Chapter 2: So Your Heart

It was a cold, rainy day in Diagon Alley.

Madam Malkin wondered to herself why the shop owners didn't just spell the weather into being permanently sunny. Something cheery for the children. Diagon on its grayest, cloudy days looked too much like its sister Knockturn for her comfort.

But the lights of the shops beckoned customers despite the weather. During days like these, she was on edge, as if she expected more than just rain to come.

In from the rain, came a small, red-headed boy. He stood and eyed the store, pacing upon a pricier rack of robes that she doubt he could afford.

His clothes weren't just second-hand and plagued with stitches and holes. He didn't look like a beggar, but he neither naive, child-like look of a Hogwarts student.

Rarely did students ever come without their parents; nevermind what the child wore. She would have guessed him a Muggleborn, because he came in soaking wet. There was no parent to spell his clothes clean. But Muggleborns usually had an escort from the school...Malkin could only hope that Hagrid was not somewhere around. He was a kind man, but a cumbersome oaf nonetheless.

Hagrid had come a few days ago with Harry Potter and thankfully had avoided entering her store.

"Can I help you?"

The boy cleared his throat, nervously eyeing her, "I'm here for my Hogwarts robes...miss."

He was too polite, too unsure of how to address her. This was a business transaction and not an assassination plot. Malkin almost felt like scaring the child just to see his reaction.

"First we must take measurements. And get you clean." She smiled to herself, trying to push some positive energy into the room. She was definitely bored and needed to focus on helping him.

The boy turned his head, intrigued by the mannequins in the front of the store. They had been animated with magic to model not just the Hogwarts robes but clothes for the fall season. Their skin was pretty and polished, more like a china doll than a real human. Their beauty was off-putting, but seemed strangely transfixing to the boy.

"What's your name?"

If he wasn't a Muggleborn, he could have been a Weasley, but that family would never have let one of their own come alone.

"Ron...Ron Weasley." His voice came out with the slightest chatter, still cold from the rain.

He was a Weasley. Despite the peculiarity of his arrival, her mind darted to thoughts of the twins instead of questioning why he had come alone.

"I remember your brothers..." Malkin trailed off. She almost didn't know what to expect from Ron. He seemed too meek to be like Fred and George, but she wouldn't put it past a Weasley to burn down her entire store.

Those two would know spells that could make it burn despite the rain.

"Why are you here alone?" Her mind snapped back to Ron, focusing on what to do.

Malkin concentrated, casting a non-verbal spell to produce his measurements. Even if he wasn't a criminal-in-the-making like the twins, he was still a Weasley. His robes would be second-hand at best.

"My parents gave me money," Ron spoke, as if that answer should have been enough for him being alone. The boy wasn't a fan of small-talk or giving any hints of his family life.

"I remember when they came here their first year for robes."

If Arthur still had his, she was surprised that Ron hadn't been forced into wearing them.

Ron didn't respond, but just stood their waiting for her to be done. He didn't trust her, which almost made her offended. She had every reason not to trust his family after Fred and George. She still found dungbombs in the shop years later.

"I'm done," she tried once again smiling and meeting his eyes. "I'm sure there's something we can work with."

As long as she wasn't transfiguring a rotten rat's hide into a robe, she was sure Ron would like it. She could even do that and it would be a step up for that family's clothing.

Ron had been timid coming into her shop; timid enough to make her not question why he was alone. He baffled her more than anything. All she could give him was smiles and something that passed at clothing for how much money she had. She certainly didn't expect anything of...or to ever see the boy again. He would probably be wearing the same robe for the rest of his years at Hogwarts...maybe until his grave.

He was a Weasley, after all.

She had sent Ron to Diagon Alley through floo, not wanting to know what he was up to. She had not expected a surprise visit from the Headmaster. She fretted over his appearance, as if he had someone known she hadn't gone with Ron.

As if Dumbledore knew that she would never be the perfect mother.

Molly sat in the kitchen with Arthur, having her other, normal children to play Quidditch outside. Dumbledore had apparated and asked for privacy with that same, bizarre twinkle in his eyes.

Years ago, Molly had found the elder wizard comforting, a kind, grandfatherly figure alone in the darkness of the war around him. She had instantly viewed him as if he was her own grandparent. He was kind; he was a hero. Those times had been simple.

But now, Dumbledore made something stir within her: emotions that festered for years. Albus was not innocent, nor was he senile. If anything, Ron had all the makings of becoming Albus Dumbledore.

They were calculating. A chess-master. And the Weasley family were the pieces.

"It'll soon be Ron's first year." Albus beamed.

Molly had not cared to offer the man something to eat. Neither had she made tea. Both her and Arthur were too tired for the man's presence. They could affect some positivity, but not much else.

"Yes." She didn't know what else to say. A simple head nod could have sufficed.

"It will also be young Harry Potter's first year."

They already knew that. The entire wizarding world knew that. Harry's age and his life were facts branded into the consciousness of their world.

"I doubt you came all this way to tell us that, Albus." Molly's eyes looked confused at the elder wizard.

"No, I'm afraid not. Children are...impressionable at his age. They need the right influence."

Molly almost laughed to herself. Ron wasn't impressionable, nor could he be influenced. He was born wrong. Dumbledore though he could mold people, never believing in the absolutes. Harry was just like his parents whereas Ron was a reflection of her own inner turmoil.

The thoughts were shameful...but she was jealous of Lily and James' child. They were perfect, unlike her and Arthur. Something had gone wrong with them to produce Ron. Lily and James were dead, but their legacy would proudly live on in Harry. There was no need to guide the boy. He would be light; he would be a Gryffindor. Molly didn't need to be a Seer to know that.

Molly was lucky that she had six other children to carry on her legacy...despite the stain of his existence.

"He'll be just like his parents. I'm sure Fred and George will get along with him."

For the sake of Harry, she hoped he would run away from Ron. Fred and George might be pranksters, but they were still good.

"Perhaps..." Albus paused. "Ron should make an effort to befriend him...on the train ride. It's never too early to make a friend."

Arthur gulped, looking over to his wife.

"Ron isn't a people-person." She dropped the pleasantries, starting to get passive-aggressive with the Headmaster.

"He is a Weasley. I'm sure he is."

"He isn't. He has no friends." Arthur spoke dryly.

Albus countered, "He has brothers and a sister."

Arthur gave him a blank stare, not knowing what to say.

Molly asserted herself, but still restraining a want to just yell. "He's isn't even friends with them."

"All the more reason to make one...in Harry." Albus smiled.

Molly knew that the conversation wasn't going anywhere. She couldn't be truthful about her son.

"I'm not having Ron be friends with him. Fred and George will get along fabulously with him...they're quite like Sirius and James." Molly pressed, looking to Albus sternly.

Truthfully, they were like Harry's dad. They might not be the best influence for a first year, but they were good friends nonetheless. She doubted Harry would make many friends his own age because of his fame. If Harry was anything like his father at Quidditch, it was all the more reason for him for the twins to be his friends.

Dumbledore pressed his hands against the edge of the table, breaking eye contact with Molly. He paused for what seemed like several minutes, before gathering his thoughts.

"Molly...Arthur...I'm not asking. I'm pleading." He looked to them, genuinely frustrated.

"Ginny can be his friend next year," Molly quickly replied. Once again, Molly took charge and spoke for Arthur.

"Please reconsider. At the very least, if you see Harry, make sure he gets on the train."

Molly wanted to be nice to Harry, but she didn't want to corrupt him. If she could push Ron down into the train tracks and adopt Harry, she would. She could still urge her other children to befriend Harry, but never Ron. She hoped that Ron wouldn't make Gryffindor and stain Harry, like the red-head had done with the rest of her family.

"I will take me leave," Dumbledore got up, before leaving outside the house and apparating. That small, courteous gesture of not apparating in the house, was completely incongruous with his sudden appearance and manipulations. They were all pointless.

Albus Dumbledore was a complex, baffling man, who had years of knowledge and experience on her and Arthur. but he didn't know Ron. He would never know Ron. Molly's maternal instinct knew her son, down to every wicked, rotting fiber of his being.

Harry must stay safe and pure: the complete opposite of her own child.

Molly had at least partly done Albus' wishes. She had waited for Harry to arrive, making sure he knew how to get to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

But Ron was absent from her family. She had sent the boy ahead while the rest waited for Harry. They didn't miss having Ron around.

She had been jovial, beaming even to see Harry. He was everything she wished Ron had been. Humble, innocent, and ever thankful. He didn't demean her. Harry was a lost puppy, eagerly waiting for food and care. She sent him off with Fred and George, knowing that her way was right.

Ron wouldn't meet Harry. The monster would forge his own dark, twisted path in life. That path would hopefully never cross with Harry's.

Death and despair would be the only results if that happened.

Ron found his own compartment on the train, but no one came to sit by him throughout the trip. Without his parents, his brothers were finally not forced to be around him.

His contact with people outside his family had been minimal. The only children he knew were friends of his siblings. The purebloods hated his family of blood-traitors and he wasn't about to waste time looking entire ride for Muggleborns. It would have been too rude of a question to ask.

Like always, he was alone. Ron merely...existed. Scabbers didn't really count. He was a hand-me-down pet just like everything he owned.

"It's just you and me, Scabbers." Ron looked down to the mangy rat on his lap. "We're finally free of my brothers."

The rat lightly scratched his leg, making a comforting gesture. Scabbers had given him more kindness and understanding than his brothers and Ginny ever would.

Ron stared at the window, petting Scabbers as his mind wandered. Silence clung to him, but the boy would soon invite a storm within Hogwarts.

AN: I'm not sure how important the slash will be to this fic. The slash could either be a small subplot that relates to Ron's overall issues in this fic, or could be greater. Thoughts?