure the business stayed afloat while his brother George tried to move through the grief of losing his twin.

After years of transforming, Ron began to look forward to day fourteen every cycle. It was when the wolf had the least control; when he felt like himself again. It was too brief, and every month he found himself aching for the easy days of Potions class and Transfiguration essays.

Day one was the worst. There has never been one good morning that begun by waking up naked, under a layer of moldy leaves, with cold and gritty dirt in every crevice. This month, Ron woke up the morning after the full moon under a huge white pine tree with needles sticking into his skin and the remains of a fawn beneath him. As though the wolf were protecting his kill. As though any animal in the woods would try and steal something from the beast that had been known to bite through the chains that had been used in the beginning in an attempt to keep the wolf contained.

Day twenty-eight, the day he knew would end in the woods transformed into a beast, that was the second worst. But, that was something he'd worry about tomorrow.

Day thirteen was just another day for Ron and his inner wolf. That was why, after a particularly rough day at work, he found himself headed to the pub.

Walking into the pub, he avoided eye contact with everyone. Sweeping over the crowd, he found a spot near the middle of The Scarred Oak. The pub was packed and it took a few minutes for his wolf to recognize that it was a crowd and to stop seeking out someone. His wolf had been on the prowl from the beginning, but Ron could never quite figure out what he was looking for.

"Was that Firewhiskey you just 'wolfed' down, Weaselby?" the voice was familiar, but the smell was not. It was rather floral, but with an earthy base, like someone who had been working in a greenhouse all day. When Ron turned on his stool, he was surprised to see Pansy Parkinson in the same pub as him.

"I don't know, Pugsley, here's hoping it makes you disappear." He toasted her with his next shot.

"Ha! Pugsley, huh? That's a new one." She chuckled and wormed her way onto the stool next to him. Her face looked a bit drawn, and the chuckle sounded like she hadn't done it in a while.

"Why you looking so morose?"

"Morose, huh? That's a big word for you, Red."

"Yeah, well, let's just say it's the first day I've felt a little like myself in a month."

"What are you even doing here? Last I heard you were in Romania."

"Yeah, I did the dragon thing with my brother for a while, but came back about a year ago to help my other brother with the shop."

"Ah, yes. The infamous Skiving Snack Pack."

They spent the evening catching up. Although they were never friends, they lived through much of the same hell together and had some of the same scars. Most people, after knowing his history, looked at him with pity, or trepidation. Pansy Parkinson exhibited neither. She spoke with him about her latest adventure—trying to start her own herbal therapy garden—and how all she wanted to do after the war was move to France, but her mother was sick and needed help.

After about the first hour, Ron noticed a booth free-up and they took their drinks over and stayed until it was closing time.

"It was nice catching up with you, Ron," Pansy told him just outside the pub. Her hands were on her hips, and she had a look on her face that was a cross between a blush and annoyance.

"You too, Pansy." She leaned over and gave him a quick hug. Her soft body pressed against his for a second, and before he knew what he was doing, he leaned in towards her. His nose pushed her short black hair to the side and he inhaled warmth from the crook of her neck. It was just as good as he thought it would be. The soft tangy earth smell was from her skin, the flowery smell was her hair.

"Um, excuse me?" She pushed him away. "Did you seriously just sniff me like you are a dog?" She pulled her hair back down and wiped at her neck.

"I'm so sorry. Damnit. I didn't mean too. I'll go." He turned quickly to stop her from seeing his reddening face.

"Hey. It's—"

"Please don't say 'okay.' This is why I can't even go on a date. My damn wolf just takes over." He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at some invisible pebbles next to the pub.

"I wasn't going to say 'okay.' Well, maybe, but I get it. I hugged you without asking, you sniffed me. How about, if we catch a drink again tomorrow, we just ask first?" she put her hand on his shoulder and kept it there when he tried to recoil away from her.

"Tomorrow?" he asked, turning the slightest bit towards her.

"Tomorrow," she reassured. "Now, can I trust you to walk me to my flat safely without trying to sniff me the whole time?"

"I can get you there safely, and I won't try to sniff you the whole time." He reached over and grabbed her proffered hand and let her lead the way to her flat.

It was the first time he felt like he was doing better by the world, walking this woman—who didn't need protecting from anyone but his wolf—home.