Chapter 2: In which family is both exasperating and wonderful, and recovering from a war is hard work.


"You're alive!" Harry greeted Ron cheerfully, shoving a plate of toast and bacon towards his best mate.

Run grunted in response, sitting down heavily at the dining table as he wordlessly began loading up on bacon. He'd barely fallen asleep before he had to be up again, managing to brush his teeth and his increasingly long hair, but very little else before shrugging into his magenta work robes and stumbling his way downstairs.

Harry watched his friend, no longer smiling. Ron looked like hell.

"Mate…" he started.

"I can't talk about it now Harry. I know I promised. But I've got to get to the shop and… sorry. I'll tell you everything I just…"

"Woah, woah, woah. That wasn't what I was going to say Ron, jeez."

Ron slumped in his seat, but Harry could still clearly see how tightly wound up he was.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"'S ok. I was just going to suggest that maybe you take a day off. I know it's the holiday season, but honestly Ron, you don't look well."

"I can't skip today. It's the first day Hogwarts' students are back," Ron answered, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to remove the exhaustion from them. "Besides, I don't think R&R is really going to sort me out at the minute… sorry," he added, seeing the perplexed look on Harry's face. "I know I keep on acting like…" he waved his hand around his head, indicating what, Harry wasn't too sure.

"You're being a right weirdo mate, I'll give you that, but that's not particularly new."

Ron chuckled and Harry felt relieved that at least Ron still knew how to smile.

"Look, I know George asked Lee and Angelina to help out today given the student rush. Make him let you off before closing so you can come home, have a proper meal, and get to bed at a reasonable hour. If you want to talk about whatever this," he waved his arms around in an exaggerated version of Ron's own hand waving, earning an eye roll from the red head, "is, then we can. If not, fine. I'll be here whenever you… just whenever."

Ron gave Harry a small smile in gratitude and returned, a bit sheepishly, to his toast.

"Here, this might help," Harry said, flicking his wand over a pair of mugs. "I finally figured out how to get the milk right."

Harry slid the mug over, revealing a perfect looking flat white.

"Yes!" Ron perked up, "How'd you do it?"

Harry showed Ron the charm to get the proper froth on the milk, the two of them quickly easing back into the comfortable companionship of their friendship until Ron forced himself up and over to the hearth.

The comfort was not to last. Ron had barely been in the shop for an hour before he was grinding his teeth and snapping at customers. Part of it was the genuine, mad rush of pre-holiday shoppers and recently released Hogwarts students, but the larger part was that Ron was on edge; exhausted on all levels. The peace he'd settled into the night before had quickly evaporated and he was now struggling to keep a hold of himself, alternating between relief and dread over what the week held for him.

He made it through the morning without any major mishaps, if you didn't count the dressing down he'd given some 5th year Ravenclaws for ruining a rather complicated display of charmed baubles, which Ron didn't- the gits should have known better.

After lunch was a different story, and on the fourth occasion Angelina needed to swoop in and rescue a customer from his wrath, George grabbed Ron none too gently by the shoulder and hauled him off to the tiny office behind the tills.

"What the hell Ron! What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," Ron snapped, "She was just…"

"Ron," George cut him off, "She asked where the sweets were."

"AND THERE'S A WHOLE GIANT BLOODY WALL OF THEM RIGHT BEHIND HER… IN BRIGHT NEON COLOURS!"

George blinked, surprised at the outburst, before crossing his arms and staring pointedly at his youngest brother.

Ron, for his part, had the decency to look at least a little ashamed of himself.

"Care to try that again?" George asked, his tone even.

It had taken Ron a while to adjust to George, and not just to working for him. George took the business seriously and it showed while he was running the shop, which was a new world in itself, but George was also learning how to be… just George. They were all still learning how to tread those waters, George included.

Ron suddenly felt very overwhelmed. His nerves had been raw all day (he preferred 'nerves' to 'emotions') and he was wound so tightly he was fairly certain he'd actually hurt himself shelving inventory earlier. He felt ill, which he was vaguely aware was stress induced. And now George was looking at him in that 'way-too-serious-for-George' way and…

"Fuck," he bit out, wiping angrily at his eyes with the heel of his palms. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

Alarmed, George uncrossed his arms and stepped towards Ron before pausing, not actually sure what he was supposed to do, so instead settled for shoving his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Err…?"

"I'm sorry," Ron bit out angrily, "I'm fucking SORRY! Merlin, this is all I ever do anymore! Apologize and bloody cry."

George was out of his depth here. He spent most days focused solely on the shop in order to keep himself from the bottom of a firewhiskey bottle. Ron had been pretty pivotal in ensuring his sobriety, truth be told, and it wasn't that George begrudged Ron whatever grief or… whatever the hell this was… but it was clearly a job for Bill. Or maybe even Ginny.

Ron was pacing the tiny office now, and he looked a little green, making George wonder if he should conjure a sick bin.

"You know how everyone says you should be true to yourself George?" Ron ranted, raking his hands through his hair as he paced. "Well bollocks to that! Fucking shit, that is. Unless maybe your true self is a… a billionaire philanthropist or… or an international quidditch star or something. But if your true self is a scarred up, weepy, stressed out homo, than you might want to fucking check again!"

George just continued to stare as Ron kept up his pacing, angrily wiping away tears as he at last stopped and turned to face George.

"Sorry… what?"

Ron leaned up against the desk and dropped his head into his hands.

"You heard me," Ron ground out, not looking up.

George shouldn't be smiling. He knew that. He recognized that now was not the moment for such things. But by Godrick, Christmas had come early! He took a deep breath, forcing himself to fight down his grin, reminding himself that Ron was clearly not ok at the moment, and of all the times Ron had shown up for him in the last several months when he had certainly not been ok himself. When he finally knew he could trust himself to speak, he cleared his throat, causing Ron to look up at him through his fringe, his head still hung low.

"I think you may want to refine your speech a bit before you give it to mum. There were an awful lot of swear words in there Ronnie."

Ron looked up at him properly now, his expression making it clear that he was not impressed.

"Is that all you have to say?"

George grinned. "Not even close."

Ron winced and dropped his head again to wipe his face on his shoulder.

"You have just given me the gift of a lifetime of entertainment," George started, putting his palm up to quell Ron's sputtering before the indignation could turn into words, "and so, I offer you the following bargain: I will give you two weeks of reprieve. No taking the mick, no sly comments, no pranks involving overly large sausages, nothing. That will get you through to the end of the holidays, then after that… it's open season little brother."

"Open season… right. So…"

"I'll also allow a three strike policy," George interrupted, realizing Ron was actually a bit more panicked by the open season comment than he'd intended. "If at any point I cross a line, just tell me it's a strike, and I'll drop it then and there. No questions asked."

Ron stared at George for what felt like ages before finally responding; he felt a bit off balance with George's… generosity? He supposed for George, generosity was the right word here. He was also struggling with the fact that George had just taken the news and let it roll, no questions asked.

"Five strikes," he said at last, "I have a feeling you're going to need extra help finding where the line is. Also, extra consideration whenever Hermione is in the room please, at least for awhile. It's not fair on her."

George raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on the Hermione line while he considered Ron's counter offer.

"Deal," he agreed. "Now, go home Ron," his voice softened considerably. "Take the rest of the day and tomorrow off."

George put a hand on Ron's shoulder and squeezed, offering him the small bit of comfort in recognition that Ron was genuinely having a rough time at the minute.

Ron nodded his thanks, not trusting himself to speak, and apparated out of the office before he could make a further spectacle of himself.

Once he was certain he was gone, George let out a low whistle and shook his head before stepping back out onto the shop floor.


Harry grit his teeth and told himself, for the 100th time, to relax. The whole point of this stupid class was to relax. They called it meditation or something but really, it was just a class to teach you how to chill the hell out.

That didn't seem likely today. Not with his best friend throwing around magazines with half dressed men on the cover, and potentially hurting his other best friend, and otherwise behaving strangely in general the last few days.

He'd joined the class at Ron's suggestion. Ron even came with him when his schedule allowed it. It was hosted by the Aurors, who were apparently required to go through the course at least once a year to help them manage anxiety, job related or otherwise.

He grudgingly admitted that it did help. He was glad Ron had all but forced him into it because he likely wouldn't have done it on his own.

"Give it up Mr. Potter. You're fooling no one."

Harry opened his eyes and glared at the instructor, Thelma. He knew from experience this meant he'd be forced to stay after the class to speak to her one on one, which is exactly where he found himself 15 minutes later.

"Mr. Potter…"

"Harry. Come on, Thelma."

Thelma huffed and pursed her lips in what Harry knew was her patience gathering tactic. Harry has been asked to stay behind enough times to consider their relationship friendly. Thelma wasn't an Auror, but she worked closely with the Corp, heading up the recently created 'mental and emotional health services' department.

"Harry then. You know what I'm going to say."

"So then you don't need to say it."

"I do. Merlin, are you always such a stubborn git?"

Harry looked up abruptly, a grin creeping its way across his face.

"My, my Thelma. Has my charm cracked through your professional veneer at last?"

Thelma slumped back into her chair and threw her arms up in exasperation as Harry just continued to smile innocently at her. She wasn't too much older than him, and she had a big job. She reminded him of Percy sometimes; overly professional in an attempt to cover her lack of experience.

She was good though. She had managed to make the department's existence not only normalized within the Auror Corps, but useful and productive. Mental health wasn't nearly as taboo as it once had been, and Thelma intended to remove the stigma entirely.

One Mr. Harry Potter's stubbornness was not going to stop her, savior of the wizarding world or not.

"Listen Mr. Po… Harry. You need to do this. Or you need to consider a different career path, period. I know what the training course requires and right now, you wouldn't pass it."

Harry squirmed at that. Part of him knew she was right, but he was nothing if not stubborn. Besides, his anxiety had been so much better lately! And the last panic attack he'd had was ages ago. He was only keyed up right now because… well, he'd rather not think about all the scenarios he'd began playing out, only partly against his will, involving a certain red head he shared a bed with, in front of Thelma.

"Harry," Thelma continued, when it was clear Harry wasn't going to give in so easily, "You are a gifted wizard, that much is obvious, and you clearly deserve a spot amongst Wizarding Britain's finest peace keeping organization, but believe me when I tell you, you are not ready for it."

"I never said I was," Harry spoke up, surprised by this. "I just need some time to…"

"No Harry. These things do take time, I agree with you there, and if you wanted to be an accountant, I'd leave you alone about it. But I can tell you are not giving up on being an Auror and it's different. You need to expose yourself now, in a safe and controlled context, to the things that trigger your anxiety, learn how to navigate it. Otherwise you risk not navigating it when you are in a very real and very dangerous situation."

"I'll be fine Thelma," Harry declared, having made this speech several times before.

"It's not you I'm worried about! Well, I am. But I am also worried about the liability you will be on whatever team you're assigned…"

"What?" Harry cut her off, perplexed.

"Your team Harry. No one goes into the field alone. You're assigned a partner, but you're also part of a team when you're involved in larger field operations… how did you think this worked?" She had him. Thelma could see it.

"So… I don't go to this, this exposure course thing, I might be a risk to my team?"

It took all of Thelma's willpower not to thwack the wizarding world's savior across the head.

"You tell me," she said evenly. "You're in the middle of an op and need to provide cover fire your partner, but you're too busy trying to remember how breathing works…"

"I get it," Harry said hurriedly, feeling rather thick for not considering this earlier. He'd been much more preoccupied with avoiding anything that could make him feel the way the panic attacks did to consider the impact this would have on other people. "How do I sign up?"

Thelma raised an eyebrow and studied him for a moment. Was it really that simple? She'd been trying to wear Harry Potter down for weeks now and the comment about the danger he'd potentially put others in was all it took? Well, she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, or whatever the muggle saying was.

"I'll owl you the form."

An hour later found Harry back at Grimmauld place, scowling at the form that had arrived to the house ahead of him, wishing Thelma wasn't so much like Hermione in the whole 'being right all the damn time' department.

He plowed ahead with the form, figuring it was best to just get it over with before he lost his nerve, reminding himself he was lucky to be allowed to do this through the department attached specifically to the aurors.

Loads of emotional health support services had cropped up after the war, and he happened to know Hermione and Ginny both attended a similar course to this one at Hogwarts. He couldn't fathom admitting to his panic attacks in front of the whole bloody school.

He wasn't ashamed. Not really anyway. He just didn't fancy all the extra attention… again.

Well, he thought wryly, trying to decide how best to answer question #4 on the form: "reason for your interest in undergoing the magical trauma rehabilitation and exposure course," at least it was something to distract him from his sudden sexual… whatever it was.

He still couldn't get over it. Not so much the wanting to get it on with blokes bit, though there were certainly moments he wasn't quite over that either, but more the bit where it had never occurred to him before. How did that even happen to a person?

The day after his revelation had been spent in a daze, roaming about Grimmauld place, rather than sending Kingsley the three statements he owed him. He'd played back every interaction he'd ever had with Cho and Ginny. Hell, he'd even thrown Hermione into the mix. They were pretty, all three of them. He liked all three of them (although the idea of ever doing anything remotely romantic with Hermione made him feel genuinely queasy. She was his sister. That was that). But if he really thought about it, there had been signs…

The whole thing with Cho was a genuine disaster. He'd been excited about kissing her, yes, but upon reflection he thought maybe he'd just been excited to have kissed… anyone. Kissing was a teenage milestone and he'd done it. Before Ron! He'd never actually enjoyed it, true. But he couldn't really blame that entirely on Cho being a girl, as there was the whole crying thing to contend with.

So he moved on to Ginny, which is where he got the most muddled up. At least at first. He and Ginny had felt great. Her friendship was easy and her boldness took him further along the path of normal teenage exploits.

They'd never done anything too serious, just a lot of over the clothes feeling and squeezing. Sure, it had been Ginny who moved his hand to her breast the first time. And the second. And… well, all of the times after that. But that was just gentlemanly!

He had tried to remember what he'd felt, kissing Ginny, squeezing her tits, thought maybe he'd have a wank and this whole bizarre thing would be done with. Then he'd remembered the time Ginny had offered to pretty much wank him herself and that ended that idea quickly. It had been a disaster. Or could have been. He wasn't sure anymore. As soon as Ginny had made a move towards him, his semi-interested cock had decided that actually, no, it did not very much care to be wanked by someone else.

He'd been mortified and confused, but Ginny had merely giggled and suggested "maybe next time."

It had taken him a few minutes to realized she'd thought he had gotten off on the idea alone, rather than assumed he couldn't keep it up. He wasn't sure which was more embarrassing, truth be told. He'd resolved to sort that out whenever "next time" came along, but then he went off with Dumbledore to retrieve the locket and well…

While he was on the topic though… wanking! Of course! He couldn't be gay. He'd been wanking for years and surely he would have noticed if he was thinking of other cocks while doing it!

But what had he thought of? He admittedly didn't wank as often as his dormates did, knowledge he would prefer he didn't have but such was the way of things in a room full of teenage boys, but he certainly wasn't a saint, particularly after quidditch matches or practice. It was a good way to relax after the hard workouts and…oh god… and after the raucous horseplay in the boy's locker room.

He'd forced himself out of the house after that, no real idea where he was going, but knowing staying in the old house all day, alone with his thoughts, was going to make him go spare. After an hour of wandering through the city, he'd parked himself at a Muggle cafe in SoHo, ordered a flat white, and spent the next two hours examining every man and woman who walked in. He would have felt a bit disgusted with himself for essentially prowling over every person to decide whether or not they were attractive, but he had to know.

His approach may have been childish at best, but it worked. Harry Potter, the wizarding world's chosen one, fancied men.

In the week that had followed, he hadn't started to unpack the fact that specifically, he fancied Ron. A lot. Fancied the ever living daylights out of him in fact. He had at least admitted it to himself, but that was as far as he was willing to entertain the topic.

Things with Ron had already shifted so much since the war that Harry wasn't certain how to even broach the topic in his own head, let alone with Ron directly. He grudgingly admitted that he'd have to tell Ron eventually, at least about the liking blokes part, as he'd been forced to acknowledge that the growing intimacy between them was probably not very platonic on his side. Not the end of the world necessarily, at least he hoped, but Ron should probably know that he was currently sharing a bed with a man who very much wanted to share it in a myriad of non-mate-y ways.

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his temples wearily, trying to focus on the form he was meant to be completing and not the image of Oliver Wood, half dressed and chiseled stone, flexing at him from the cover of Witch Weekly. This wasn't helping.

He needed to talk to someone about this, but talking to Ron about it at this stage was a non starter even if Harry had wanted to, given the state Ron was in the last few days. He wanted to talk to Hermione, but he didn't have any confirmation as to whether or not Ron had shattered her heart to pieces and felt it would be unfair to burden her with his mess yet again, even if it was blessedly free of life and death implications this time.

He had owled her shortly after Ron left for work that morning, resolving to apparate to her parents' if her response indicated any sort of melancholy. If Ron had hurt her, again, he was bloody well going to kill him.


Ron hadn't had a clear idea of where he was headed when he'd made his hasty exit from Triple W, but he wasn't all that surprised when he found himself in the general vicinity of The Burrow.

He hadn't planned on telling his parents until he'd made his way through all his siblings first, though goodness knew why, as he didn't really have any logic behind that choice. He also had no intention of telling George today, at work of all places, but none of this was really working out to plan anyway. At this point he just wanted it over with.

With a pang, he realized that what he actually wanted was to talk to his best friends about this, but he'd bolloxed that up a fair bit at the minute. He paused at the paddock gate that would take him through the orchard and to his parent's house. His dad wouldn't be home yet. If he went in now, he'd have to do it twice, once with his mother and then all over again when his dad got home.

"Shit," he muttered, wondering if perhaps he should just make an announcement at Christmas dinner instead.

"Ron?"

"Shit!" Ron repeated, his wand out and a hex at the tip of his tongue before realizing it was Ginny, a broom slung over her shoulder. "Fuck's sake Ginny…"

Ginny just rolled her eyes as she made her way over to the fence line. Ron had forgotten she would be here. With a start, he remembered what he must look like, but it was too late to do anything about it now, Ginny had already gotten close enough to notice his bloodshot eyes and splotchy face and was frowning at him slightly. He didn't speak. He was too tired to explain himself.

"Accio cleansweep."

Without another word, Ginny offered him the summoned broom, which he took gratefully and trudged after her.

They flew until Ron could no longer feel his nose from the cold, playing keeper for Ginny, who was admittedly better than him, but he didn't mind. If she made one of the national teams in the spring there'd be free match tickets floating around the family and he very much wanted to be on her good side when that happened.

Finally conceding the weather was getting the better of them, they began the walk back up to the house, keeping to the comfortable silence they'd maintained throughout the afternoon outside of quaffle calls. He felt better, the physical outlet helping work out some of his tension. He and Harry actually had a fairly regular work out regimine, suggested by Kingsley, to keep them fit for the Auror Academy. He'd been neglecting it lately though with the shop being so busy ahead of the holiday. He resolved to pick it back up again if it meant having somewhere to get out some of his pent up energy.

"Hey Ginny," Ron said, deciding he may as well plow on and try a few different approaches while he was at it.

"Hmm?" she replied, continuing to trudge along beside him, needing to walk considerably quicker to keep up with his long strides.

"I'm gay."

Ginny stopped mid step and reared back a bit, clearly trying to process what he'd said. Ron just paused and looked back at her, waiting for whatever reaction she had in store for him. He was actually the least confident in how Ginny was going to respond, but considering Hermione's and George's reactions hadn't been anything like what he had imagined… what the hell really?

"That it?" she asked finally, clearly confused, "just… thought you'd put it out there?"

Ron shrugged. That wasn't inaccurate really.

"Just clarifying," Ginny tried again, clearly a little agitated that he wasn't offering any additional information on the topic, "you're gay as in, you like men. As in, all that malarkey with Lavender was just a big showy… whatever?"

Also accurate, Ron thought grimly as he gave Ginny a half shrug. She rolled her eyes.

"And Hermione?"

Ron winced at that.

"Mmm," was all Ginny said, swinging her broom across her shoulders and cocking her hip to one side as she continued to study him.

"I don't care if you like boys Ron," she said at last, "I hope you know that. But I'd appreciate some… well anything really."

"Anytime I've attempted to elaborate on the topic I end up crying like a nance, which, while appropriate I suppose, I don't particularly feel like doing at the minute."

"Ok," Ginny conceded, "but can I ask questions? You can, I don't know, nod your head or something?"

"Sure. Just no promises on the fullness of the answers."

Ginny nodded, accepting his terms, continuing to study him curiously.

"Does Hermione know?"

He nodded.

"Is she alright?"

He started to nod, but changed his mind midway and shrugged instead.

"Fair enough," Ginny muttered, "Can I talk to her about it?"

"Please do." He wanted Hermione to have an outlet and had told her as much.

"Have you ever been with a guy?"

He shook his head.

"So… are you sure then?"

He scowled.

"I'm just asking!" Ginny defended herself, "I'm just saying, if you've never…"

"Dean owns a West Ham jersey," Ron interrupted, suddenly fascinated with his fingernails. "He likes to wear it every year at the start of football season. It's been too small on him since about third year."

Ginny's eyebrows shot up as she bit back a laugh. Every girl in Gryffindor knew that West Ham jersey, even the girls who didn't have the faintest idea what West Ham even was. It was legend; Dean looked fit as hell in it (partly because Dean was fit as hell, but there was just something about that jersey…)

"Ok then," she said finally, the laughter evident in her tone as Ron just arched an eyebrow at her pointedly.

"Do you fancy anyone then?" Ginny asked with a grin, her eyes sparkling at the discovery of this side of her brother she'd never known about before.

Ron bit his lip, wishing he'd seen this question coming. He really should have. The smile melted off of Ginny's face as realization dawned on her.

"Of course," she answered for him, "I should have… yeah."

"Bit of a moot point though, really," Ron supplied.

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. Have you talked to him about it? Does he know?"

Ron shook his head.

"But you're going to tell him, right?"

Nod.

"Good. You never know. I mean…"

"Ginny," Ron stopped her, "I really can't entertain this conversation, ok? I'm planning to tell him I'm gay, nothing else. So unless you have some hard hitting evidence along the lines of 'he once told me that my tits were grotesque,' let's change the subject, please?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Fair enough. But I'll add that he's actually kind of a lousy kisser, if that helps."

Ron barked out a laugh. It didn't help, but he'd long ago mastered the art of not thinking about Harry and kissing in the same scenario (unless of course he was alone and had some free time on his hands, in which case all bets were off).

"So is this your big coming out parade or something then?" Ginny plowed ahead.

"Suppose so."

"Who knows?"

"You've moved away from yes or no questions," Ron warned, "but, Bill and Fleur, Hermione, George, and now you."

"George?"

"Uh, as of this afternoon, yeah. Bit of an accident…"

Ginny just nodded, her smile sympathetic.

"Was he nice about it?"

"He was George."

"Are you here to tell mum and dad?"

He nodded.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

He paused for a moment. Ginny would probably help make things less emotionally charged.

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all. Last question…" he waited expectantly as Ginny grinned at him again, "This summer, when I get home from school, will you go to the pub and check out guys with me?"

Ron burst into genuine laughter, annoyed as hell but no longer surprised when he realized he was crying again from both the laughing and… not the laughing. He sniffed as he caught his breath, wiping his eyes.

"Told you the crying thing was a bit of a mess," he said, rolling his eyes while dabbing them dry with his sleeve. "Bloody ridiculous."

"Nah," Ginny said, conjuring a proper kleenex for him. "I'd imagine it's a bit of a roller coaster. I'm proud of you Ron. I know this can't be easy."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get moving before I lose it completely. I don't think I have it in me to handle 3 breakdowns in one day, and goodness knows I won't get through mum without another…"

In the end, he made it through the conversation with his parents better than expected, all things considered. He'd never been particularly worried about their response in all honesty. His dad was as easy going as ever, and considering he had a horde of siblings to offer up grandkids, he was pretty much in the clear with his mum too.

Ginny's presence had helped, injecting her dry humor and taking the focus off of him with a few off colour jokes. She really was a lot more like the the tw… like George than most people realized. Her wit was just as sharp anyway.

When he'd finally managed to untangle himself from Molly's constant hugs of reassurance (which he was admittedly quite grateful for despite his protestations), he found himself outside of Triple W again as the last of the shopkeepers were shoo-ing late night customers out and locking up. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd come back, but thought part of it might be because he was avoiding Harry.

He didn't say anything, just stood to the side of the entrance as George came through the door to start putting up the wards for the night.

"You'll have to come back tomorrow mate," he said, drawing a funky pattern with his wand across the left window display. "We open at… Oh. Hey."

Ron nodded in greeting, his hands deep in his pockets.

"Go on. I just need to finish up here."

Ron shuffled past his brother, into the shop and up the back staircase that led to the flat.

"Hey Ron."

Ron jumped, surprised to find Angelina curled comfortably on the small sofa, book in hand and… was she wearing pajamas?

"Uhh… hey?"

Angelina looked up at him with a small smirk. Ron stuffed his hands back into his pockets again and stood awkwardly in the doorway for a minute before Angelina decided to have mercy on him.

Rolling her eyes, she jerked her head towards George's bedroom, indicating he was free to pass. "Make sure you knock next time," she warned.

Ron smiled sheepishly at her as he shuffled by, crossing into George's room and through the tiny window that led to an even tinier landing.

It was the best kept secret at Wheezes, the little space outside George's window. There was enough room for two people to sit comfortably on small camp chairs, three or four if they conjured stools instead, and enjoy the view of various chimney's across Diagon Alley.

All his siblings had spent considerable time here over the summer. George had needed… well, none of them knew what George needed apart from Fred, but they'd done their best. They'd banded together to find a way for him to escape their mother on occasion, who they all knew needed George as much as George needed some space. They'd taken it in turns, one or two of them sneaking him back to the flat for a few hours of peace while the others ran interference with Molly. Ron would have felt guilty about it but he had a feeling Molly knew exactly what they were doing, and he frankly hadn't minded the extra time with his mother in those first few weeks and months.

George climbed out of the window a few minutes later, saying nothing as he took out a pack of muggle cigarettes and lit one, handing the box over to Ron who sighed before taking one himself.

It was the one vice his siblings had allowed George after Fred's death. While he'd gotten himself plenty pissed on more than one occasion, his siblings, Harry included, had made sure he could never make it a habit. It was Ron who had felt the brunt of his anger on the topic. He'd caught Ron smuggling booze out of his flat. George knew all of his siblings did it when they were over, as he mysteriously never had any alcohol available unless someone else was providing it, and he was secretly incredibly grateful to them for it- nothing numbed the pain the way alcohol did, and he had enough of his wits about him to recognize the danger in that- but he'd actually caught Ron at it and was in no fit state to turn a blind eye that particular evening. He'd said some pretty terrible things.

George had recently decided that he'd never really given Ron enough credit growing up. Ron was a more loyal friend than any Hufflepuff George knew, and when Ron had simply accepted George's feeble attempt at an apology with a nod of his head, never bringing it up again, George realized just how changed his little brother was from all this war garbage. Or at least just how much more mature he was than George had ever realized… not that he was a particular expert in the area of maturity.

So, cigarettes it was. He'd learned that Charlie was a regular smoker on the reserve, though he sprung for the fancy wizarding versions, some bull about the smell of the smoke helping to calm the dragons. Ron, and shockingly Percy, also joined him on occasion, whether because they actually liked the things or just for something to do, he wasn't sure.

"So," Ron said finally, "Angelina live here now?"

"Sometimes."

Ron smirked and waggled his eyebrows suggestively as George rolled his eyes.

"Sure you want to go there, Mr. 'oh hey, by the way, I'd rather take it up the…'"

"Oi!" Ron cut him off sharply, half choking on his cigarette as he did, "I thought I got a free pass for now?"

George shrugged. "Don't press your luck. Where'd you head off to this afternoon then?"

"The Burrow. Ginny's keen on taking me pub crawling for guys this summer," he heaved a sigh and slumped back into his chair, "like I'd even have any clue how the buggering fuck to do that."

George had to laugh. Leave it to Ginny…

"You tell mum and dad then?"

"Yeah."

"Were they the last to know?"

"No. I've got a few more to go."

"Should've just announced it at Christmas dinner Ronnie. Save yourself some extended drama Id've thought."

"I considered it," Ron said honestly. George arched a brow as Ron took out a second cigarette. Ron usually didn't even finish his first one, but George didn't comment.

"Are you alright?"

Ron snorted as he lit the smoke with the tip of his wand. "Don't try to be Bill."

"Let it never be said that I don't try," George replied slightly exasperated, "Seriously Ron. I'm not the empathetic one in the family ok, I get that, and I am going to have an absolute field day once your grace period is over, rest assured, but you know I really don't give a rat's arse where you want to stick it, right?"

Ron sat very quietly for a long time, not looking at George as he took slow drags.

"Am I stupid for having made such a big deal out of it this whole time?" he said at last.

"What's 'this whole time'?"

"My entire life."

"Jeezus Ron."

"Well how long have you liked girls?" he replied irritably.

"Fair enough I guess, but why do you think it's such a big deal? So it's unorthodox. Who really gives a shit at the end of the day? I'm actually a little annoyed you think anyone in the family would actually be upset by it."

Ron snorted again. "Auntie Muriel?"

"Anyone in the family that counts," George amended.

They lapsed back into silence for awhile, the only indication of Ron's continued stress the third cigarette he'd tried to obtain from George, who decided it was time to put the box away.

"Did you know about Oliver?"

"What? That he's bent? Known that since 4th year. Not sure he wanted to tell us then, as he wasn't really out at school I don't think, but Katie had a mammoth crush on him and it got to the point that he had to sort her out. The whole team thought he was messing her about so he had to explain or risk a hexing… or worse, a bad practice."

Ron turned to look at George, perplexed. "You make it sound so… like it's no big deal."

"Because it isn't," George said simply.

They lapsed into silence again. It was one of the beautiful things about this spot. Talking was never required.

"I have to tell Harry." Ron said, hoping he didn't sound quite as pitiful as he felt.

"So? With everything you two have been through...? Give him some credit."

"So you wouldn't care if Lee…"

"For all I know, Lee goes both ways," George cut him off. "I wouldn't put it past him at least. Look Ron, if Harry, or anyone else for that matter, gives you a hard time about this," he paused here, causing Ron to look over at him, "they will have the wrath of the entire Weasley sibling cohort to deal with. We are the only ones who get to torture you."

Ron snickered and shook his head, though he was touched George had made the point. He'd actually been planning to ask how his brother would feel if Lee wanted to jump his bones, but best not give George any more ammunition than he already had.

"Right," George said, standing up and stretching, "in case you didn't notice, there's a fit bird on my sofa…"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get out of your hair." Ron stood as well, noting he'd stayed much longer than he'd planned. "I'll apparate from here. You still ok with me taking off tomorrow? I can come in if you need me too."

George shook his head. "Take some time Ron, and just remember what a gracious and benevolent boss I am."

"Right," Ron rolled his eyes, "I'll remember that next time you ask me to clean the puking pastille cauldrons."


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