A.N. So sorry for the wait! As those following me on tumblr know, google decided for some obscure reason that I either wasn't allowed to edit, or that I wasn't online. (This seems to be a sporadic thing with them, which gets...really old.) But now here we are with a chapter that several of you have been waiting for, and it's sliiiightly longer than the usual ones, but I spared you by waiting to do his second conversation with his siblings in the next chapter. As ever, please keep in mind that I deliberately write the Wizarding variation of therapy slightly 'off' from the modern day standards, to keep things more closely in keeping with the pace of progress for that culture. Also, for those who might be irritated by my choices in handling his conversation with his parents, please see the Story Notes at the end of the chapter once you've finished. Enjoy, and keep your fingers crossed that Google will cooperate better!
"...so I'm not sure there's really anything more to say," Ron said, as his fingers fiddled with one of the Muggle toys that Hitchens kept on his desk, the gentle 'thwak, thwak, thwak' sound of each flat wooden block hitting the next somehow soothing.
He had been coming in for about three weeks now, since Hitchens had wanted him to talk about his childhood. It had been right awkward, at first, hardly knowing where to start, and the words fading away after just a few sentences. Those earlier sessions had mostly been Hitchens asking questions, trying to engage him. It had slowly gotten easier, especially once he'd been given things to keep his hands busy-and to look at when he needed to, when eye contact became too embarrassing, depending on what he was talking about. Hell, maybe even the loneliness had helped, since Hermione had had to go to France for a work conference. Ron had been pretty surprised about that at first, since he figured the higher-ups in her department would jump at the chance to write off a vacation, until she had explained that in this case, participation at long, intense meetings was absolutely mandatory.
It didn't help that right before she'd left, there'd been a sharp rise in criminal activity-the warm weather seemed to bring the bloody bastards out of hibernation-so they'd hardly had more than a handful of minutes together at a time. They'd managed a couple of Floo calls, but one or both of them had been dead on their feet each time, so that hardly counted.
"Oh, I'm sure we could go into much more detail, but I think I get the gist of things," Hitchens said, setting his notes aside and leaning back in his chair.
"Well? What's the verdict? Are there any deep, dark secrets lurking in my subconscious? And if you actually do tell me that I want to kill my dad and marry my mum, I swear I'll walk out right now and not look back," he joked.
Hitchens roared, laughing so hard he choked. "No, I think I can safely say that's not your problem."
"Don't suppose I get a discount on these last few sessions, just to hear what I already know?" Ron asked, only half seriously.
"Just a minute, I'm not quite through-you just surprised me a bit." He flipped through his notes, his lips moving slightly as he nodded to himself, as if sorting out the points he wanted to make.
"From everything you've told me, assuming there isn't anything major that you've let out, and accounting for natural distorted memories that comes with aging, and the way children mostly see these things from one point of view..."
Ron grew nervous, the blocks clacking a little faster.
"I would say that you mostly have the same hangups that would be expected from living with eight other people under one roof. People always seem to think that there's some 'perfect' model of a family, with each member acting and reacting perfectly. Frankly, I've never seen it, and I don't believe it exists-it's good to strive for, but definitely impossible to fully attain. There will always be personality conflicts, misunderstandings...the way one person intends their words or actions, and the ways three other people can interpret them three separate ways."
"So you're saying I'm...normal?" Ron asked, hardly daring to believe it.
Hitchens shrugged. "As far as normal goes, which is a broader term than you might think. However, there are a few points that concern me."
Ron nodded. "Ah. That sounds more like it," he said with a satisfaction that had any Muggle been present, they would have deemed Eeeyore-like.
"For starters, while there seems to be the normal amount of sibling rivalry, you've made several remarks implying you think your sister is the favorite-or at least, she is in comparison to you."
Sweat popped up at his hairline, a slight tremor running through his hands as long buried words, hurled at him by the locket, replayed in his head. While the part about Harry and Hermione had been put to rest for good, he'd ignored the other half, telling himself it wasn't important. He gave a jerky shrug.
"Well, she is and all," he muttered. "S'not a big deal or anything."
"It must be, if it's stuck with you this long. Did your parents say they loved her more? Were they unfair in their treatment between you?"
Irritation at the insinuations boiled up within him. "Of course not! They didn't-it was just..."
"Just what?" Hitchens prodded.
"It just was!" He exploded. "I mean, my brothers were always making their mark in one way or another, so it wasn't like I was ever really going to stand out anyway, and then Ginny came along-the girl they always wanted-and I sure as hell wasn't that, was I? How can you compete with that?"
"Alright, but how did you know?"
"Well-I-it was just always obvious," Ron spluttered, letting the strip of blocks drop onto the desk.
"Always? So you're saying as far back as you can recall, you've always known they wanted your sister more than you?"
"I...yeah," Ron answered, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. There was just something sort of...well, off about it when put into words.
Hitchens regarded him for several moments, then leaned forward, his hands folded on the desk. "When we're very young," he began, "we take in more than we-and others-realize. But the way we take it in is different than an adult, lacking an adult's experience. We see things in very limited terms, and, based on our own limited understanding, come to conclusions that may be right, and may be wrong. Which isn't in and of itself a bad thing; unfortunately, since we believe ourselves to be right, we never actually try to verify it, and usually go the rest of our lives believing those early assumptions."
Ron considered that. Okay, there was sense to it; there had been plenty of things he'd thought of as a kid that, once brought to light, had turned out not to be How Things Worked, several of which would've been embarrassing if he hadn't overheard people talking about them and then privately rearranged his thoughts on the matter before trotting them out for all to hear. The whole thing about his parents being disappointed he wasn't a girl? Never brought it up. His parents hadn't been shy about saying 'I love you,' but they'd never said, 'glad you're a boy, Ron!' And really, it would've been mental if they had. Who says that? Wouldn't that have just implied they wouldn't love him if he had been a girl?
"You're right, I get it, it was all in my head and I should just forget it," he said, partially relieved, and partially...he didn't know what.
"Ron, that's not what I'm saying at all. While it's a likely and common enough scenario, it's also possible you just don't remember the specific occasion. But it brings me to the next thing I would like you to do."
He tensed, his senses telling him there was something of Aragog proportions lurking just beneath the surface. "What's that?" He asked, the muscles in his legs tensing.
"I want you to talk about this with your parents; share how you feel, and try to determine the cause."
Ron looked at him as if he had just suggested having a wrestling match with the Giant Squid.
"You want me," he said slowly, "to go to my parents, and whinge about why they love my sister more than me?" He couldn't even begin to imagine that scenario.
"No." Hitchens said, looking uncannily like Mcgonagall whenever a student claimed they couldn't do a spell without even trying first. "I want you to be able to put this behind you, and this is the only way to do it. From everything you've said in here, you love your parents, right?"
"Of course I do," Ron muttered, his ears going red at having it said so bluntly.
"And, in spite of this lingering fear, you believe they love you as well?"
He paused. Yes, he did. His parents weren't perfect, and although that nagging doubt he always had about his place in their hearts, he couldn't honestly believe that they outright didn't love him at all.
"Yes."
"Do you think they want you to continue hurting like this? If you were hurting someone you loved, wouldn't you want to know, so you could change it?"
Did they want to hurt him? His dad, even though he had a temper when someone was being treated unjustly, was really just a big softy. His mum...well, she was a bit pricklier, and inclined to share her strong opinions whether you asked for them or not, but...he remembered once when he was about five, and she didn't know he was right outside of the kitchen, and she accidentally smacked him in the face with the door. Now, she had cleaned up far worse injuries on him and all the rest of his siblings, so a small bump shouldn't have fazed her, but the fuss she had made! Apologizing all over the place, setting him up with biscuits and cocoa, and even reading him one of his favorite stories right in the middle of the day! No, she might tell you off when you'd done something you shouldn't have (or at least she believed you shouldn't have), but she didn't take pleasure in causing him pain.
And as for wanting to know if he was in the same position...well, that was partly why he was here, wasn't it? He knew he'd treated people pretty badly over the last couple of years-he didn't set out to, sometimes didn't even know he was doing it, but also, admittedly, sometimes knowing and not caring much. He wasn't proud of that, and that wasn't who he wanted to be-wasn't who he was, really-and he was trying to change all that. Hell, he might have done, or still be doing something, that someone hadn't even told him about yet. How could a person fix something they didn't even know about?
His natural curiosity had kicked in as well. Where had he gotten hold of that idea? Hitchens' way of putting it-how kids sort of folded things down to fit their own understanding-made more and more sense, especially given what he knew of his parents. Still, as much as he now wanted to get to the bottom of things, he wasn't looking forward to the actual confrontation.
"So what do I do, then? Just...bring them here? Or go up to them and ask right out, 'Mum, Dad, do you wish I'd been a girl?'"
"I personally don't think it's necessary for them to come in at this point, although if you'd feel more comfortable, I suppose we could arrange it that way. As for asking them, I think something a bit more...subtle would be in order, don't you? If it helps, flip things around; how would you want to be approached if someone was coming to you with a problem they had with you?"
Ron rubbed his forehead. He almost wished he could just go back to telling stories about his childhood; he was about at his daily limit of careful consideration. Okay. How would he want it? For starters, he wouldn't want to do it in front of some stranger. He'd be nervous and defensive if he was dragged into some office, like a naughty schoolboy brought before the headmaster. At the Burrow it was, then. Bursting in and flinging accusations was out, too. He'd always detested it when people accused him of something without listening to his side of it, especially when it came down to something he may or may not have said, or what he had meant by it. So it would need to be casual, and he'd wait to hear what they had to say before deciding if he should be upset or not.
"Fine," he said, expelling his breath heavily. "I'll do it. I just...hope it goes well."
"If things get to intense for you to deal with, drop the subject and leave, and we'll work something out-even if it means meeting them at your home or theirs, with me along to mediate," Hitchens said.
"Oh. Yeah, that'd...I mean, I hope it doesn't come to that, I don't think it will, but..."
"But it's nice to think you have backup if you need it," Hitchens smiled.
Ron nodded, relieved. He'd prefer to do this privately, but knowing that someone was waiting in the wings, so to speak, if he needed help was comforting.
"Good! One other thing..."
"Something else?" Ron squawked, thinking that was a bit much, considering!
"I'm afraid so. I also want you-at a different time, of course-to talk with your siblings about this. I want you to get a feel for how they think your parents view them, and who they believe to be the favorite child, or why they might think your parents have less affection for them."
"I don't think any of them think that!" Ron scoffed, hardly able to imagine Bill or Charlie with his hangups.
"I think you might be very surprised, Ron. Will you do it?"
Ron shrugged. "I suppose so, although I still can't see why. I think I'll get things with my parents over with, first."
"Whichever way you prefer. And you're still practicing the other things, as we discussed?"
Oh, yeah. He'd been supposed to be doing that grounding exercise and other mindfulness malarky...and he had, to an extent. He'd run through it a few times with Harry, but they hadn't found time for it in awhile.
"Yes, I have," he said anyway, deciding that it wasn't really a lie. More of an...exaggeration.
"Hm..." Hitchens said, giving him that Mcgonagall look until he squirmed. "I certainly hope so; I know it might not feel like it's doing any good, but you'll be glad to have it when you need it."
"Yessir. Anything else?"
Hitchens looked at his watch. "No, I think that's it. I'm going to be out of town on business, so you'll have a week and a half to talk to your family. I think that's plenty of time, don't you? Don't want to overthink it too much, you know."
"I can do it by then, I'm sure-unless I'm sent out on a mission."
"Of course, of course. Well then, I'll send an owl once I return and can get my schedule sorted out."
Saying goodbye, Ron left the office, wishing, not for the first time, that Hermione was back so that he could talk to her. Harry would have to stand in, he decided, although in this case, he'd have to forego the post conversation snogging that Hermione was so brilliant at...
Ron sat back at the table, releasing a gentle burp of appreciation. Was there anything better, he wondered, in the life of a single wizard, than a night of having someone else cook for you?
"Harry, would you mind much if I adopted Kreacher?"
Harry looked up from where he'd been scraping up the last crumbs of his apple tart. "Don't you think Hermione would, you know, kill you?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "I said adopt, not own! He'd be the pointy-eared son of my heart, if not my body."
Harry choked on his bite. "Thanks for that mental image...you do know that he's older than both of us combined, right?"
"So?" Ron shrugged. "All that means is he's of legal drinking age, and I don't need to worry about having the awkward talk about where little house elves come from. It's a win-win."
"Somehow, I don't think Hermione would go for an elf cooking you endless meals, even if he was your son."
"I know," he sighed. "But it was a nice dream while it lasted. You'd be more sympathetic if you were forced to cook for yourself all the time."
"Here I thought you came over for my company, and now...now it turns out you only came for the food!" Harry lamented theatrically, using his wand to send the dishes to the sink.
"Oh, don't be thick. I'm still here, aren't I?" He said, following Harry out of the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder, "Thanks for supper, Kreacher! It was delicious! If you ever get sick of doing for this git, you know where to find me!"
"Thank you for the offer, Master Weasley, but Kreacher is very satisfied with Master Potter," Kreacher croaked, his voice coming from ahead of where Ron was about to step.
Letting out an undignified yelp, he leaped back, causing both Kreacher and Harry to cackle.
"Still want to adopt him?" Harry asked with an innocent tone as they headed to the library.
"Oh, sod off," Ron grumbled, his ears a painful red. He had forgotten Kreacher had a habit of popping up like a creepy kid from a Muggle film.
"So, Harry asked, taking a seat in his armchair and propping his chin on his fist, "What's on your mind?"
"What? Can't a friend drop by to cage a meal?" Ron asked, dropping in a loose limbed heap on the sofa, the leather creaking under the impact.
"I'd be more concerned if you turned down a free meal. But you've started to say something and stopped at least six times tonight, so I know Kreacher's delicious cooking didn't lure you over here-at least, not all on its own. So give."
The problem with old friends, Ron thought, was that they knew you sometimes even better than you knew yourself, but no longer felt they had to be polite about it.
"I had an appointment today," he said, letting it hang in the air between them.
"And how did it go?"
Ron fidgeted. He'd come over here to talk about this, but now that the moment had arrived, he wanted nothing more than to make some joke to change the subject, and then get out as soon as he could. But he couldn't. Because he knew there was no way he could just go in cold with his parents without talking it out first with either Harry or Hermione.
"It went...alright. Apparently my family is the kind of screwed up that falls into the normal category," he said, then winced, mentally kicking himself as he remembered Harry's family.
But Harry just nodded. "That's not a bad thing, though. Did you not agree, or something? I'd've thought you'd be happy about it."
"I am! I mean, I know every family has a certain amount of issues-like he said, that many people, and the different personalities bang up against each other...well, there's bound to be fights and hurt feelings at some point or another. And to be honest, I've given my fair share of both. It's just that..."
He had to swallow a few times, the words threatening to choke him as the room swam in his vision, the shadows briefly forming tree branches before righting themselves again.
"You remember...you remember what the locket said?"
"The...yeah, I do, but why-" Harry sat up with a jerk, his face creasing in concern. "You don't still think that me and Hermione-"
"No! No, no, no," Ron rushed to assure him, not really wanting to relive that even if he had moved passed it. "The, uh, other thing it said."
Harry scrunched up his face in thought, before his eyes widened. "You mean, about your mum, and Ginny, and...Ron, you know the locket was lying about everything, right?"
It was hard to meet Harry's eyes, even after all this time. "I do, yeah. But see, they weren't things that...he didn't just pick them at random. They'd sort of always been there in the back of my mind. I could usually ignore it, but...well, you know me."
Harry ran his fingers through his hair, then absently tried, with no success whatsoever, to smooth it back down. "You bury it, but every once and awhile you take it out and worry it around like a dog with a bone, until you upset yourself. Then you either explode, or you bury it again."
Ron winced. "Painfully accurate. But my point is, after I talked about it with you, and got together with Hermione, I got it out of my system. I never did that with my parents."
"That's true. I mean, I don't envy you the conversation, but I can see it's one you need to have."
"You do, don't you?" Ron asked, suddenly nervous again. "Y-you don't think I'm being stupid about this? Maybe I should just leave it..."
"Ron, if it's bothered you enough that Hitchens was able to pick up on it, then you need to do it," Harry said firmly.
"I know. I just..." he stared down at the floor. "I just...do you think they were? Disappointed, I mean. That I wasn't a girl or something."
Harry was silent for several minutes, and Ron could tell he was actually thinking it through, rather than just blurting out a protest, which he was grateful for.
"I keep trying to picture it, but I just can't." Harry finally pronounced. "I've known your family for a long time, and just watching them with you...if it's there, I don't see it. On the other hand, you obviously feel that way for a reason, so something must've happened to put it in your head."
Harry's words brought a sense of relief. A large part of him felt guilty even considering his parents could mean something like that, and the fact that Harry didn't dismiss the possibility, or get mad at him for suggesting it, helped him feel like he wasn't completely mental.
"Hitchens says it's possible they said or did something to make me think it, but that it also could've been something else."
"What?"
"He said that sometimes kids...sort of misinterpret things. They see or hear something, and are too young to get all the...I guess you'd say context, and they kind of draw their own conclusions based on what they have experience to understand. Is that making any sense, or did I garble it up too badly?"
Harry looked thoughtful, then nodded. "Before I came to Hogwarts, I had a mate at school who walked in on his parents shagging when he was about four or five. He thought his dad was attacking his mum, and tried to beat him off."
Ron nodded. "Yeah, like that! Only in that case, the kid made it clear what he thought, and they could fix it right away. Well, except for the mental scarring. But if a kid sees or hears something, but never mentions it..."
"Then they'll probably go on thinking it and never question it, and will probably even forget why they thought it in the first place."
"Exactly. And the more I think of it, the more I think that's what happened. And...that maybe I shouldn't even bother bring it up."
Surprisingly, Harry disagreed with him. "No. You deserve to know what it was, Ron. It bothered you for years, and you shouldn't just brush it off. You need to find out what it was, clear the air, and decide if you'll forgive whatever they did to make you think that, so you can move on."
Ron picked up one of the paisley patterned throw pillows, keeping his eyes on it as he tossed it gently into the air and caught it, repeating the process. "I've already decided that I'll forgive them," he admitted.
"Are you sure? Because I know you love them, but that doesn't mean you have to."
"I know. But I think if it had been real bad, I'd've actually remembered it, and I don't even know why it happened yet. Maybe they got frustrated and said it when they were mad-"
"That doesn't make it okay."
"No, it'd be a fucked up thing to say to a kid," Ron agreed. "But Harry, I've said some fucked up things without meaning to when I've been mad. Hell, I've said some fucked up things on purpose when I've been mad. To...to people I care about the most. And they-you've forgiven me. If people hadn't, I don't think I'd've ever been able to let go and move past it-I'd've given up on ever doing better. I'm not saying I won't be hurt and frustrated, because I will, but...if they apologize, I'll forgive them."
"As long as you're doing it because that's what you want, and not because you think you have to, that's great," Harry said.
"Don't worry, it is. I want to get it over with, so I think I'm gonna start dropping in at the Burrow every night until I find them alone."
"Well, I'm supposed to do something romantic with Ginny tomorrow night when she gets back, so I know we won't be there," Harry offered.
"One down, five more siblings to go," Ron laughed, then frowned. "Which reminds me, there was something else Hitchens wanted me to do."
"On top of that?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. "He's not pulling the punches, is he? What else do you have to do?"
"He wants me to talk to my brothers and Ginny, about where we all think we fit into the family and stuff, and how we think our parents see us. I told him I didn't think that would do much, seeing as how it's all pretty obvious, but he seems to think I'll be surprised."
Harry, as someone in the unique position of dating his best friend's sister, gave him a wry smile. "Given the different takes I've heard from you and Ginny about the same situations, I'm gonna have to side with Hitchens on this one."
"Clearly everyone else seems to know something I don't." He added in a mutter, "So what else is new?"
"Cheer up, Ron," Harry grinned. "If anything else, it'll be a learning experience."
"That's sort of what I'm afraid of," he said dryly, standing up.
"You're not leaving already, are you? I thought we could run through those exercises of yours again-I was just thinking earlier that it had been a while."
Pushing aside the guilty feeling that told him he shouldn't be neglecting this, he shook his head. "Nah, I think we've pretty much done what we can do with that-besides, I'm feeling a little drained after that session today, and if I get to talk to my parents tomorrow, I'm going to need some rest."
Harry looked as if he was going to say something, changed his mind, and said instead, "Alright, you probably should get some sleep. At least we only work a half day tomorrow."
Ron left soon after, feeling bad that he hadn't gone along with Harry's suggestion, but not bad enough to change his mind. After all, he told himself, he was doing all of the important stuff, wasn't he? It wasn't like he was avoiding the harder, more potentially painful aspects of his therapy. And really, it was probably better that he saved his mental energy for all of that, wasn't it? Sure, it would be one thing if it was something that actually helped, but since it was mostly nonsense...at, least, he amended, trying to be fair, it was nonsense for him. It might be well and good for others, but his time and effort would be better spent moving on to something else. He'd just...wait for others to realize that, and not upset them by fighting against it.
Having happily justified his choices, at least to himself for the time being, he sighed as his mind turned to another woe. He missed Hermione. Badly. Oh, he was doing fine, and he was able to handle things without her, and to get help from Harry and others when he felt like he needed it. He just...didn't want to. Or, at least, didn't want to have to. He missed seeing her at lunch, and spending the evenings at one of their flats. He missed talking with her, and getting her opinion. Even when he knew exactly what she would say, somehow, he knew he'd feel better actually hearing it. It just drove home the point (not that he'd ever been in any real doubt), that although he could function without her, life was better with her in it. Actively in it. At least she would be home in a few days, and things could go back to normal. Maybe by then, he'd be able to tell her how things went with his family.
With that thought, he crawled into bed, a nervous ache of anticipated dread tightening his chest, and he gave a shudder. He really, really hoped he could talk to them before he had to endure nightmares about it...
Ron had spent the better part of the day ignoring his upcoming talk, throwing himself into work, and talking with anyone who seemed the least bit willing to hold a conversation with him. He thought he was hiding his nervousness pretty well, until he realized he'd laughed a little too hard and too long at some things that weren't all that funny. Reining himself in a bit, he took his time changing out of his uniform and doing some shopping, since he was just down to the bare essentials in his kitchen. Knowing he would need a snack to fortify him even if he ended up staying with his parents for dinner, he made a small stack of sandwiches, added about half a bag of crisps, and a couple of rows from a packet of biscuits.
It was a good thing his job required a rigorous training exercise, or else his anxiety fueled binges would have him crashing through the flimsy floors of this crappy flat.
Once he realized he could put it off no longer, Ron Apparated to the Burrow, landing in the backyard close to the garden.
He paused to stare up at the building that had been his home for most of his life; still was, really, since while his flat was his, it wasn't exactly a home. Even though he'd been embarrassed about it when he was young, there was something comforting about the uneven structure, even with the peeling paint and missing shingles. And somehow, even though he knew he'd have a home of his own one day, this would always feel like home, too. It was a place he wouldn't have to think twice before walking inside; somewhere he knew he could raid the pantry without asking, or crash in his old room as long as he needed.
What if what he asked today ruined all that, he wondered, his stomach taking a sick dive that had him regretting his substantial snack. What if they were so upset-what if he was so upset-that they couldn't repair whatever rift might come of this? His mouth was dry, and his hands were shaking; he was seconds away from Apparating back to his flat and forgetting the whole thing. Sod Hitchens; it wasn't worth risking what he had just to satisfy his curiosity. He wouldn't hurt himself like that, and he wouldn't hurt them.
Of course...Percy had hurt them pretty badly during the war, with a lot of the things he said before he walked out. He'd never seen his dad so mad-at least, not with any of them. But just yesterday, he'd seen them both laughing and talking at lunch. Percy still came to the Burrow for family dinners. Their mum still made him a sweater each Christmas. As bad as things had been, they'd still been able to work it out and heal.
"Well, fuck me if I have less balls than Percy," he grunted, striding over to the kitchen door and throwing it open before he could change his mind.
His mum, surprisingly, wasn't in the kitchen. Not that she spent all of her time cooking-especially now that it was just her and dad-but she always seemed to gravitate here in her spare time, to enjoy a cuppa and stare out the window, sometimes leafing through a magazine. She couldn't be too far, though, since he smelled something baking. His trainers squeaked on the clean, yet ancient floorboards as he went to find her, deciding to check the downstairs before he went up. He didn't have far to look, though, since both were in the living room; his dad asleep with the paper draped over his face, and his mum winding a ball of yarn, her hands moving rapidly in a long practiced motion.
"Ron!" She said, smiling as she looked up at his approach. "I was hoping you'd stop by sometime this week. Arthur," she said, turning to his dad and giving him a small smack on the leg, "Wake up! Ronnie's here!"
His dad jerked up, the paper sliding to the floor as he blinked around, his glasses askew. He adjusted them, and smiled up at Ron.
"Glad you dropped in, son. See, Molly? I told you if you baked something, at least one of our beloved offspring would turn up!"
His mum rolled her eyes, but didn't stop smiling as she looked up at the clock over the mantle. "They aren't quite ready yet, but if you sit down and stay awhile, you can have your pick while they're still warm."
Momentarily distracted at the prospect of his mum's food, he asked, "What is it?"
"Chocolate chip peanut butter biscuits."
He immediately dropped into a chair, and joined both of his parents in laughing. It was a moment he wished could last the rest of the evening, but he knew that eventually, he'd have to get to the point of his visit. Still, as nervous as he was, he was determined to make this go as smoothly as possible. So he talked casually, listening to stories from his dad about work, and nodded along as his mum got him up to speed on various relatives that had written. He even relaxed enough to eat a few cookies, and, in a stroke of what he thought was Auror level cleverness, he steered the conversation to reminiscences of his childhood.
"...and I swear you gave me six extra grey hairs that day!" His mum laughed, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation after retelling one of his less well thought out escapades when he was about six or so.
"I was always getting into something or other, wasn't I?" He asked.
"You sure were," his dad said, wiping a tear of laughter out of his eye, still chuckling quietly. "Although to be fair, it was your brothers leading you astray more often than not."
"I reckon it would've been easier if I'd been a girl, huh?" He asked, knowing even as the words left his mouth that it was a clumsy lead in.
Not getting his point, his mum snorted. "As if your sister wasn't as crafty as you lot-the only difference is, some people were fooled by the innocent look she'd pull afterwards," she said, giving his dad a knowing look.
"Well, she had to keep up with the others didn't she? I suppose she never fooled you, though."
"Of course not; where do you think she got it?"
As his parents laughed, he felt irritation mount; obviously he hadn't made his point, and if he didn't speak up, the subject was likely to change before he could.
"No. Seriously. Wouldn't you have preferred it if I'd been a girl?" He asked, no longer joking.
Their smiles faded into expressions of confusion, both of them turning to look at each other to see if the other understood, before turning back to face him.
"Why on earth would we have wanted that?" His mum asked, frown lines creasing between her eyes and at the corners of her mouth.
""We've always loved each of you exactly as you are," his dad added, sounding puzzled.
"Look, you don't...you don't have to hide it," he said, abandoning any pretense at subtlety as he grew more upset. "I know you always liked Ginny better. I know that after all the others, I was a disappointment. I just-I just want to get it out in the open!"
Both of them paled visibly, and his mum gasped as if each word had been a blow to the stomach.
"Why would you think that? If you were a disappointment because you were a girl, what does that make your brothers? Do you honestly think," she asked, her voice low and quavering, "That I could have looked down at each of my children when I first held them in my arms, and been disappointed?"
"Of course not the others," he amended, as if it were obvious. "Bill was sort of all around perfect and reliable. Charlie was brave and strong. Percy-well, Percy might as well have been a brain with a pair of legs and glasses. The twins were clever and ambitious. And Ginny, of course, was the girl you wanted-had always wanted. Not just a girl, either, but she was pretty and smart and athletic and brave. Of course I'd be the disappointment, since I was none of those things-"
"You were all of those things!" His mum shouted, making him jump by smacking a hand on the table as tears streamed down her face. "How can you sit there and say you're not?"
The cracks in his already shaky composure began to widen, and he let out what could only be described as an hysterical laugh. "Gee, Mum, I wonder why? Maybe because it was so obvious that Ginny was the one you were waiting for-everyone and their dog knew it!"
"When did I ever say that?" His Mum demanded. "When did those words ever leave my mouth?"
"Easy, Molly," his dad said quietly, laying a hand over hers.
"I can't remember exactly-"
"See?!"
"But I don't have to, do I?" He yelled back, standing up. "Everyone else was always saying it! 'Molly finally got the girl she always wanted,'" he said, affecting a high pitched voice. "'She must have been feeling pretty desperate by the time Ron came along.' 'Oh, didn't you know that Ron was supposed to be a girl? Poor Arthur and Molly; must've been a shock to get another son.'"
He subsided, breathing heavily and glaring.
"That's what all of this is about? You actually think-just because-" His mum shook her head, her hands reaching up to rub her face, which looked several years older than when this conversation had started.
Ron noticed those hands were shaking, much like his.
"Ron," his dad said, his voice quiet and steady, although clearly upset, "Those things...well, I suppose you need to understand where that came from."
"Excuse me a moment," his mum said, right before standing and bolting from the room.
Ron, confused, nearly followed to see what was wrong, but his dad waved him back, before taking his glasses off and wiping the lenses in slow, meditative circles.
"You know the first war was hard on your mum. Very hard."
"Yeah, I know. Her brothers and...yeah."
His dad nodded. "She didn't...I suppose you could say she didn't cope very well, especially in the beginning. And perhaps it was a bit unhealthy, and I don't think she consciously intended it, but she took comfort in family, and...I don't want to say she tried to replace Fabien and Gideon, because she knew that wasn't possible, but she poured herself into building a new family. One she could love and keep safe."
"I know that. Well, maybe I didn't, but I can see it. But what does that have to do with-?"
"And you also know," his dad continued, "How long it had been since there'd been a girl in the Weasley line, right?"
"Yes," Ron said slowly, still not sure where this was going, and fighting hard not to lash out from his impatience. He was hanging on by a thread.
"About the time Percy was born, people began teasing us about having so many kids; they started to say your mum must be trying for a girl. They said-"
"That our names should be Rabbitley instead of Weasley," his mum said, shuffling back into the room, clearly having been sick. "Some of them meant all of it as a friendly joke, and others...not so much," she continued, sitting heavily back in her seat. "And of course, I was as stubborn as any blood born Weasley, so many people assumed I would try just because I'd been told it couldn't be done."
"But you kept trying after me, and stopped as soon as you had Ginny," he pointed out, still stubbornly clinging to the shreds of his argument.
She took a sip from the glass of water his dad poured her from his wand before answering. "Ron, even though I was fairly young when I started having children, there were quite a few years between Bill and Ginny. Seven living children, and an unfortunate couple of losses, take a toll on a woman's body, even with magic. You probably don't remember, and we tried to keep it from you kids, but I had problems during my last pregnancy, and things were touch and go for both Ginny and I."
That was all...disappointingly logical. The joke made sense of why he'd never heard his parents ever actually say such a thing, but for it to have still been something clear enough to stick in a kid's head. And seven kids...well, his mum had always been sort of dumpy and maternal for as far back as he could remember, although old pictures were proof that wasn't always the case. For a body to have changed that much, there had to have been some wear and tear. Of course she couldn't have gone and on having kids, for Merlin's sake.
"Alright," he said somewhat grudgingly, "But I still never measured up to the others."
"And who was measuring you?" His mum said, a bit of her former heat returning to her voice. "It seems to me you were doing that just fine on your own."
"What made you think were were comparing you, son?" His dad asked in a more diplomatic tone.
"Like I said before, the others were always something," Ron said, running his hand through his hair with such force that his nails dug into his scalp. "And Mum was always telling me how I should be like them in one way or another."
"Ronald Weasley, I never wanted you to be anybody but your own self!" She snapped indignantly. "But you have to understand, you were...different. You'd be working away and doing well, and then you would just sort of...freeze. Almost give up, it seemed like. You got discouraged so easily, as if if you weren't good at something the first time, there was no use trying. I was just trying to give you some sort of direction until you could find your own bent-"
"Would it've been so bad to just let me...just muddle along?" He asked, feeling tired to his bones. Why had he done this again?
"Yes! Oh, Ron, out of all of you kids, being poor bothered you the most. And there wasn't much I could do about that. But I could make sure you had the skills to take control of your own future-so many jobs require good marks! What kind of parent would I have been if I hadn't made you apply yourself? Should I have let you go on drifting, only for you to feel discouraged and left behind when all of your friends found jobs after graduation? Should I have let you fall behind and limit your choices? It would have been one thing if you had been incapable. Or, if like the twins, you had a passion that took you in a...slightly less than traditional direction. What was I supposed to do?"
This last was said almost pleadingly, her voice breaking. Ron found that he didn't have an answer. What should she have done? Any job he would have wanted required good N.E. . Not only that, but employers usually looked to see if you'd improved yourself in other areas, such as being a prefect or joining some kind of group or team. Aside from when he'd joined the Quidditch team, he'd never put a lot of initiative into school. Oh, he revised, and most of it sunk in well enough for him to do well, but he knew part of that was because Harry, and more forcefully, Hermione lead the way and he went along with whatever they were doing. It wasn't, he thought, that he didn't have any natural ability, because looking back, he did, he just...hadn't really done much with it when left to himself.
"I didn't see much point," he admitted, "When pretty much everyone else had done...well, everything first. Why would anyone care if I did or not?"
His dad leaned forward, squinting at him slightly through his glasses. "Ron, do you remember when I taught you to ride a broom?"
Ron blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden switch. "Um, Yeah, it's a little hazy, but I remember. Why?"
"Before I taught you, I taught Fred and George. And before them, Percy. Before him, Charlie, and of course, Bill. But do you know something? I was excited each time. It might not have been my first time, but it was yours. It was new all over again, because each of you were individuals. Someday, if you have kids of your own, you'll be able to know first hand that experiences are unique to each child, and watching that doesn't become any less special-or hard-no matter how many times you go through it."
It was hard to say anything to that. Having been brought to his attention, he did remember learning to ride; he remembered the way his dad walked beside him, his voice eager as he told him what to do, grinning the entire time. He remembered how his dad had caught him when he started to fall off, and the whoop he'd let out when he had managed to fly in a complete circle. It was undeniable, really, to imagine that hadn't been a special moment to his dad, even though he'd already taught five other sons how to fly.
"And we were always so proud whenever you did something; don't you remember how excited I was when you were made Prefect? I always knew you could, and I knew you would've been so disappointed if you hadn't been, even if you pretended otherwise."
Being a Prefect had been important-something he hadn't even wanted to think about until it actually happened, since he figured he'd just be disappointed. But his mum, even though he wasn't the first, had acted like it was some amazing achievement-embarrassingly so at the time, but if she hadn't cared, wouldn't she have just brushed it off as something he was supposed to do anyway, and not a big deal?
"And you bought be a broom, too," he admitted. "I probably shouldn't have asked, but-"
"You deserved it!" She said fiercely. "Well, no, you deserved a much nicer one, and I hated that we couldn't afford it, but after the robes the year before...I knew I had to make that up somehow."
"The robes weren't that bad," he lied, but oddly not wanting her to feel bad.
"Oh, Ron, I know they were! But we had no idea until the last minute that you were going to need them, and hadn't had any time to budget for three sets. I put off buying yours as long as possible, hoping something better would turn up, but that was the best I could find, even though I went to every shop I could think of. And of course, Charms wouldn't have lasted more than twenty or so minutes, and the way you can't alter tailormade robes unless you're a professional...well, I just knew I had to do better with the broom."
Charms and alterations worked much better on Muggle clothes. After having designs stolen, and people altering things to a hideous extent and giving designers a bad reputation, Wizarding clothmakers had started weaving spells into their work, making sure that they could only be professionally altered. Which was fine, if you had access to the right person, and money to pay for it, but not so much if you were buying used.
"I'm sorry I gave you a hard time about the robes," he said. "I know you'd have bought better ones if you could have. They were just sort of a shock."
"Ron," his mum said, putting a hand on his arm, "I wasn't upset that you didn't like them! If I'd been given robes like that, I'd have probably cried! But it was either that or none at all, and have you miss the ball. What I was upset about was the fact that you expressed it in front of Harry. I know you didn't mean to, and hadn't thought of it, but the poor boy looked so guilty...he was a guest put in an uncomfortable situation, with nothing he could really do."
Oh. No, he'd never really thought of what that little scene had been like for Harry...And of course, Harry would've felt guilty. At least he hadn't offered to buy him a set; he'd probably figured out that wouldn't be a good idea after the Omnioculars. And Harry was also always one to make a sacrifice; he might've ended up feeling so guilty he would've suggested that neither of them go to the ball. Harry's life had been pretty much shite in a lot of ways; he shouldn't have had to feel guilty because he had something nice.
"I was really happy with the broom, though," he said, wanting to let her know that she had made up for the robes. "And I got more use out of it than I would've with the robes...although I'm actually surprised we were able to afford it. Were you able to find a used one?"
Both of his parents looked slightly uncomfortable. What was that about?
"Mum? Dad? How did you manage it?"
"Oh, we just cut a bit here and there," his mum said, waving her hand in dismissal.
"Molly, we might as well be honest."
"Mum?" He asked again.
She pursed her lips, looking down as she meticulously, and needlessly adjusted her pinny. "You were thoughtful enough to pick a less expensive model, even though I know you wanted a better one," she began. "And if there had been just a bit more time to prepare, we could have found a way..."
"But?" Oh, fuck. Had they sold some sort of heirloom or something? Had an organ taken out on Knockturn Alley?
"I had to borrow from your aunt Muriel," she finally confessed, all in one breath.
Bloody hell, that was worse than an heirloom or even an organ! Aunt Muriel could afford it, alright, but any time she was asked to unclench, grudgingly was only the beginning. She could make your life miserable for years, demanding that you do something by way of repaying her.
"Mum, I wouldn't have wanted you to do that! Merlin, she must've used that against you forever-"
"I more than made up for it years ago-but even if I hadn't, you deserved it, Ron. Things were so hard for you during those years, and...your father and I wanted you to have something nice, that was just yours. Something that was normal and fun, and didn't have anything to do with the war."
He'd always known that they couldn't really afford it. And if she had just told him they couldn't, he would've understood. Grumbled, and probably complained like an arse, but deep down, he'd have understood. If his parents saw him as less than Ginny and his brothers, would they have made such an effort? His Mum, as helpful as she was, avoided Muriel every chance she got. Even if she hadn't had to borrow money, they still could have used it better for something else. But what he wanted mattered-he mattered to them. And they had never thrown the fact in his face, never made him feel as if he should be grateful for the sacrifice. You just didn't do that for someone you considered a disappointment, did you?
"I...it was easier not to think about when I was little," he said quietly, playing with the empty cup his mum had given him with his snack. "But as I got older, you...you changed. Not Dad so much, but you did, Mum. It was like, I dunno, you always seemed to be upset with me or something, even if I hadn't done anything. I guess I just thought...that there was something wrong with me."
Her whole body seemed to deflate, her shoulders rounding as she squeezed her eyes closed. "Oh, Ronnie. My poor boy. I knew I was-but I didn't think..."
"Molly, I can explain it if you'd rather-"
"No, she said firmly, taking a deep breath. "He needs to hear this from me. I'm the one who caused this, after all, even though I never intended-well, that doesn't matter."
Nervously, Ron bit down on the nail of his index finger, wincing as it broke off at the quick. There was no turning back now, no walking away and erasing whatever was about to be said. He thought the biscuits he ate earlier were about to claw their way up his throat.
"Ron," she began, meeting his eyes directly. "You know the first war was hard on me. But I don't think you realize just how much it really affected me. I withdrew into myself for a long time. I became a nervous wreck when people I cared about were away from me for too long, convinced something was going to happen to them. In a lot of ways, I was like you are now. Of course, there wasn't much, if anything being done about it back then, and I'm honestly not even sure I could have accepted help if it had been offered."
That, at least, he could understand. He knew what it was like to push people away, even when at the same time, you were desperate to protect them. And as for getting help...well, it had been a pretty near thing.
"As the years passed, and the war was over, I thought I was getting better. I thought...I suppose I thought having my family cured me, or at least came close. I focused on being a wife and a mother, and I avoided the fear. And then...and then you were eleven years old, ready for your first day of Hogwarts. And there he was."
Ron blinked, his nose wrinkling in confusion. "Harry?"
She nodded, a twisted smile forming on her lips. "Harry. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. And suddenly I knew it was all going to happen again, and I was afraid."
"I...okay, I get that, but what does that have to do with me?"
His dad looked like he was going to say something, but a look passed between his parents, and he sat back in his seat.
"When I'm afraid, I get angry. I snap. I get...possibly a little paranoid. I try to control everything I can, as if I can prevent anything bad from happening. And from that first year, you didn't have me just afraid, you had me terrified."
"So, what, you didn't want me to be friends with Harry?" He asked, rubbing his temples, which had begun to throb.
"Of course I did!" She said, clearly not believing there was a contradiction. "Those letters you wrote, especially around Christmas, asking-demanding that we do something for him...wanting to have him over in the summer so he wouldn't have to go home...I was so, so proud of you-I still have those letters, you know."
"That wasn't anything," he mumbled, oddly embarrassed, and yet, somehow, touched that not only had she remembered, she had considered those letters important enough to save.
She shook her head. "It was, Ronnie! It was! I know of all of you, being poor bothered you the most, as good as you tried to be about it. And it would have been possible, even natural in away, for you to hold on that much tighter to the things you had, too jealous to share. But you didn't. Everything you had, you wanted to share with Harry. You didn't even think about it; you just did it."
"I...I resented him sometimes," he confessed, feeling as if it would be dishonest to accept her praise.
"Of course you did," his dad said. "You're human. Not just human, but a teenager, still growing and developing, and trying to find your place in life. The fact that you might have resented him sometimes doesn't take away from what you did; if anything, it makes it all the more meaningful, because you were able to push those feelings to the side, and do what you believed to be right anyway."
There was a stuffy, clogged up feeling in his nose, but he pushed it back; he wasn't going to cry, damn it. He was not.
"Then I still don't see why it bothered you so much," he said, getting them back on track.
"Don't you?" She sighed. "Every year, the danger got worse. And there you were, right in the thick of it, right at Harry's side. I was constantly ripped up inside, torn between fear of what could happen to you, and pride in your choice to stand beside Harry no matter what. Do you have any idea what it was like, knowing how close I always loved to having one of my babies ripped away from me, and knowing he was right?"
Ron opened his mouth, but found he couldn't speak. He'd known his mum had worried-what parent wouldn't? But at the time, he had always considered it more of an annoyance, rather than really giving any thought to what it might be like for her. Right now, if he had a kid that kept going off and deliberately putting himself into that kind of danger, he'd go mental. Raving, really. And every time they came through it, just to plunge in again? The up and down of always wondering what was going to happen, and every time you did something to keep them safe, they'd roll their eyes and do it anyway...
"I promised myself long ago that I would do whatever it took to keep my children safe," she said quietly, her fingers laced so tightly together that the skin over her knuckles shone white. "If that meant being over protective, so be it. If it meant nagging, I didn't care. I was even prepared to have you hate me for it, but as long as you were alive, I could have borne that." She reached out to take his hand across the table, her voice sounding hoarse as she continued, "But what I can't bear is the fact that it hurt you like this. If anything I've said and done over the years have made you feel unloved, then I am truly, truly sorry, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."
He gripped her hand tightly, tears stinging the back of his eyes. He was loved. The whole thing about Ginny had been a mistake. Everything else was his mum's imperfect efforts to deal with her own scars, and a fierce desire to keep him safe. He could forgive that. Mistakes, misunderstandings...even choosing the wrong way to do what what right, he could forgive. Moreso because she hadn't brushed off his concerns, hadn't tried to justify them. She was sincerely sorry, and had asked for his forgiveness without expecting it or demanding it.
"Of course I forgive you, Mum," he said, his voice thick, and somehow without realizing it, they had managed to stand up and throw their arms around each other in a crushing hug. They stood that way for a long time, and as they pulled away, his mum reached up to cup his face with her hands.
"You are my precious son, Ron. No matter how irritated, angry, afraid or hurt you've ever made me, you have always been wanted and loved exactly as you are. Nothing will ever change that."
He nodded and hugged her again, strangling an emotion driven laugh at the thought that he'd just accidentally wiped his wet nose on her hair, like he used to on her pinny when he was little and being comforted. Feeling overcome, and wanting to be alone to process everything, he said he was going to go ahead and go back to his flat, which sent her scurrying to pack up some biscuits for him and some leftover ham, because, 'you always need to get your strength back after you've been upset.'
Carrying the food outside, he saw that his dad, who had been quiet up until now, came with him.
"I'm sorry for upsetting the both of you like that," he said, knowing it had been just as emotional for them as it had for him.
"Of course we were upset, Ron. Any halfway decent parent would be, at the thought of being the cause of their child's pain."
He sighed. "I know. I probably should've just let it go-"
"No!" His dad interrupted, taking his arm. "Never be afraid of telling the people you love that they've hurt you. It's the only way anything can ever get better. Neither of us, I want to make clear, are upset that you felt like that. Given everything, it's more than understandable. We just wish we'd known sooner."
"You couldn't have, without me telling you," Ron said. "It's not like you were doing obviously hurtful things that you'd know you shouldn't be doing."
"No, but a parent...well, they always feel like they should know." His dad gave him a small smile. "Once you've had more than one child, you think you know how to take care of any problems that might come up, and how they're going to react. But sometimes, the methods that work for two or three, or even five or six, won't work on one. It wasn't on purpose, or for lack of caring-never that! But I'm sorry we didn't always show you our love for you the way it needed to be shown."
"I...I did know you loved me. Mostly. It was just sometimes, in my head..."
"Everyone needs to be shown or have it said in different ways, son. There's no shame in asking for it. I'm just glad you finally felt able to tell us, so we could get it out in the open. Are you going to be okay?"
Taking a deep breath, Ron nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I will-about all this, at least. Other things..."
"Other things might take a little more time to get sorted out," his father said, his voice filled with understanding. "But we'll be here for you. Your mum and me."
"I know you will, Dad," he said, accepting a one armed hug as he juggled his food.
He watched his dad walk back inside the house. He was tired, more tired than he'd been after his first week of basic training. But he also felt a curious lightness in his chest, something finally loosening its hold and letting him breathe just a bit deeper. He knew this wasn't his main issue; in reality, it had all bothered him more growing up than it had in the past few years. All the same, it was closure, and he felt better for having done it, so it had to be worthwhile even if there was still more to go.
Apparating away, he found himself more eager than ever for Hermione to get back; he had a lot to tell, and she was the person he wanted to share these new, happy revelations with the most.
Story Notes: I realize that many readers have been hurt by those close to them, and often impose their feelings and reactions onto characters. Forgiving family members for things they may have done wrong is a personal decision; some things are too deep to be forgiven, sometimes time needs to pass, etc. And that is alright! But please remember that making the decision, once you have all of the information, to forgive something and move past it is no less valid. There are things that hurt deeply when we're younger, but as we age, we don't feel quite so strongly about (and yes, some things hurt forever, there's no denying that.) But in this fic, Ron is perfectly aware that he doesn't HAVE to forgive Molly and Arthur. He does so because he WANTS to, because he understands that their wrongs were from mistakes and not malice. He knows firsthand what it's like to hurt others because of your coping mechanisms. And, equally as important, he isn't coerced or guilt tripped into forgiving them. He is given a sincere and heartfelt apology, without having his feelings belittled or diminished. I know many people out there aren't at that point yet, and some situations just outright don't allow for that, but please don't be upset because this wasn't a huge flame against his parents, or think that this was to in anyway imply that you MUST grant someone forgiveness just because they're family, because that definitely wasn't the intent. For instance, I would write a Harry/Dursley interaction much, much differently.
On a related note, please, please don't send me messages about how awful and abusive the Weasleys were. I've had floods of that from different inboxes on various forums, and don't really want to wade my way through that depressing mess again. I've heard all the various arguments you can think of, I assure you.