Chapter Thirteen.

Ron hesitates momentarily before knocking on Percy's door. "Harry?" he calls, knocking lightly.

A brief pause, then a response. "Yeah, come in."

"Hi," Ron pushes open the door and stands awkwardly in the frame. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

"Hi."

"Percy sure keeps things neater than I do," Ron looks around, his eyes wide.

"One of his finer points."

"His only finer point," snorts Ron.

Harry suppresses a grin. "What's up?"

"Um, you busy?" Ron shuffles his feet.

"Just packing," Harry looks away from Ron to the large pile of clothing, books, and assorted knick-knacks sitting in the middle of Percy's otherwise tidy room.

Ron stares at him blankly.

"Grimmauld Place," Harry says tightly. "Remember? I'm moving there."

"Right. I just didn't think . . . so soon," Ron mumbles, his face reddening. He pauses again, and then steps into Percy's room, shutting the door behind him.

"Yeah, well, not much to keep me here, what with you and Hermione leaving and Ginny not so interested in speaking with me. . . ." He trails off, looking down at the ground.

"She cares about you, yunno, she's just stubborn," Ron blurts out.

"Kind of like her brother then," Harry raises an eyebrow.

Ron looks momentarily surprised, then laughs. "Yeah, I reckon so."

Harry swallows. "I thought you hated me," he says quietly.

"No, that's—that's ridiculous."

"Not so ridiculous."

"Look. About the other day. . . ."

"When you said I betrayed you and you couldn't wait to get away from me."

"I didn't say that exactly," Ron shifts his weight awkwardly from one leg to the other.

"I must've misheard then."

"I was a bit of an—I mean, maybe I've been a bit of an arse."

"A bit?" Harry snorts and then narrows his eyes. "Did Hermione send you here to apologize?"

"What?" Ron is now bright red. "No." He pauses. "Yes," he concedes. "But, in my defense, I would've gotten around to it eventually."

Harry laughs, his eyes filled with affection. "You're my best mate, you bloody idiot. Apology or not."

Ron smiles. It's the first smile Harry thinks he's seen in weeks. "I'm, uh—you need some help?"

"Yeah, that'd be—that'd be nice," Harry replies.

Ron shuffles over and sits on the floor next to Harry's pile. He sorts through some books silently.

"Bloody hell, Harry, you kept this?" Ron snickers, raising a frayed copy of Gilderoy Lockhart's autobiography.

"Hermione did," Harry retorts. "That's from her bag. Trash," he points to one of two piles in front of him.

Ron laughs—"She was really in love with that old fraud"—and dumps the textbook onto the trash heap.

"Yeah, it was vile," Harry grins.

They sort in silence for several minutes—the only sound is of textbooks hitting the floor and Ron occasionally grunting at Harry in shorthand regarding which pile a particular item belongs.

"Mum'll want to help sort things out," Ron finally mutters, knee deep in Harry's old Quidditch gear.

"Sort what out?" Harry looks up from stacks of folded clothing, separated by winter and spring.

"Grimmauld Place. It's a bloody dungeon—or it was last we were there, anyway," he grimaces at the memory.

"Might be even worse now," Harry muses, recalling the last time he, Ron, and Hermione set foot—or almost set foot—into Grimmauld Place, with a dark wizard on their backs, literally.

"You think they hexed the place?" Ron asks thoughtfully.

Harry shudders. "I don't know. But I guess I'll find out." He plasters a smile on his face. "No time like the present anyway."

"We can all help get it into shape again," Ron offers.

"Thanks—but it's pretty obvious you have enough to deal with right now."

Ron shrugs. "I don't mind. And look—mum really will want to help."

"Yeah. Well, she's had a lot on her mind, too. I don't think it would be fair to ask."

"Are you mental? She'd love it. Would be a welcome distraction from . . . things. She'll be buying new rugs and curtains and decor—whatever the wall hang-ie things are—it'll cheer her up."

"You think?"

"I know."

"Well, maybe when you and Hermione leave. . . ."

"That'd be great, Harry," Ron says enthusiastically. "It'll distract her from owling us every three minutes, checking to make sure we're still alive."

Harry chuckles before the boys grow quiet again. He breaks the silence a few minutes later. "Are you—the things you said the other day. . . ."

Ron sighs. "I—I have a lot on my mind. Still. But I'm not—I just need some time to sort through it all. I'm not trying to chuck you, I swear," he stops sorting through books and looks at Harry.

"I guess I can live with that."

"Um, Harry—there's one more thing. . . ." Ron trails off awkwardly.

Harry sighs. "Did Hermione send you in here with a written list? If so, just hand it over."

Ron looks sheepish. "I'm not—that's not—"

"You are the worst liar on the planet. What does she want?"

"Well, you know—you and Gin have been a bit . . . distant, and . . . I guess it's just a surprise, seeing as you had all these . . . feelings . . . and I guess we expected—I mean, I expected—that, you know. . . ."

"God, you really are the worst."

"I'm trying here."

"Your sister is the one who has a problem with me. Not the other way around."

"Does she know about the—the thing?"

"No," Harry sighs.

"Then . . . why?"

Harry shrugs. "Ask her."

"I'm asking you."

"She's—the day we got back to Hogwarts—when I went to give myself up to . . . him"—Ron nods in recognition—"I didn't tell her."

"You didn't tell anyone."

"But I didn't tell her. And," he sighs, "when everything was—when it was done, I went to you and Hermione—and I left her behind. She was pretty upset with me."

"I don't remember that."

"You were a little distracted," Harry raises an eyebrow. He sighs again. "The whole thing has just been hard. I've been gone for so long and she's been—she's practically living in a different world, and so much has happened—and it's just been hard to talk to her about everything. And she's going back to Hogwarts and I'm not—and bloody hell, she's—she's gorgeous and smart and funny and kind. She could date anyone. After everything that's happened, I'm just not sure it's me she wants anymore." He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "I'm just—I'm shite at this. I'm you without the experience."

Ron stares at Harry blankly.

"I think you're supposed to say something now," Harry prompts him. "Like, 'it'll all be okay.' Or give me some advice as to how to get her back. Or at least the old 'there are other fish in the sea.' For Merlin's sake, Hermione really sent you here to do this?"

Ron gives him a lopsided grin. "Yeah, I don't know what she was thinking—I'm rubbish at this. Look—I have no bloody clue how you make things right, but, um, mate—I know she cares about you. It's pretty obvious. And if you . . . if you love her or whatever—then you should, you know—do something or what have you."

"Good talk, Ron. Thanks."

"Right then," Ron looks back down at the piles and goes back to sorting.