Vanguard

by Windschild8178

Eight-year-old Ron knows his crazy Uncle Billius wasn't as cracked as everyone believes. Wearing gloves in the summer, pockets full of cheering charms, terrified of Patronuses: all of these things seem pretty reasonable to Ron who can see the Grim just as well as his Uncle could. Ron is content to ignore the creature until he accidentally-on-purpose kills someone.

2. Chapter 2: Babbitty Rabbitty

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

---

Chapter 2: Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump

"But inside the bush,

Babbitty smiled and did not trouble to lift her wand,

for no magic can raise the dead."

Before Ron turned seven he had only been able to sense a person's worst memories. Every once in a while he might catch a glimpse; a brief flash of a past moment, like when his dad had dropped the pan on his head, but for the most part Ron just sort of felt the memory. Like a frozen over pond. It was there, he could touch it, but he couldn't dive in. Which was fine with him. He knew, without ever going in, how terrible the memories were. He woke up at night, petrified and screaming from the few he'd glimpsed. He knew, without being told, that there were monsters under the surface of that pound.

He knew, for instance, that his mum's worst memory was when they brought her brother's bodies back. The memory was so strong and so awful that Ron had caught a glimpse of them, just for a split second, of two identical men, one slashed into bits, the other looking as if he were just asleep. Her grief had caused a wail to escape him. It tore through him and it didn't stop. He couldn't stop. It hurt so bad and he didn't know what to do with all the ugliness and dark stuff inside of him. Her feelings were inside him and he couldn't get it out. He didn't want to eat or think or even sleep, not for days. Until the memory began to leave him, until it finally started to fade.

The worst part though, was not being able to explain what hurt.

His parents begged him to tell them what was wrong, but he couldn't describe it. He didn't know how. He wasn't physically hurt and he didn't understand why they didn't understand that a person wasn't hurting him, that they were hurting him. How could they not know that their awful feelings hurt?

Back then, when he was little, he thought everyone did what he did. He thought everyone knew how the people around them felt. Could see the terrible memories hiding just under the surface. Could tug them up if they wanted. Ron never wanted to tug them up though and he figured that everybody else felt the same way.

It took a while to realize that it was just him. That people hesitated to touch him, but never his brothers, never his little sister. It had hurt at first. Hurt in a way that made his heart feel too big inside his chest, like it was trying to worm its way out to escape. And then he'd realized something else.

He made people sad.

His mum always felt dark after she cuddled him. She would rub at her eyes and hug him tighter and then that would make it worse. She would spend the next day walking around in a daze. His dad would brush his fingers through his hair then his features, so tired from work, would fold in on themselves. His family didn't dislike him, Ron somehow made them dislike him. It was his fault.

Ron was the problem.

The hurt had intensified, but it was nowhere close to his terror. He pretended for a while, to not know, he pretended that everything was fine. That there wasn't something wrong with him. But the longer he knew, the more obvious it seemed, the contrast in his family between when Ron was among them-making them sad, and when Ron stayed away, watching from a distance.

The way the drag in their shoulders lifted.

The way Charlie would boast when he wasn't around.

The way Bill smiled that gleaming thousand-watt thing whenever Ron watched from another room.

The way the twins played jokes rather than snarked nastily about.

The way Ginny giggled when Ron kept to himself in the corner.

And then Ron would get up, walk by, join the group, and it all went away. Not because Ron was a bad person, but because of his presence. Even when they didn't know he was there… they just… sunk into themselves. It was like Ron carried a bad cloud around him, like everyone was white clouds when the sun was out and then Ron came with scary thunder and dark, black ugliness and no moonlight at all. Just black, black, black.

So, one night when he was five (before he'd met Meredith Binns and Asha), when his dad was tucking him into bed, he had to ask.

"Are there people who can make other people sad?"

Because Uncle Bilius had told him that it was only Ron and him. No one else. Because when he was five, he still sort of believed his dad when he said Bilius was lying. When he was five, the Grim rarely showed up, and never spoke. When he was five, Ron had still believed that there was hope for him.

Arthur stared at him for a long moment, considering it, before sitting on the bed. Ron knew that if he were Ginny or Fred or George, then his dad would have pulled him into his lap. But Arthur hadn't done that in a long time. Not for Ron. He wondered if his dad even realized it.

"People make other people sad sometimes, yes. Everyone makes mistakes, they mess up or they do something, sometimes unintentionally, sometimes on purpose."

"No," Ron said firmly. "Not like that. I mean…" the seven-year-old tried to explain, "I mean, can they do it like… can they, the person, make people sad? Like the person is different and that makes people sad?"

"Different? How?" Arthur asked, his dad was peering down at him with his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Like, something that walks into a room and makes them… like magic, makes them sad. Makes bad things come to mind. Makes them want to cry," Ron tried.

His dad had paled, staring at him in wide eyed shock.

"Did you see a Dementor, son? Ronnie, did you see a creature in black shadows? Did it come near you?"

His dad was standing, marching over to the window to look outside, an almost manic manner about him. He turned, causing Ron to jump as he stared at his dad in shock. His dad whispered a spell, a weasel creature sprouted from his dad's wand, Ron flinched. The light hurt. He didn't like the light. He jumped back, his back hitting the wall hard enough that his head smacked against it. The Weasel looked at him, scrutinizing him, for a moment he thought it was going to attack. That his dad had figured out what he was and wanted to hurt him now. Then, it was gone, out the window and his dad was in front of him.

"Ronnie, did it touch you? Did that thing touch you?"

"No," Ron shook his head, relieved, but fearful that his dad would make something so mean. "No it didn't touch me."

"When did you see it, Ronnie? When did you see the thing? Appeared to be shrouded in darkness, not quite a face?"

"What?" Ron asked, bewildered. It had just been in here. He'd just seen his dad make it.

"The Dementor, Ronnie, the thing that made you feel sad? It's a foul creature. Never, ever go near one. Run if you see one. Run as fast and as far away as you can."

"A Dementor?" Ron whispered.

This time his dad did sweep him up, hugging him and rubbing his arms and whispering reassurances as he swept them both out of the room. His dad was manic with fear. Ron held tight, unsure how the conversation had led to this.

"Molly!" Arthur yelled, "Molly get the children inside! Get them all inside right now!" There was the sound of someone moving, throwing a door open, then his mum was screaming at Charlie. Fred and George came running down the stairs, eyes wide, dragging behind them a half asleep Ginny. "Where are Bill and Percy? Are they in the house Molls?"

"Goodness," Molly muttered, slamming the door shut, sealing them inside. "Percy's in his room, yes, Bills been out all day." His dad shuddered, looking terrified.

"Out? Out where?"

"Diagone Alley! Out, out! Not here. What's going on Arthur?" Molly shrieked.

"Ronnie saw a Dementor," Arthur told her, hands shaking.

"That's impossible!" Molly snapped.

"What's a Dementor?" Ron repeated, thoroughly upset now.

"He said he saw a creature that made him sad when it was near him, that made bad things come to mind. It made him cry just by being near him," Arthur told her.

That wasn't what he'd said at all. Ron clutched at his dad's shoulders, looking between his mum and dad. His mum was clutching at her heart, staring at him with fear.

'Did that thing touch you?'

It struck Ron then.

The thing his dad was so afraid of… was him.

"What's a dementor?" Ron whispered. Was it a bad person? Was it a person who made other people sad? His dad seemed to really want to get away from it. Was Ron a dementor? His mum was running her fingers through his hair, eyes locked on his dad's above him.

"Contact the Ministry, Arthur, just in case. It's probably something else, but either way, we should get an Auror out here to check."

His dad nodded. He found himself in his mum's arms. She hugged him to his bosom as she motioned for them all to gather in the living room. Once there, with their dad in the corner, speaking through the fireplace, Molly squeezed his hands tight, her voice, for once, soft.

"A Dementor is a dark creature, a beast who brings your darkest memories to the surface when its near." She shuddered. Ron listened in rapt attention. "It sucks away everything that is happy in the world. It devours your light. And if it gets close enough to touch you, it can take your very soul."

"Isn't there a spell against them though," Charlie demanded. Ron glanced at him. Awed that Charlie didn't seem to be phased at all.

"Yes," Molly answered giving her older son a warning look. "A patronus charm. It is very difficult though, most grown wizards have a hard time performing the spell. Most never succeed. It is a corporate form of light, made up of your happiest memories. It takes the form of the animal spirit most close to your heart."

"And what does that do, exactly?" Percy asked, having joined them just a moment before hand.

"The light hurts them. It drives them away," Molly answered.

Ron felt his insides freeze.

"What about people?" Ron whispered.

Molly smiled at him, pulling him closer.

"Don't worry dear, the light of a patronus only hurts Dementors. Their monsters who devour the light, but they cannot take the happiness and love of a patronus. A person would only feel warmth if it touched them. Your father can create one," Molly said, voice proud. "It's…"

"A weasel?" Ron whispered.

Remembering the decidedly NOT warm and happy thing that had come near him.

"So you saw? He must have cast it the moment he suspected…" Molly murmured.

And then the room was full of men. Men in long black robes and serious faces. Ron scrunched in closer to his mother, looking anywhere but at the men. Trying not to quail under their presence while they searched the perimeter.

And then out of their wands came the horrible things. Ron sunk deeper, if possible, into his mum's embrace, shying away from the creatures. It hurt. He flinched. The light felt like when he got too close to dad's camp fires. It felt like heat was crawling up his arms and trying to pierce under his skin. And the things were looking at him again. Animals of all sizes and shapes. But just like the Weasel they turned away from him. They zoomed out of the room in different directions.

"That was so cool!" Fred shrieked.

"We're learning that," George whispered.

"Definitely. Soon as freaking possible," Fred retorted.

"Language," Molly snapped.

"Yes mum!" Fred and George sang, automatically, though neither of them were paying her any attention, faces pressing against the window for a better view. Ron coward against his mum's bosom, flinching whenever one of the Aurors went by. Eventually the hustle and bustle died down to quiet, harsh whispers between his dad and them. They kept glancing at Ron, their eyes torn away by a sharp word or two from Arthur.

What if they found out that he was the dementor? Would the animals floating outside the windows come in to eat him? The seven-year-old decided that he would lie. Like dad and mum told him to when muggles were around. The muggles couldn't know about magic because then magic people might be in danger. It felt like that.

The Aurors couldn't know about Ron's magic because then those things would get him. It was like his dad had said: "People are afraid of what they don't understand." His dad seemed very afraid though, did that mean his dad was afraid of him? Afraid of him? Could Ron hurt them?

Then the Aurors walked into the room. Hulking, wand wielding figures whose features were thunderous as they approached. His grip on his mum tightened. And then one of them was kneeling in front of him. Ron blinked as a smile stretched across the man's face, sliding into place as easily as his mum put bread in the oven to bake. Practiced.

"Hi Ronald, my name is Mr. Withsworth. I hear you had a nasty experience with a very frightening creature. Do you think, just for a minute, that you could talk about it for me?"

His dad put a hand on him, the skin of his fingers sitting there along his neck. The vivid image a familiar slab of stone slammed into Ron's head. Despair and fear welled in the pit of his stomach. Words, sharp, pleading and drawn out tore through the air.

"Don't let Ron near any Death! It will awaken the curse to its full potential! Dementors will worsen it, make him lose control!"

Aching loss struck Ron.

"The Grim is coming for me! Arthur, I love you, tell mum I love her! I won't make it to morning. Tell the family I love them! Tell the twins to keep up the good work! Tell Ron he's not a monster. I didn't mean it that way. Tell him I'm sorry!"

Ron looked up at his dad in uncertainty, but the hand on him was warm, comforting. His dad's eyes were outside the window, looking for something. Ron knew, instinctively, that the voice had belong to his brother… no. Not his brother. His dad's brother. Ron's Uncle.

"Ronald," Mr. Withsworth prompted. "Do you remember where you were when it happened? Or, at least, what happened?"

Ron nodded slowly. What if they took him to the place they took Uncle Billius? The place that made his dad feel bad? Where his Uncle hadn't come back out of?

"Everyone's sad," Ron blurted. He would tell them, but he wouldn't tell them it was him.

"Pardon me?" Mr. Withsworth said, startled.

"Everyone is sad," Ron repeated, slower this time, he looked up at his mom and his siblings before turning to the man again. "When they get away from the house, they get better. Bill and Charlie, they're really happy the first day back home and then they turn into everyone else. They get… droopy."

One of the Aurors stepped forward, Ron stared at the man's wooden leg before looking up, but flinched as a large, bugged out eye peered at him. He was a lot older than the rest of them, a scar crossing his lips.

"It's possible that theirs a group nearby," the man barked. "Kid doesn't know nothing about Dementor's but from what Arthur's said, it's clear that he's felt them. Odd though, that he's the only one who noticed."

Ron shrank into himself as the eye swiveled around to look at him. A young man stepped forward from the bunch, an Auror younger than the rest.

"But there are no Dementor's outside of Azkaban, Moody. This isn't possible."

"I'll tell you what's not possible," Moody muttered, eye swiveling from Ron to the Auror. "A bunch of Ministry officials being able to contain and control a bunch of dark creatures we as wizards don't even fully understand. That's what's impossible."

"Well, if they were once here, they've left," Withsworth sighed.

"Don't know about that," Moody growled. "Can't you feel it? In the air? We've been here, what? Thirty minutes, maybe? I'm already feeling a bit down, like I need a drink after a long hard day, but there's been nothing hard about this day. And Mr. Cheery Longfellow here hasn't cracked a joke since we apparated to this spot."

The young Auror looked startled, exchanging looks with the others. Ron felt his mum squeeze him tight. There were some nods of agreement between the men, his dad especially seemed unsettled.

"It has seemed, for a while now, that things have been… less than happy here," Arthur relented, looking at his children and his wife. "Perhaps we've not noticed because the dementors have been encroaching on the area bit by bit?"

Moody nodded slowly.

"Makes sense. Something like that though…" Moody's eye swiveled around to Ron's again. "It would be very difficult to notice for a person under such influence." Moody looked up at Arthur, silent for a long moment before making a signal to his team. "We'll sweep the area again. If we don't find anything then we'll put up shields around your home, just in case. I'll ask that the kids don't wander too far from the perimeter of the house. It may just be that they have a few hovels in the area and move from place to place. Move out!"

The team jumped into action. The Weasley lot watched them until they disappeared. When it was just Moody and them, alone in the living room, Ron watched in suspicion as Moody gestured for his dad to follow him. Ron had the sinking feeling that the crazy eyed Auror suspected Ron.

---

Meanwhile Arthur had been brooding about nearly the same thing. Thoughts of his brother's warnings, about Ron attracting Death were whirling in his head and not for the first time he regretted not listening.

"That boy of yours, Arthur," Moody growled glancing into the living room.

"What about my boy?" Arthur hissed.

He couldn't stop thinking about the last words he ever heard from his brother. The warning and pleading the man did. The way he'd refused to touch Ron for any reason, refused to spend any time at all with his youngest son. And that night.

His boy hurt by his brother. The same brother who'd looked after him all his life. Who'd gone out of his way to make sure Arthur was treated well and that their father wasn't too harsh with him. The same brother who, when their mother was too busy, had made him birthday cakes and scrounged up presents from nothing, who transfigured rocks into toys and played with him. The same brother who Arthur loved and had been devastated by when things turned so horribly wrong.

"There's something about that kid of yours, Arthur, an empath or something. If you don't get him trained up, he'll be jumping at shadows. Heightened sense of magic, empaths, and those who have it is a useful skill, but not knowing what he is or why he's different might affect him in negative ways. Best to take care of it early on."

"An empath, you say? It would explain some things."

Maybe Bilius had it all wrong. Maybe his brother had been able to feel dark magic and that's why he thought it was after him, why the Grim was after him. It would mean that Bilius had been suffering, not knowing what he was, misinterpreting his ability for something else. It would mean his big brother hadn't been crazy, just hurt and confused.

Arthur wasn't sure what to think of that.

"Can Empath's sense when their kind are nearby?" Arthur asked.

"Most certainly. I knew one once. She said everybody's got a unique magical signature, that she knew when her husband was walking through the door before she ever went downstairs. She said that normal witches and wizards magic is contained, centered almost. An empath's magic acts almost like arms, reaching out to the area around them."

He thought of Bilius, who'd carefully touched each of his children when they were born, who seemed relieved upon holding them for the first time. And then Ron, who'd he'd only ever held once, how he'd looked devastated after holding him that one time. His brother, who would babysit all the children except Ron.

"Does it hurt them, to be around each other?" Arthur asked, looking at Ron nervously, tense in Molly's arms. Sharp blue eyes were watching him. Did Ron know? In front of him, Moody frowned.

"I've never heard of anything suggesting as much. What I know was just heard in passing, mind you, but Empath's are rare. I know that Clare has met another Empath, but from what I gathered it was rather astounding that it happened. Once in a lifetime event. She was a German Auror. I don't know of any in England."

The two men sat in silence for a moment, both looking outside the window, trying to sense what they could not see. Then Moody glanced back at Ron, clearing his throat to bring Arthur's attention back to him. "Arthur, don't go talking too loud about this, our Minister is a rather… greedy individual and you don't want Fudge's eyes on your kid, if you get what I mean. Best to keep this quiet. Away from prying eyes and ears."

Arthur shuddered, remembering how there had once been many more Metamorphmagus families around than the Tonks. In fact there had been a number of celebrated abilities that had disappeared thirty some odd years ago and some unsavory rumors of the Department of Mysteries.

"Thank you, Alastor."

"We'll give the area a thorough look over and I'll be checking in for ya, just to make sure. Something might turn up, something might not, but my gut is telling me there's more to this situation than meets the eye. I'd trust the kid's instincts though."

Arthur walked back into the room to see Ron sitting on the couch by himself. His son was staring out the window, eyes wide and terrified. He rushed over to the window, but there was nothing there. Arthur glanced at Ron who was looking back at him now, solemn, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Arthur sat on the couch next to him, his long legs spreading out and under the coffee table.

"Ron, did you…" Arthur tried to find the right words. "Did you feel that there was something nearby, making people sad?"

Big blue eyes peered up at him in panic. Ron shook his head, staring at the floor as if asking it to transfigure itself into a beast to eat him. Arthur gently pulled his son's chin up so that he could look Ron in the eye.

"It's not a bad thing to be able to sense things, Ron, not at all, but I need you to be honest with me so that we can know how to fight this. Can you… describe how you knew we were getting sad?"

"Would you take the bad thing away?" Ron whispered.

Arthur felt his chest constrict.

"Of course, nothing is more important to me than protecting you guys. I will do whatever it takes to get rid of this. Whatever you saw, whatever you sensed or felt, you can tell me, Ron. I know it's scary, being able to feel these terrible things, but it just means you have an extra sense."

Far from reassured though, Ron had pulled away from him and looked ready to bolt.

"I don't think… the thing making people sad… where will you send it?"

Arthur frowned, not quite understanding what Ron was asking.

"The Dementor? The Aurors will make sure it goes to Azkaban. Where it belongs."

Ron stared wide eyed before his gaze fell to his lap. Arthur grimaced as he realized Ron most likely had listened in to Charlie tormenting the twins with tales of Azkaban, threatening to contact the Ministry to take them away if they didn't stop sneaking critters in his shoes.

"Little boys are not sent to Azkaban," Arthur said sternly. "Only monsters and criminals are sent there, which you are neither."

Ron did not seem reassured though.

It wasn't until later that night that Arthur realized Ron might still believe Bilius's words from that night. If Ron associated this 'empath' ability with monster then... he spent many nights after that reassuring Ron that his brother's words were lies.

---

After that, Ron refused to ever talk about his problems or his ability, he'd learned the terrible consequences of being truthful. Only Meredith Binns had ever learned of his secret. Instead, he tried his best to ignore it altogether. He tried to keep a positive attitude and to keep himself as far from his family as possible.

But today was a special day.

Fred and George's birthday was being held outside. It was hot and miserable and his skin itched as if crackle ants were sparking his skin, but his brothers were happy. Laughing and joking and running around like the heat was nothing more than a pleasant summer breeze and the sun was bright rather than murderous.

Ron was sticking to the shade, waiting anxiously for the singing to start, annoyed they were being forced to wait for Muriel to arrive. Might as well toss the cake out and light the ice cream on fire with how long it took her bones to get into a dress. Merlin, she was probably trying to put make up on too, as if it helped.

"Can't we just dress up the ghoul in Muriel's clothing, dear? No one could tell the difference," Asha piped up from his shoulder. Ron grinned from his spot under the table, but the wooden bird continued. "This really won't do. You're a delicate flower. You can't be out in the sun for so long."

"Where'd you learn that phrase from?" Ron hissed in dismay.

"Muriel also said that if she'd ever seen the living embodiment of the twins opposite, it would be you. Not a drop of Prewitt blood in you."

Asha pecked at his cheek, an indication that this was a question, a concept she didn't understand despite the statement.

"Tis true," a castle chess piece called up, "of all the large folk, you are the least impressive in spirit."

"Sod off," Ron muttered moodily.

"Those are not your best words, Ronald," Asha bristled.

"Sod off, please."

"Much better."

Ron rolled his eyes.

A familiar crack filled the air and Ron rushed out to see Muriel arriving, hairs pinned to her head by a thousand mini clips. She was covered, head to toe, hat to shoe, in maroon.

"Really, Muriel?" Asha chirped, far too perky to be genuine. Another trick Ron blamed on the old coot.

"Hush," Ron and Muriel both told the mirror bird. Ron rushed to the chess set, taking them off the board and setting them up along the cake table. A black knight gave him a wave for the okay and Ron retreated to a corner to await in glee, absently scratching at the back of his hand.

His mother and Muriel talked forever and Ron thought that was mighty dangerous behavior with the twins lurking about, ready to bring down the full glory of April 1st upon them all. Finally they made their way towards the table and everyone else wandered over. Ginny showed up, every inch covered in sparkles and preening like a proud cat, and Percy trailing behind her looking like a proud parent. The twins appeared put upon and exasperated while Lee Jorden was snickering and giving the twins consolidating pats.

Ron rocked back and forth in anticipation, scratching at his wrist again, the feel of sweat rubbing between his fingers. On que Asha whistled sharply.

"Looking good Fredrick. Very dashing George, the glitter really emphasizes your tan."

George gave himself a panicked pat down as Fred snickered.

"Good one, Ronnie!"

George paused and scowled, but nodded approvingly.

"Birds as much of a nuisance as the twins," Muriel muttered darkly. "A terrible influence to boot."

"She's just sayng that because she has terrible fashion sense," Asha stage whispered.

Molly Weasley chortled behind her hand before shooting Muriel an apologetic smile. The old witch's face remained stony.

"Shall we?" Muriel asked imperiously, to which the snickering spread to the children. "There's not an ounce of respect between the lot of you."

Molly ignored her, waving her wand and lighting the candles.

"One, two…" Before Molly made it to three a set of thirty two chess pieces broke out into uncoordinated, high pitched singing.

'Sappy Birthday to the fools

Sappy Birthday to the fools

We all they rules

Sappy Birthday dear fooooUUUOOOOoools

Even though Fred drools

The bad news is we sing off key

The good news is we sing for free!

Happy Sappy Birthday

We've got left to saaaaaaay

Hay!

Fred and George were falling over each other even as Muriel's face went three shades passed red into 'plum.'

"How'd you get them to cooperate?" Fred demanded.

Grandpa Weasley's chess set was notoriously difficult to handle.

Ron shrugged, grinning shyly. George moved towards him, his smile beginning to falter. Ron moved back. Not today. He wouldn't ruin things for them today of all days. Ron waved them towards the cake and ice cream.

"Go blow out your candles!"

But his hand waving had caught Fred's attention, his eyes going wide. Before Ron could blink Fred was there, grasping his hands and turning them over.

"What have you done?" Fred muttered. Confused, Ron looked down at his hands, they were covered in deep cuts and red spatters across his skin. George walked up behind Fred, looking over his twin's shoulder.

"Jeez, Ron, you've scratched the living crap out of them."

"Mum!" Fred called. "Ron's got a rash!"

George leaned forward and Ron gave an indignant squeak as George tugged at the collar of his shirt and looked down.

"It's on his chest too. Think it's contagious?"

"Don't know, but it ain't the dragon pox. He got those from Gin."

"It kinda looks like a sunburn," George muttered.

"You don't scratch sun burns," Fred said, a horrified look on his face. "That would be mental. Has to be something else."

"We get you outside for five minutes and you've already contracted something. When we said that you were allergic to adventure, we didn't mean it literally," George joked.

"Not allergic to adventure," Ron muttered, scratching at the burning itch on his hip.

"Stop that," Fred snapped, grabbing his wrist. "Geez, you've got blood under your fingers! How long have you been doing this?!"

"Oh my goodness! Ronald, what have you done?!" Molly fretted, spotting Ron as she followed her boy's call.

"Why is this my fault?" Ron demanded. "It just… itches. I didn't do anything."

"I saw you crawling under the tables, young man, don't think I didn't notice."

"He's like a spotted lizard now," George said, "big eyes and patchy skin."

"I have some cream in the house, give me a moment, boys, your father will cut the cake and then you can open your presents. Cross your arms, Ron, no scratching."

Ron scowled, but did as he was told, following his mother into the house and sitting patiently as she took his shirt off and rubbed sticky cold cream across his body. It felt gross and didn't help to stop the itch at all. If anything, it seemed to make the burning worse.

"I'll have to check to see what plants are under those tables," Molly muttered.

"It's not the plants," Ron told her, annoyed. It was never the plants. Ron always itched and burned outside. Sometimes it was bad and sometimes he hardly noticed. Unless it was raining. When the clouds were black and grey, Ron never felt any burning at all. Today wasn't even a bad day. It only hurt a little.

"Oh, then what is it then?" Molly asked, amused.

Ron frowned, scratching at his wrist again, but his mum smacked his hand lightly, giving him a warning look.

"It's hot outside," Ron answered, because it was the only thing that really made sense, when it was hotter, the rash was worse. When it was cold, he still felt it, but not as bad. Except… well, when it snowed it was really bad. Swimming was also a big no. Maybe it wasn't the heat. Ron tried again. "I always get itchy outside."

"Maybe you're allergic to something outside," his mum muttered, "pollen or grass or something."

"I'm not allergic to adventure," Ron told her firmly. "I like trying new things and fighting dragons and dark lords and stuff. Well, not real ones… I mean, I'd do it in real life too, but…"

"My word, you would fight a dragon? I'm fairly certain Charlie wouldn't be very happy with you."

"Charlie cuddles Snallygasters in his dreams," Ron muttered mutinously.

Molly paused before snickering.

"You know, you're probably right." Ron winced as the cream was spread over his skin. For a moment an icy cold feeling stretched over his skin, as if she had put ice cubes into each of the scratches, and then it was gone. His mum wiped the cream away to reveal clear, unhurt skin. "Why don't you stay inside and I'll bring you some cake and ice cream in here?"

Ron nodded, though it was a good day today, none of his family seemed to be feeling the effects Ron caused and he wanted to take advantage of that by being with them.

"Can you bring Asha in? She can't fly more than a few feet."

'And I don't want to be alone.'

"Of course, baby, why don't you go upstairs and take a shower? I want whatever it is that your allergic to off your skin. No scratching."

"Yes, mum."

After showering, Ron joined Asha by the window where the bird kept watch over his cake and ice cream. Fred and George were finished opening presents, tossing a relatively new looking Prattle Ball from one to the other over Ginny's much shorter reach. Ron watching with growing envy as they laughed and Ginny yelled. Without much notice, he scratched at his wrists again.

~~~Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump~~~

Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump was his favorite story. Ginny liked the one with the three witches and the knight, which was okay, but it wasn't as great as the clever witch. Ron would often take the book upstairs to read to himself. It was a bit hard, as some of the words were difficult, but it was better than exhausting his mum.

He didn't like to think about the affect he had on his family, but it was getting harder to ignore. Where once Ron could stand a few feet away from his brothers and not notice a difference, now Ron could walk in a room and it would happen. The monster part of him was getting stronger. The more his ability got out of control the more often he'd spot the Grim watching him.

Grim had taken to the form of a bird as of late. He'd found his eyes unintentionally being drawn to it. As if Meredith Binns death had opened up a gap in his chest and there was a chain dragging him in the direction of the creature.

This morning Ginny smiled and hurried him over to show him a picture she was drawing. She reached for a pink crayon, but when Ron had leaned over her, she'd stopped. She'd grabbed the black one instead and started to get all weepy.

"It's stupid!" Ginny snapped.

Taken back by her change in attitude, Ron had looked at her.

"What's stupid?"

"My picture, no one likes it!"

"That's not true, I like it, Gin-Gin."

But Ginny was gone. She dragged the black crayon over her picture of a dragon. Ruining it. Ron took a few steps back. Nothing changed. Ron took a few more steps back, until he was out of the room. Ginny rubbed at her face and blinked down at the paper blankly. Ron took a few more steps back. Ginny looked down at the crayon, abashed and horrified by what she'd done. She gave Ron a questioning look.

"Why don't you make another one? That one was really cool," Ron told her quietly.

She nodded, grabbing another white paper. She sniffled again, patting the chair next to her for Ron to sit. Ron shook his head though. Frightened. When he turned, it was to flee all the way up the stairs until he was in his room.

Every day it seemed that Ron's monster got a little bigger. Until Ron couldn't be in the same room as his family. Until being on the same floor started to bother them.

When he was little, dinners were these really great things with people laughing and telling jokes and talking about their day, but now no one talked. They picked at their food and then they disappeared, as if just being around each other was too much.

But Ron knew the truth.

He didn't know how or why, but he knew that Ron himself was the cause of it. It used to be that Ron would have to touch someone for them to get sad, but now… Now it was spreading. He was a monster and he didn't know how to make it stop.

"Ron! Ronniekins! We got some sparklers, come light one with us!" George called.

Ron watched them from the second-floor platform, his Cannon Figures halfway through a barrel dive into the final portion of the match. He shook his head, hard, looking down at the quidditch figurines.

"Come on, Ron! Don't be such a glum bum," Fred called.

"Go get Gin!" Ron called from his perimeter.

"We already gave her one!" George called out in exasperation. "Fred's right, don't be a Percy, you're gonna end up being a stick in the mind who no one likes, you know!"

"The Cannons are winning!" Ron protested.

The twins exchanged grins.

"We'll you're one step ahead of Perce, I guess," George drawled.

"Perce has no imagination. Good on you, Ronnie!" Fred added.

"But seriously, if you don't come down then I'm gonna come up!" George called in warning.

Ron sighed, but trudged down the stairs. Every step he took drained George of the silly grin on his face. Ron cringed as he saw George wilt a little bit, the hand holding the sparklers falling to his side. He took a step back and then scrambled up the stairs.

"I don't want to play with you!" Ron called, picking his quidditch players back up.

George, having the cheer taken from him, scowled.

"Fine then. It's not like you would have been any fun anyways, you never are," George snapped.

Fred, down on the first floor, frowned up at George.

"Georgie," Fred called, unsure.

"No, he's always like this. Moping around and always dragging everyone else down with his attitude," George snapped.

Ron flinched, picking up his toys and heading further up the stairs.

Fred, normally the more callous of the twins, was staring at George in complete bewilderment. Out of sight, Ron heard Fred joining George on the first flight of stairs.

"Yeah, he is a little ball of misery, but that's why we wanted to get him to join us, wasn't it? Thought we could cheer him up." Fred asked. Ron leaned against the wall as he listened in. The hard lines on George's face lightened just the tiniest bit.

"What is wrong with him?" George muttered. "How can someone be so…"

"Depressing?" Fred suggested.

"He's like a little black cloud," George sighed. "It doesn't matter what he's doing, whether he's playing or crying or just walking about. It's like seeing the saddest kicked dog ever."

Fred nodded.

"It's not even fun to prank him!" Fred added, as if this was the mark of true horror.

Ron ran up the stairs.

There were a few things that made Ron happy. Asha, of course, his Cannon Quidditch figures, his book of stories, and the bright orange paint of his walls. The last because his mum had told him once that it matched his personality; bright. Which was the one and only time anything like it had ever been said. It cheered him up, to see the walls, and to imagine what it might be like if the monster didn't stock his steps.

Ron was only seven years old, but he knew whatever his ability was, it wasn't the Grim's fault. Like the Veela, his power seemed to work whether the Grim was there or not, no, whatever it was that made everyone despair around him, it had to do with something else. But… pretending it was a monster, perhaps the Grim, made him feel better. Like it was separate from himself.

Like it wasn't his fault.

Shortly after Ginny's sixth birthday, even weirder things began to take place. Sensations. Emotions. Things that didn't belong to him. Like the time Ginny got very sick. It seemed like a long time ago, but when she'd handed him a Lemon Poppy muffin Ron suddenly felt that it was happening in that instant. It felt as if his throat was on fire and everything was heavy, his legs, his arms, his head, it felt too heavy. He couldn't lift it. It was scary! She didn't like this at all. Where was mummy? Her head felt like wet, hot cotton, but her toes were cold.

Ron tore away from Ginny, his sister looking equally unhappy

"Mummy," she called, "I don't feel good."

His sister was tearing up. Ron felt sick to his stomach. Had he caused that? That wasn't him. He knew this, instinctively, that had been Ginny. He'd dragged it up somehow. Dragged up that terrible memory from the depths, bringing it to the surface. He'd felt her illness inside of him for the briefest of moments.

Worse.

Ron had enjoyed it. Not the memory itself. The sensation of pulling it outwards. It had felt as if he were taking something warm with it, like running his finger through warm water on a cold day.

"Son, are you alright? Was the muffin too hot? Did it burn you?"

Ron jerked towards the voice, his dad, looking at him in concern. It was then that he realized that he'd dropped the muffin. The fresh breakfast treat now cooling on the kitchen's tile floor. Ron picked it up and put it in the garbage.

"I don't feel good either," Ron blurted. "Em' not hungry. Can I go lie down?"

Dad reached out to him, but Ron jumped back. Staring at his dad's hands in fear. What if that happened every time? Why had he liked it?

"Ron, let your father check on you," his mum said sternly.

Ron shook his head.

"I just wanna go to sleep," Ron said quietly, backing away from them.

"And I'll tuck you in," his dad promised, watching him carefully, "but let's make sure it isn't too serious, alright?"

Ron took a step back, but found himself against the corner of the kitchen counter. He shied away from his dad's touch, slouching out of the hands reach until his bum was on the floor. Arthur's large hands touched his skin, they were rough and warm, but nothing more. No bad memories came. His dad lost a little of the twinkle in his eyes though.

It made him wonder, not for the first time, why none of his family seemed to notice what Ron did to them. How could they not see the way he made everyone unhappy?

"You don't seem to have a fever," Arthur murmured. His dad's arms closed around him, pulling him closer. Arthur hugged him. Fierce, firm, loving. Ron looked up at his dad to see his dad watching him with a searching look. Maybe his dad did know. Maybe he did see it. Then why was he holding Ron so close? Ron leaned into the touch, savoring it.

"You want to tell me what's wrong, buddy?" His dad asked, almost like he was pleading with him.

Ron almost told him.

But then he thought of Uncle Billius.

Hands just like his dad's. Holding a long knife against his throat.

'There's a monster inside of you, Ronnie, I have to kill it. I have to.'

Crazy Uncle Billius who wasn't crazy at all.

"My head just hurts," Ron said instead.

His dad's shoulder's slumped. Ron found himself being picked up and tucked against his dad's chest, heading towards his bedroom. They went up all the flights of stairs and hallways to the last room in the house. Ron always wondered how, if Ginny was the youngest, how his room came to be the last room? Everyone else was in order. His mum and dad on the first level, Bill then Charlie, Percy's room on the third floor, the twins and Ginny on the fourth. And then him. Right before the attic.

He didn't wonder why.

Rather, he wondered if it was something they'd done subconsciously or on purpose.

His dad tucked him in and kissed his forehead, stroking his hair before performing a few healing 'check-ups.' Ron was all clear, of course, but his dad let him stay anyways. He waited until he could no longer hear the sounds of his father leaving. Until the gentle thump of the ghoul above him was the only noise being made.

Then Ron sat up in bed and stared at his hands, trying to figure out just what he was. What he was and how he could stop being what he was. Uncle Billius seemed to think that it could be stopped by a knife. He still wasn't sure if his Uncle had been trying to kill him or do something else, it didn't really matter though, cause the man was dead. Only a day after that incident.

'The Grim's touch is inside you.'

Death. The Grim Reaper. Ron didn't kill people though. He just made them sad. He was a sad maker. Which sucked. Really, really, really, really, sucked. But he was pretty sure he didn't own anything cool enough to be called a scythe.

Ron didn't understand how the creature that stalked him could be inside of him. He didn't understand why he and his Uncle could see the thing but no one else. He didn't understand why he was given such awful things.

He'd heard stories of those who could make themselves look different and Veela's who could charm people and empaths who knew how people felt, but they didn't cause bad things to happen. They had gifts. They had special abilities. They were good.

Ron was just… he was awful. He was a monster. Maybe his Uncle had been right to try to kill him. Maybe that was the best solution. He didn't want this. He didn't want to do bad things to people. Like Meredith Binns. What if Ron had brought the Grim to the toy shop? What if it was his fault she died?

A clicking noise drew his attention to his dresser. Asha's yellow eyes were watching him, her head tilting to the side, jerking as it tried to right itself.

"Dearie, are you alright?"

He wished he could have Babbitty Rabbitty's ability. Turning into a rabbit and fleeing from all her problems. Disappearing into the night as if she never existed. He wished Uncle Bilius had told him why it was just them. Why they were alone.

"Do you really think there's a Fountain?" Ron asked instead.

"A fountain?" Asha repeated, her wooden feathers ruffled as naturally as a real bird. "I don't understand."

"There's a tale about a fountain that can fix all problems, though I suppose it's not really real. The three witches and the knight fixed their own problems on the way to the fountain. It was normal water."

"I don't understand."

Ron sighed.

"I'll have to read it to you." Ron laid down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "I guess the point though… is that they had to fix their own problems. They had to find their own solutions."

That's what he'd have to do. He'd have to find a way to make himself normal. He'd have to stop it somehow. He could only hope that the solution to his problem, to the Grim, to his dark abilities, wasn't found at the end of a knife.

~~~Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump~~~

Ron secretly loved rainy days. The wind and thunder always made him feel energized, even social enough to try to play with his siblings. On these days, when his spirits were up and he felt good, like he could conquer the world, it was like his little black cloud had floated up into the thunderstorm and disappeared for a bit. As if his cheer made the monster shy away.

On these days he only affected his family a little. They would drink hot cocoa and have whip cream wars and chat and build forts. Ron loved it. Ron adored these moments.

Ginny had called him a Thunderbird once. He'd cocked his head and she'd grabbed his hand and pulled him in to whisper in his ear. As if they were real friends, real family, like she loved him. It was all so brilliant.

"Normally you're the knight," she told him. "The luckless knight whose unhappy about everything, but when it rains…" Ginny spread her arms wide, making an exploding sound. "You're like a thunder bird."

"And you've seen one of those, have you?" Ron teased.

"Aunt Muriel has. She said it lit up the sky and caused all the wizards and witches to pause and look. Like you."

Ron's ears turned red.

"Thanks, Gin-gin."

And then she hugged him and Ron thought he might burst with joy.

---

The sun beat down in a cloudless sky and Ron was miserable. Their mum had banished them outside a few hours ago so she could prepare for Muriel's visit in peace. At eight years Ron would admit to anyone bother to ask that he hated these days, not understanding how his siblings could stand to be out in the sunlight, the sharp sting against skin or the nausea or dizziness that always seem to come with. They bounced around the yard like a bunch of gnomes in the grass. Running and screaming and all sorts of nonsense that made him feel faint just watching them from under the relative safety of his tree.

"Come on, Ron!" Charlie called, his features set in exasperation. Ron glowered, wishing Bill hadn't gone to Egypt last year. Bill wouldn't hackle him. Percy, the git, had been able to stay inside because Percy was quiet. Ron could be quiet. He knew how to stay in his room with his Cannon figures. But nooooo, Ron had been lumped in with the twins and Ginny and Charlie.

"Does the little vampire not want to play?" Fred mocked.

"You're gonna just sit there all day?" George added, eyeing the dwindling shadow and his brother's seemingly shrinking form with it.

"Just leave me alone," Ron hissed, though the words didn't have the sharp, cutting ring he wanted them to, instead they felt soupy in his mouth, traveling thick and difficult and slow. Before he knew it there were hands on him, pulling him up and away from the tree and it hurt. Tears stung his eyes and Ron curled into a ball.

Charlie looked unamused.

"Stop being such a wet blanket, Ron. We're not forcing you to face a troll or tossing you in a pit. It's tag; fresh air, running, exercise. It's good for you."

"Don't bother, Charlie," Fred said in disgust, "He's Percy's man."

"Except Ron doesn't even read," George added, "so he's not even as smart as Percy."

"Take me inside please," Ron cried, not caring how it confirmed their words or how pathetic it sounded, because it hurt. It hurt and he didn't want to be here and he wasn't sure if he could even crawl back to the house at this point.

"Ronnie?" Charlie's voice had lost its sharp edge. Charlie's hand moved from his arm to his back. The loss of support dropped him to his knees and he found that sick feeling in his gut come up. Ron threw up across the grass.

"Shite!" Charlie picked him up, cradling him against his shoulder in a way he hadn't for a long time. "Fred, tell mum!"

"Charlie!" George called.

"A little busy," Charlie muttered, Ron felt them moving towards the house.

"Charlie, there's blood!"

Ron had never heard George's voice crack before. Suddenly he felt Charlie shoot forward. His brother was running. Ron clutched at his chest, trying not to vomit again. He felt it slipping through though, warm and thick.

"Mum! Shite. Shite. Shite. Percy!"

A plate crashed to the floor. Ron was laid on something hard and flat, the table, he thought, but wasn't sure. There was shouting and faces swimming in and out of his vision.

Then nothing.

Charlie's knuckle's cracked. The noise startled him enough that he jerked. He hadn't realized he'd been clenching his fingers quite so hard. Ginny, tucked in at his side, turned over in her sleep. The twins were both passed out on either side of him and Percy was pacing enough that even the Healers were watching him in annoyance.

It had been hours since Ron had been brought into St. Mungo's and neither of his parents had come out again since following Ron into the emergency ward. Over and over he thought about those last few moments with Ron. The blood coating his teeth and dribbling down his chin. The healer shrieking when she walked into the kitchen, turning him over and babbling about Ron choking on his own blood as it fell onto the floor.

He couldn't figure it out though. Nothing had happened. Ron had spent almost the entire time refusing to move from the shade of the tree. Ron must have been feeling really sick before they even went out, but why wouldn't he have said anything? Why wouldn't he have just said 'oh, hey, I really don't feel good, can I lie down?' Not that it would have stopped him from throwing up blood, but if they'd known he wasn't feeling good then they could have check on him then maybe they could have known it was something bad and…

"What do you think it is?" Percy broke into his thoughts.

Charlie eyed Percy in surprise. His little brother considered himself 'too smart' to ever ask 'muscle head' Charlie anything. It spoke volumes to just how spooked he was.

"I don't know. He was fine this morning," Charlie answered honestly. "I saw him in his room playing chess with himself, arguing with the pieces."

Ron rarely asked any of them to play with him. Charlie suspected it was Ron's odd withdrawn nature rather than wanting to be alone. Which, granted, didn't make any sense. Nothing about his youngest brother had ever made sense though. Charlie didn't get Ron. He wasn't quiet. He wasn't shy. He wasn't antisocial. Yet he kept back, like he didn't think anyone liked him. He acted like anyone of them would suddenly, spontaneously strike out at him.

"I would play chess with him." Charlie looked up at the words to see Percy had crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself as he stared vacantly at the little ones. "If he asked me, I would play chess with him," Percy repeated.

"Course you would, Perce, you're a good kid," Charlie told him, trying to relieve some of the guilt that seemed to be dripping from his little brother even though he didn't understand why it was there in the first place.

"I'm the observant one though," Percy muttered. "I always know when the twins are up to no good or Gin-Gin needs a cuddle or mum needs help or if dad needs time in the garage to fiddle."

Charlie would argue that if Percy was that observant then he wouldn't be the victim of so many of the twin's pranks, but decided to leave it alone.

"That doesn't mean it's your responsibility to know if something is wrong every minute of every day," Charlie told him, trying for wise, but there was an edge of exasperation. Patience was Bill's thing, not his. Charlie had never been good at this, so when Percy twisted around mid-pace to face Charlie with a look of thunder on his face, he was at a loss for what to say.

"I don't like to watch Ron though," Percy whispered. His little brother started pacing again, looking both guilty and desperate. "He's just so… he's always so… depressing. I hate being around him. He's never done anything mean or anything. It's just…"

Charlie felt a lump in his throat because he understood. He got it. It was that same odd contradiction because Ron was a great little kid. On paper. Being around him though… it was exhausting. Hanging out with Ron was like welcoming rocks to just… cling to every inch of you.

"Don't blame yourself. We've all felt that way at some point," Charlie mumbled.

"But WHY?! Why do I feel like that? Why do we all feel like that? It isn't right!"

"I don't know."

The door opened and Charlie practically jumped out of his own skin in his haste to get to his father. Ginny startled awake, clinging to him and looking around in bleary confusion. Percy made it there before him, ringing his hands and not bothering to push his glasses up when they slid far enough down to be in danger of falling off completely.

"What happened!? Is he okay? No, sorry, stupid question, is he going to be okay?" Percy sputtered.

Their dad looked about ready to collapse, but he managed to scrape up a shaky smile.

"He's going to live. There are some things we need to talk about though. Percy, my boy, will you go wake the twins? There's a Healer's office that is being held for us so that we can talk in private."

Charlie felt a chill go down his back. 'Oh no,' his mind whispered, 'Merlin, no.' Charlie did pretty decently in school. He'd been made a prefect last year and though his talents lingered more in the outdoors side of things like Quidditch, Care for Magical Creatures, and Herbology; all of his teachers appreciated him for his ready understanding of hands on application. He was smart, just not in the book sense that Percy excelled at and held to such high acclaim. And right now all of his hands on experience with animals was telling him that they were being backed into a corner for containment.

"We're ready," Percy said. He had both the twins by the hand. The nine-year-old's looked disgruntled and defiant, but too tired to put up much of a fight. The clan of red heads made their way down the halls to find themselves in a spacy office. His growing pool of dread noted that the cushy space belonged to a very well-paid Healer, a specialist, someone high up. If Ron needed someone like that… When they made it into the office, Arthur Weasley buried his face into his hands. Charlie was so startled by this that he very nearly dropped Ginny.

"Dad?" Charlie prodded.

"Yes, just… give me a second Charlie. I'll explain. I'm sorry for scaring you."

"What's wrong with, Ronnie?" Ginny whispered.

He wasn't sure if their dad heard her for how silent he was being. Charlie hiked her up his hip again, the seven-year-old getting much too big for him to carry for extended periods of time, but feeling that they both needed it in that moment.

"Ron's magic works… different than ours," dad said carefully.

"What's so different about it?" Fred grumbled.

"Ron can't control his magic, it's acting on its own," dad started.

"But that's accidental magic," George cut in. "We've done it a ton."

"Not like this, son, Ron's magic is constantly surrounding him and contorting sunlight into a toxin."

Charlie hugged Ginny to him, staring at the seriousness on his dad's face.

"You're pulling our leg, right?" George pleaded. "Ron just caught a nasty bug or some such and the numpty has to stay overnight, but he'll be fine."

Arthur Weasley reached out and pulled both the twins to him, embracing them in a fierce hug. Then he looked up and reached over to grab Percy, pulling the for once not reluctant kid into an embrace as well.

"Listen, it's gonna be a bit hard for a while, especially for Ron, but we're all gonna get through this and adjust."

"What do you mean 'adjust'?" Charlie whispered in dawning horror. "They can fix this, right? You said Ron's gonna be fine, so they've got an antidote for this, right?"

When his dad looked up, Charlie readjusted his father's definition of 'fine' to 'not well, but I can't say that.'

"They've never seen anything like this before, Charlie boy, not once. They don't have a quick fix for this. And there's more."

Ginny started to feel unbearably heavy. Charlie sank into one of the office chairs near him and gestured for him to go one. Percy too took a seat and the twins plopped onto the floor where they stood.

"Ron's magic doesn't just contort the light in the air. It contorts emotions in the air too. Ron's magic has been reaching out and contorting our emotions into a toxin of sorts. Twisting them."

All the air in his chest fled. All the parts of his brother that had never quite made sense were falling into place. Ron looking hesitantly from the other room, unwilling to come in, but always looking like he desperately wanted to. Fleeing whenever Charlie asked him to come over. Ron playing by himself. Ron talking to chess pieces and Cannon Quidditch players instead of his family. Ron unwilling to hug anyone or touch anyone. As if he'd been hurt, but no one in the Weasley family would ever hurt Ron. Ever.

"He knows," Charlie said quietly, "doesn't he?"

His dad's face really crumbled then.

"Ron is under the belief that there is a monster inside him and is terrified that now that we know about the monster we won't want him anymore. So, in a sense, he knew. He says Bilius told him about the monster and that he wasn't supposed to tell anyone about it. Bilius told him that only one in each generation of the Weasley family inherits it."

"Fuck," Charlie breathed.

"Language, Charlie," Arthur snapped. 'At least in front of the little ones.'

"Sorry. Sorry, it's just… that's so f… messed up. How could Uncle Bilius do that to him?" Charlie asked.

Because Weasley's didn't do that to one another. They were blood traitors because they stood up for the weak and defended those who didn't have rights or a say. His Uncles… all of them, Uncle Bilius included, had fought against Voldemort. They believed in family and held strong with the Order of the Phoenix. Charlie might not always like that they were poor or some of the decisions his parents made, but he had always been proud of them. He'd always felt that the love and close connection in their family made up for the lack of material wealth.

"Because your Uncle believed it," Arthur said quietly. "He suffered the same affliction. He and my father, your grandfather, both suffered it. I remember Bilius never went outside, but he was a lot like Percy, a book in his hand all the time. He was very social, he just… he always had his pockets full to the brim with cheer charms and I never knew why. I thought it was how he flirted with girls, giving them cheer charms and… well… that's… neither here nor there."

"So Ron's not the first," Percy pointed out.

"He's the first case the Healers have seen," Arthur corrected. "Until then we're going to have to be careful. I'm going to have to set up the house so that no natural sunlight gets in and you guys are going to have to actively fight against Ron's magic. I want you to try to think of happy thoughts around Ron, try to think of your magic going outwards, like a barrier. For so long we…"

It was the first time he'd seen his dad cry.

Right there in the Healer's office, choked off sobs that ebbed and flowed for several long minutes, scaring the ever-living shit out of all his children in the process, Charlie included. Ginny struggled in his arms, and when Charlie released her she ran over to their dad and threw her arms around him. Arthur brought her into his lap, cuddling and sniffling as he tried to control his emotions.

"Sorry, I'm alright princess, I'm okay."

"I'm a witch, remember? Not a princess," Ginny corrected him, wiping his tears away with her shirt.

Arthur smiled.

"I thought we agreed you could be both."

Ginny shook her head.

"Ron says princesses are lame, but witches are cool 'cause witches never need to be saved. So I'm a witch."

"Did he?" Charlie watched his dad's smile falter. "Well, do you think you can be a brave little witch for me then?"

"Sure!"

"Alright, I need you and your brothers to do something very brave, okay? No matter how much Ron says that he doesn't want to play, I want you to try to play with him. I want you to tell him he's not a monster and that we all love him very much. That's going to be hard until we can find a solution to this. Do you think you can do it?"

When his dad looked up at him and his brothers, Charlie nodded. From the corner of his eye he could see Percy nodding his head vigorously. The twins didn't seem to fully understand, but they eventually nodded slow, but firm. Ginny…

"Ron says its worse when we touch him."

"What?" Arthur asked, startled. "What do you mean by that? Did you know?"

Ginny fiddled with her shirt, refusing to look up.

"Ginny, you're not in trouble, but I need to know as much as I can and your brother isn't opening up too much right now. Please, tell me what you know," Arthur prodded. Charlie waited with bated breath as Ginny's big brown eyes widened as she looked up at him, looking unsure and sad.

"Ronnie always looks like he needs a hug," Ginny said quietly. "So I tried to hug him, but Ron won't let me. He said the sadness gets really, really, really bad when someone touches him and that it takes days for them to get over. He said not to tell anyone though cause I'm the only one who tries to hug him, so I'm the only one that needs to know, but if you guys are going to hug him then you need to know." Ginny leaned forward, long red hair falling into her face as she continued solemnly. "He won't let me come to his bed after a nightmare either. He says he'll make it worse. And he won't color with me or sit next to me or…"

Now Ginny was tearing up. She buried her head in their dad's chest, but Charlie was struck by something else. He hadn't tried to hug Ron in… Godric. He couldn't even remember. He'd hugged Percy just three days ago… well, mainly because he knew his brother was annoyed by it and it was funny to see the far too dignified eleven-year-old squirm. He practically carried Ginny from room to room when he came home for the summer and Christmas holidays. He wrestled with the twins not even earlier that afternoon. Ron though… Merlin, he couldn't even remember hugging him when he'd gotten off the Hogwart's express. Had he even been there?

No, he had been.

He remembered feeling so excited to be coming home and seeing everyone. Telling them about his new girlfriend, about how well he'd down on his O.W.L Exams, and how he thought he had a good chance of making Quidditch Captain next year. Then… after he'd hugged his mother and his siblings, he'd just… it hadn't felt important anymore. He suddenly felt that it just wasn't all that interesting and that he was so exhausted from the train ride that he should probably just head up to bed.

Bloody hell. It worked fast, didn't it? And Ron knew about it. He knew he was the source, the cause, and had isolated himself as far from his family as he could. What must have that been like?

"We should have a better chance against this now that we know," Percy said resolutely. "If we're aware of what's going on, then we can separate those bad emotions and look at them logically. I'm not saying that I think it will be a magical fix, but I think if we can categorize and identify those emotions Ron is clearly affecting that it will be easier to identify our real emotions."

Charlie smiled proudly and for the first time he thought that in three weeks, when his brother went to Hogwarts for his sorting, he just might be separated into Gryffindor. Not that he would care if he was sorted into Ravenclaw. Alright. He would. As far as Percy was concerned he wouldn't care one bit though, but it would be so much better for him to be in Gryffindor, teach him how to have fun, make friends, and all that. He really hoped Percy was a lion.

"Can we see Ron now?" Fred demanded. "So he's a little black cloud, we get it, it's not really news. His whole doom and gloom act has been him since forever."

"But not really," George cut in. "It's not who he is. It's what he is, so now we need to figure out who he is underneath that, right?"

"Absolutely," Fred agreed. "We've got to pull him out from beneath the cloud and tell him not to be such a sodden coward and face us!"

All the hype and excitement, the determination… was for naught. When they arrived in the room, Ron was fast asleep. Percy looked equal parts relieved and disappointed and Charlie guessed his little brother had already concocted a speech to go along with all that bravado because even if he did turn out to be a lion, he was a glasses wearing, book toting awkward one.

Charlie put his hand on Percy's shoulder mouthing 'tomorrow' and cocking a smile on his face at Percy's embarrassed blush. Molly Weasley was already seated in a chair next to Ron's hospital bed, stroking his hand and trying to dab at her too red eyes. She welcomed Ginny into her lab, scooping the little princess into her lap like second nature. Charlie stayed back with his dad, nudging his shoulder against the man's arm, trying to be comfort and reassurance when his experience was zero.

His dad smiled anyways.

Looking at Ron curled up on the bed, the ridiculously brave and self-sacrificing little prat, he knew there was no house more deserving of his brother than Gryffindor. Ron would be a lion for sure.

~~~Babbitty Rabbitty and the Cackling Stump~~~

Ron was biting his nails again. Arthur tried to ignore it, but when Ron bit too hard blood began to slide down his hand and Ron… well Ron didn't seem to notice it was happening at all. Arthur passed Percy curled up with a book on the couch. His strong little bookworm had been keeping Ron company for the better part of the last week as everything was being set up, but it was clear it was affecting him as both boys had finally fallen into a silence that couldn't seem to be shaken.

'It would be best if he slept during the day. You may not have noticed, but even the sunlight through the windows have affected him. Having lived his whole life like he has, he probably hasn't noticed, but the light's toxins will have left him fatigued and worn down. In our discussion, you told me that your son prefers to be left alone and that he doesn't seem to play too much, I think this is primarily due to this magical malady. Once the wards are finished being set up, I expect you'll see a change in your son's 'normal' behavior and the boy will display more of what he should be like rather than what this accidental magic has caused.'

As Arthur moved closer he fought the dread that was turning in his stomach. Ron had the radio pulled close to his corner, a quidditch game giving the play by play of the Ausie Thestral's and Wimple Wands, but it was clear Ron wasn't paying it much attention.

'I might recommend a mind healer. Keeping this sort of secret to himself can cause… unforeseen trauma down the road. It's best that they have someone impartial to speak to about this unfortunate situation.'

He was gazing outside, his right-hand scratching at his shoulder, the one closest to the window where the sunlight had slipped through the smallest bit. The wards were letting just enough light through so that they wouldn't need candles everywhere to light the house. They were investing in special magic lanterns that would allow the house to be lit without the heat of flames, but it would take time. Until then though… Arthur followed his gaze outside to where Charlie was teaching the twins flying ticks. His heart sank. Ron would never be able to play quidditch, and from the look on his little boy's face, he realized it too.

'To be honest, Mr. Weasley, its sheer dumb luck that something worse hasn't happened before now. My guess is that the boy was unconsciously self-medicating, avoiding outside and social interactions without thinking much about it. Instincts are a powerful thing.'

He'd seen Ron playing pretend with Ginny on the non-magical brooms. He'd seen his boy with the Cannon Quidditch Player figurines hovering about the room, instructing them on which maneuver to perform, like he was the captain of a battle.

Arthur kneeled, gently prying the destroyed nail of Ron's thumb from his mouth. Ron blinked, turning to look at him with a frown. He reached forward and pulled the curtains closed all the way.

"I was just looking," Ron said sullenly.

Arthur tried to give Ron a smile, but it felt stiff.

"Why don't we wrap this?"

Ron seemed to notice the blood for the first time, shrugging carelessly and trudged after him into the kitchen. Arthur pulled out his wand, healing the cut with a wave, but wrapped all of Ron's fingers anyways to try to stop the habit in its tracks. Ron flexed his fingers, a disgruntled look on his face before standing to leave, but Arthur grabbed his shoulder to stop him from leaving.

Ron looked up, eyes shining with curiosity.

"Why don't we play checkers?" Arthur asked.

Now Ron was eyeing him suspiciously.

"Do you really want to?"

'No.'

Arthur recoiled from his own thoughts, repulsed by his need to get away from his own child.

"Of course I do, why would you ever ask that?"

For a moment, Ron's eyes were so sharp and piercing, accusing in their assessment of him, that Arthur felt that he'd been found out. That Ron somehow knew his darker thoughts. It seemed the pressure of those thoughts might crush his little boy, but then Ron smiled shakily at him.

"I just thought… you might want to tinker with your muggle nick nacks. You haven't in a while."

"That's very thoughtful, Ron, but I'd rather spend time with you."

Another hesitant smile and a look in his eyes that said Ron didn't believe him. Arthur swore on his very soul that he would make that look go away.

'If there is anything your family's history can provide, find it, as much as it pains me to admit this; no medical research is going to go into a one person problem, even if your family belongs to the Sacred Twenty-Eight. There simply aren't enough resources available.'

No matter what he had to do.

---

The muggle house lacked charm. The yard was neglected and the lights inside were dim. Just like the owner. Still, Arthur took two steps forward and rang the doorbell, Bill just behind him.

Bill had arrived late last night. Arthur hadn't wanted to put his suspicions in a letter that could be intercepted, so had simply told Bill that there was a family emergency that involved Ron and it would be best if Bill came home for a few weeks. In the wee hours of the morning, Arthur had told Bill everything and more, laying down all that he knew about his brother and grandfather and what it could mean.

"My brother and my father were always secretive, but when Bilius was sixteen he let something slip," Arthur told Bill as they waited for the door to open. "I told him I thought having a big family would be great and Bilius became furious with me. He told me I was a fool, that the Weasley's were cursed and it would be better if we we're all dead. I just thought he was going through a depression, but now I think he was speaking the truth."

Arthur's oldest brother Phillip was thirty years older than Arthur and twenty seven years older than Bilius. No one mentioned him. He neither attended family gatherings nor invited anyone to his home. All letters were returned unopened. The man had exiled himself upon learning his child was as squib. He'd been divorced from his muggle wife and had removed himself from the wizarding world seemingly overnight. Despite this, as the oldest child upon their mother's death, all historical and legal documents for the Weasley family were delivered to Phillip.

If there was any truth to Bilius words or any information on the sun sickness that Ron had inherited, but no one in the wizarding world seem to know about, then it would be here. All he needed to do was convince Phillip to let him borrow the papers.

The door opened to reveal Phillip Weasley.

The odor hit like a heatwave, a mixture of alcohol and garbage. The face centered in the middle of that odor, skin sagging and folded over itself. Arthur suddenly wished it had been their squib cousin Dan the accountant to inherit the Weasley family history. The crisp suited, too serious young man at least had laugh lines. Phillip's face looked ready to spear Arthur's laugh lines out of existence.

"Phillip! It's been too long. Can we come in?" Arthur nudged on by, not giving the man the ability to say no. "I love what you've done with the place since I was last here. It has…" Arthur's foot tapped a bottle of whiskey. "…character."

"What do you want, Arthur," Phillip slurred, though that may have been a habit now rather than any indication of intoxication.

"Nothing too significant," Arthur assured. "Just need to have a quick gander at our books. Maybe borrow a few."

Bill slipped in quietly beside him, eyeing Phillip in disgust. Arthur grabbed his elbow, giving a gentle, but firm tug as a warning. Bill's face evened out to something more blank than condemning. Phillip grinned knowingly, though it wasn't a pleasant feature at all.

"Which one inherited it?" Phillip gestured towards Bill. "Not this one, eh? Would have noticed, then again, maybe not if he's learned some form of control."

"You know what this is?" Bill asked.

Phillip shrugged.

"I know Bilius couldn't touch people. I know the sun hurt him, crowds scared him, and mum hated him."

"Mum loved Bilius."

Phillip shrugged again.

"Whatever you say, kid. Da had it too. Gradma Sophie before him, great granduncle William before her. It's one every generation. No more and no less. I don't know nothing else though."

Arthur pressed his lips together, trying not to think about how closely that information matched the nonsense Bilius was hollering about that night.

"What about the actual illness?" Arthur pressed. "Anything in the books?"

"Nothing in the ones I can read," Phillip answered. "Except Grandma Sophie once mentioned how the gloves weren't working for her anymore. Whatever that might mean…"

"There's ones you can't read?" Bill jumped in.

"Just the one," Phillip said with a shrug. "It's been spelled so that only those who inherited the illness or curse or whatever… only they can read it. Must be pretty awful to go to such lengths."

Arthur swallowed hard, glancing at Bill, who wa looking just as sick as he felt.

"Can we see this book?" Arthur asked, though if it came down to it, he would be walking out with it whether Phillip liked it or not.

Phillip shrugged. It seemed to be his central means of communication. He gestured to be his central means of communication. He gestured absently upwards before stumbling towards the stairs.

"Da worked as a guard in Azkaban, you know," Phillip said casually. "Heard dark things make the illness worse, so it always confused me why he'd work at a place like that. Grandma Sophie was an Auror in her time. Billy… Billy struggled the most with a job. Said he disagreed with the way they handled their work. Didn't want to follow in their footsteps."

"What does that mean?" Arthur asked.

"Golden question, brother, the Merlin of all questions, really. Find the answer and you can tell me, yeah?"

---

The barrier protecting the inside of the house from sunlight had cast the entire Weasley home in darkness. Ron felt better, honestly he did, he hadn't realized he felt terrible until he felt better. Every day felt like rain and Ron reveled in it. The entire house, while not cured of the dark atmosphere, had lifted in spirits.

Ron could be in the same room now.

More than once he'd seen the twins looking at him in bewilderment and awe. As if Ron had been dead and had popped up from the grave. He still had to keep his distance and if anyone touched him it was all downhill from there. One frightening effect though was his mum bursting into tears every time she spotted him.

"It's because she didn't realize you were sick," George told him.

"Yeah," Fred agreed, "which we all feel pretty soddy about, but mum's a mum, you know?"

George nudged him, being brief and only touching Ron where there was cloth separating contact, but Ron smiled at George for trying. His brother's smile was stretched a little thinner, but George refused to let it fall. Fred, on the other hand, wasn't bothering to hide his distress at being close to Ron or the conversation.

"Charlie said you were slowly dying, that true?" Fred whispered. Ron nodded, sipping at his pumpkin juice. It was his favorite and since returning from St. Mungo's, there seemed to be no end to the supplies in the fridge. "We're glad you're okay."

"I'm not a wet blanket, you know," Ron blurted out. The twins exchanged guilty looks, but Ron continued, because now that they knew, he could be honest. At least with this. "I want to play with you. All the time. It's just… I tried to explain that I made people sad, but no one listened and then it just seemed like bad things happened when I said anything so I stopped. I don't want to make people said though… I want to play; like, I really, really, really want to play with you, but I don't want to cause bad stuff to happen either."

"We get it, you're not a wet blanket, we were wrong," George agreed.

"You went about it wrong though," Fred cut in. "You never told us that you're magic's out of control. We wouldn't have dismissed you."

"I didn't know my magic was out of control," Ron said softly. "I just thought…"

"That you were a monster?" George said quietly.

Ron's ears turned red from embarrassment. He nodded sharply, refusing to look up.

"You're not a monster though," Fred said fiercely. "Don't ever think you are. Okay? And we'll find a way to play with you without getting all depressed and it will be amazing. No more hiding though, okay?"

Ron frowned down at the floor.

"But… just cause you know now doesn't make it go away. I can't be around you gu…"

"No, Ron, no," George snapped. "Fred's right. No hiding. It's not fair that you… you're not a monster and its time you stop treating yourself like one. You're gonna be okay and you're going to learn how to control this and… so don't lock yourself in the room or hide or anything else like that, because we'll find you and…"

"And we'll tickle you until you can't breathe," Fred finished. "Or we'll take all your clothes and hide them around the house while you're in the shower so you have to go looking for them butt naked."

"You wouldn't dare," Ron hissed.

"Oh, we would," George assured him. "And we'd put sparkles or itching powder in them to boot!"

Fred grinned savagely.

"This could actually be quite fun. Ron, you should hide away and then me and George can make a game out of breaking you of this habit of yours, yeah? It would be like April Fool's every day."

"I can prank you too, you know!" Ron threatened, but he was already feeling a foreboding sinking feeling as he realized that in Percy's absence, he'd become the twins new target.

"Ohhhhhhh, Ronnie thinks he can wage war against us," Fred said in delight.

"I think we're going to have to come up with an entire new arsenal. Ron won't fall for the same stuff Percy will."

"We can build a brand of pranks focused on different types of personality. Got a bookworm to loosen up? Have a little brother you want to bring out of his shell? Have a terror of a sister?" Fred crowed dramatically. "We could build an empire."

"Wait!" Ron backtracked, realizing his rashness might have just screwed him ten ways to hell and back. "This sounds like something that would really upset mum."

"I don't know about that," George mused. "It seems to me that mum would be happy with anything that got you horsing around."

"We could probably get away with this for quite a while before it starts to ware off," Fred agreed.

"See you around, Ronniekins, Frederick and I have things to do."

"People to see."

"Plans to deviate… I mean, create."

"Busy schedule, you see, we'll be popping in to check on you though."

"So don't get too comfortable."

And then they were gone in the blink of an eye and Ron was sweating from his brow to his armpits.

"Shite."

---

Ron was certain that something terrible had happened.

The borrow was deadly quiet and when he snuck downstairs there was no one in sight. His mother wasn't knitting or cooking. His dad wasn't tinkering out conversing too loudly with one of his brothers. Charlie wasn't arguing with Percy. The twins weren't causing trouble or hollering up a storm. Ginny wasn't trying to be in three places at once.

No one was in the burrow at all despite eight hands pointing at home. The sun had set an hour ago and even thought the Weasley clan was known as a roaring mornings, daylight-day bright sort of family, they had all adjusted to Ron's schedule as the barriers were being set up.

An awful thought took him.

What if he'd been left here? Alone? What if they were having a family meeting on how best to get rid of him now that they knew?

"Asha!" Ron called out in a panic. Because she couldn't be affected because she was the impression of a personality. She wasn't a true person and that had always comforted Ron because it meant Ron didn't affect her. It. He relied on it. "ASHA!"

The creek of wood under his feet was the only response.

"Mum," Ron whispered, because the idea of them not hearing him because they'd left was unbearable, but the thought she might hear and simply not respond was… he'd rather die. "Dad? George? Fred?"

They hadn't accepted it at all. Dad was a liar. They were all liars. Ron rubbed at his eyes, trying to breathe through the thing in his throat, choking him. They were afraid of him, of his ability, they were going to leave him alone and Ron couldn't think of anything worse than that. Not hating him or flinching from him or…

"Oh, Ronnie," his dad's voice murmured. Ron whirled around, wide eyed and heart pounding just in time to feel his dad's chest collide with him. He was scooped up as if he were four rather than eight and Ron clung to his dad's neck, burying his face there as he tried to stifle the sounds of his sniffling. "It's okay… we'd never… Ron, you know we'd never leave you behind, right?"

His dad's big hands rubbed his back and despite knowing what it would do, he hugged him tighter.

"Stiffen up that lip, alright? I've got a surprise for you," Arthur told him. Ron wiped at his eyes, avoiding his dad's eyes for fear of what he would see there or what his dad might see in him, instead he nodded. Breathing carefully until he felt in control. Then, and only then, did his dad sweep them both out the back door into the night.

A fake sun hovered over the yard. Ron stared at it in awe for a long moment, taking in the grinning faces of his family, the permanent light fixtures set out along the border of their home. A table had been set up in the corner of the yard under a giant tent, games and his chess set and colorful lights dancing around under the hood. Ron could see the now familiar signs of a sun barrier set up along the length of the tent which meant that he could be 'outside' during the day.

Shook up, Ron wasn't sure what to say.

"You guys did all this?" Ron asked. 'For me?'

"Put him down, Arthur! Let him explore!" Molly called. Ron glanced at his mum, the beginnings of excitement starting to filter through at the sight of his mother looking so pleased with the world. Fred, George, and Ginny were grinning likes thieves after a heist and Ron found himself reflecting their glee as he was lowered to the ground. From the table top, Asha sang off key, the wooden birds presence making him feel much better.

"I hope you know this means the Weasley's are gonna have to rebrand themselves," Fred said, walking up and punching Ron gently on the shoulder. "A family of the night. Skulking about in the darkness."

"The rumors that will spurn!" George declared dramatically.

"The truths that will go ignored!" Fred agreed.

"You have made us the talk of the wizarding world!" George declared.

Ron stifled a guffaw, ignoring the slow stiffening of the twin's shoulders as he came near, because they were trying. They looked to be nearly breaking over backwards just to show him that they could remain cheerful around him. Ron wouldn't ruin their act by flinching away like he had all week.

"We should start our careers as vampires by playing Fizzle Marbles where the Gnomes are sleeping," Ron said slyly.

Maybe the Grim played the king and he was Babbitty Rabbitty, but his tree, the one he hid under, was this big family he'd been lucky enough to get. All he could do was hope he didn't cause the tree to become a stump.