Chapter Thirty-Seven
The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, England, 29 December, 1991
It was bloody unfair.
Here he was, sitting in his room alone, and everyone else was downstairs, greeting their parents. His brothers ignored him and kept him away from Ginny, afraid he would "contaminate her" with his evil Slytherin ways.
His parents had written him often, assuring him that they did not hate him, but talk was cheap.
He'd stayed in his room ever since Bill had come and picked him and Ginny up. Bill had also gotten Fred, George, and Percy home to greet their parents.
Bill was still good to him, not treating him too much differently. He'd also told him that he fit the traits of a good Slytherin; clever, ambitious, and sly, pointing out that these were all the characteristics of many noble professions.
"After all," he'd said, "not all jobs include mindless, thoughtless bravery. That part is only a family tradition."
Ron had decided that Bill was an ally.
He sat reading a book he'd gotten from Hermione "1001 Ways to Prove You're Evil" by Mangus Murdstone. Most of the ways were jokes, such as accio-ing candy from babies and laughing at misfortune. It was good for a laugh.
His favorite present, though was a combined gift from Blaise, Neville, Daphne, Henry, Draco, and Adrian; a Nimbus 1700. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, sleek and shiny. It could go over 120 kilometers per hour, and he'd never had anything even close to it. They'd sent a broom care kit and a book called "Quidditch Through the Ages".
He hadn't shown his brothers any of these things. They'd think he was trying to show how much better than them he was.
He didn't want to be better than them, he just wanted to be different from them.
"Is that so bloody difficult to understand?!" he yelled at the floor, releasing the outrage at being snubbed by his own family. At the sudden noise, the ghoul in the attic began moaning and hitting all the pipes.
He flopped back onto his bed, the springs creaking under his weight, growling in frustration. It was bloody unfair.
After a few moments, there was a loud knock at his door.
"Come in!" he yelled, unwilling to move.
The door squeaked open and his mother stood in the doorway, looking at him nervously.
"Mum!" he cried, jumping clumsily to his feet and hugging his mother.
She sighed in relief and proceeded to squeeze him so tightly that he was sure he'd pass out. "Oh, I've missed you, Ronnie! How is school? Are Fred and George being awful? Did you make lots of friends? Oh, you're so tall!"
He chuckled and they sat on the edge of his bed, catching up. Ron had always been close to his mother. He even showed her his presents.
"A broom? Ron, I know you really wanted a new one, but you shouldn't have asked your friends to-"
"I didn't ask for it, Mum, they just knew I wanted one. They all paid for it together," he explained quickly.
"I'm still not sure I'm comfortable with that kind of gift, Ron," she said, wringing her hands. Suddenly, she smiled brightly. "I know! I'll make them all something!"
"No, Mum, please!" Ron groaned.
"Oh, don't be silly, Ronald, everyone loves my knitting!" she said, fussing over his hair.
"Mum! I like my hair the way it is!" he said, trying to bat her hands away.
"It looks like a nest!"
"Mum! Stop, I'm begging you!" he cried. "Where's Dad?"
"Oh, your father had to get to work. Some emergency at the office," she said, smiling bitterly.
"Big shock there," he muttered.
Ron knew how she felt. It was rare for his father to be home for more than a few hours at a time. He loved his father, he did, but he always felt that he and his brothers and mother and Ginny came second to the Muggles his father protected. It didn't seem right that a man should have so many children and spend so little time with any of them.
Thinking of something that may cheer his mother up, he blurted, "Could I have some of my friends over?"
Molly Weasley was someone who adored having people at her house. Smiling t him, she ruffled his hair and said, "Of course you can, Ron."
He smiled, planted a kiss on her cheek, and dashed off to find Errol, the family's owl.
He was excited to see all his friends again, though Adrian had mentioned something about a damn nuisance of a dog that followed him everywhere. Ron shrugged, sure that his friend was only joking with him.
As soon as he walked into the living room, all conversations stopped.
"What in bloody hell," George started.
"Is that?" Fred finished.
Ron still had his broom in his hand.
He felt all the blood run into his face. "It was a gift," he said quietly.
"Oh, a gift! D'you hear that, Fred? He got a brand new broom from his friends," George mocked, grinning evilly. He moved slowly from the couch toward Ron, who suddenly found himself backing into the book case.
"Indeed I did, George. Ickle Ronnikins was planning to share his new toy, wasn't he?" Fred asked, blocking the door.
Ron looked around franticly for Bill or his mum, but there was only Percy. When he tried catching his brother's eye, Percy buried his nose deeper into the book on his lap.
He was on his own.
Squaring his shoulders, he glared at his tormenters. "Leave me alone. I'm only looking for Errol."
"Fine, fine, we'll leave you alone," George said.
"But we'll need that broom first," Fred added.
Ron tightened his grip on the broom. "It's mine. You can't have it."
"You don't even play Quidditch," George said, grabbing hold off the handle.
"Not sharing is quite selfish of you, little brother," Fred added, grabbing the footpeg.
"What's going on in here?"
The three boys looked to see their eldest brother standing sternly behind them, arms crossed over his chest.
"Ron here is trying to steal our new broom!" George said, outraged.
"It was a gift from our friends!" Fred chimed in.
"No I didn't! It's my broom!" Ron yelled angrily. "I got it from my friends!"
Bill scrutinized at them. Ron had never seen someone with a ponytail and an earring look so serious. He motioned for them to hand him the broom, which they did willingly.
He turned it over in his hands and smiled. "This is a very nice broom. You'd better take care of it, Ron."
Ron smiled and took it from his brother, allowing Bill to ruffle his hair. "If you want, I'll take you out later and we can fly," Bill offered, "I just got a new broom myself, though it's nowhere near as nice as this."
Ron beamed and headed off to search for Errol once more.
Once he was out of the room, Bill's demeanor hardened.
"Percy, out," he snapped, glaring at the twins.
Percy ducked his head and darted out the door, and Bill closed it softly behind him.
"What have I told you twerps," he growled, his back to them, "about messing with the younger kids?"
Fred and George gulped as he turned to face them. His face was red and he was shaking with rage.
"Ron has never had anything of his own, never even had the chance to have anything new, and the first time something new and exciting comes his way, you try to steal it?" he asked them, blue eyes sharp and cold as ice. "What in the name of Merlin is wrong with you?"
"Well, he should have to share!" George stammered.
"It's a Weasley tradition," Fred nodded.
"In case it escaped your notice, idiots," Bill seethed, "Ron is a non-traditional Weasley. It's his broom, from his friends. He doesn't have to do a damn thing. I'd be surprised if he even lets you monkeys near it after this."
"But-" they started. Bill cut them off with a wave of his hand.
"Never treat him that way again, d'you understand?" Bill warned.
They nodded sullenly.
"Good." He stormed out of the room, still steaming.
A long ride on his broom would do him good.
"I can't find Errol!" Ginny yelled from upstairs.
Ron swore from the kitchen, and Bill heard the door to the garden slam.
"He can use Hermes," Percy offered from the chair next to Bill. "I've already delivered all of my presents."
Bill smiled and handed Percy a brightly wrapped package from inside his coat pocket. "Happy Christmas, Perce."
"Happy Christmas, Bill."
Bill reasoned that Percy wasn't half bad, once you knocked him down a peg or two.
With that, Bill followed Ron into the garden, grabbing his broom as he went.
Flying sooner was always better than later, after all.
Ron stood behind the shed, broom over his shoulder, glad that his plan had worked out so easily. Smiling slyly, he patted the square bulge under his coat, reassuring himself that it was still there.
There was more than one reason he'd wanted his friends to visit.
He'd found something.