Ron Weasley had many an experience with awkward situations; how could he not; been the sixth child out of seven. He'd grown up feeling like an odd duck, the youngest boy with hand me down clothes that had often been worn by several of his brothers. He'd always felt awkward in the presence of his older, more talented siblings as well as in the presence of Ginny who was the centre of his mother's universe. He'd grown up poor, embarrassed that most of his belongings were second hand. He'd felt awkward among his peers for years and the relentless snide remarks from other students had left a lasting impact on him. He'd felt awkward among his friends; Harry with his fame; Hermione with her brains. He was just Ron, he'd never really understood why his friends kept him around, he wasn't anything special, not really. He was plain, below average in fact compared to the other two thirds of their trio. For some reason they liked him though and despite everything they always forgave him even when he mucked things up; like the time he'd abandoned them on the Horcrux hunt. Ron didn't think he deserved his friends. Since the war he'd been working on himself, trying to stop himself feeling so insecure about everything in his life, to stop been so awkward. Sure, there were still awkward times in his life; walking in on Hermione and Fred shagging the previous New Year's had been undeniably awkward in fact but he was trying. Hermione had even told him that his emotional range was more of a tablespoon than a teaspoon a few weeks ago when they'd been out for drinks at the Leaky Cauldron.
Despite all his attempts to feel less awkward, to act less awkward, Ron didn't think he had ever experienced anything as awkward as sitting at the same table as Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. The level of awkwardness in fact was stifling, suffocatingly so. They'd all hated one another as children, Ron was sure they still hated him. He didn't have the will power to keep hating anyone, he firmly believed that they'd all given as good as they got when they were younger, so long as they remained civil, he had no need to bring up their less than amiable past. So here on a sunny Tuesday he sat eating food to rival his own mothers, his back ramrod straight as he concentrated on using perfect table manners. In their presence he was certain his usual vigour of eating would be simply unacceptable. He wasn't sure why he cared what they thought of him but somewhere deep inside, he felt a hint of insecurity in their presence.
"Parkinson, we need to talk about," Ron began to speak to the witch at his side, she turned to him and glared, casting her eye's across to the children pointedly.
"After lunch Weasley," she told him primly her green eyes flashing, Ron nodded and continued to eat the food in front of him.
"Anabelle, I have to speak to Mr Weasley will you please keep an eye on Hector until we are finished," Pansy spoke quietly as she waved her wand causing the dishes to begin cleaning themselves.
"Pans we haven't had dessert yet," Hector groaned sadly as Annabelle stood and began leading him out of the kitchen.
"I think you've had enough, how many sweets has Draco snuck to you today," Pansy asked her brother, raising her eyebrow knowingly.
"Not many," he told her guilty.
"We will have dessert once I have spoken to Mr Weasley," Pansy spoke firmly, turning her back on her sibling while she placed the left-over chicken into a crockpot, the way his mother often did when she intended to make soup from their left-over lunches. Ron was amused to see that while her back was turned Draco pulled a bag of sweets out of his pocket and slyly passed them to Hector. The young boy's face lit up with joy and he hurried out of the room with Annabelle.
"You need to stop spoiling him," Pansy spoke turning back to the table, her eyes fixed on the blonde wizard.
"No idea what you are talking about Pans," he drawled, an amused smirk on his face.
"Every time you visit, I have to deal with an eight-year-old on a sugar high," she told him, Draco's smirk grew.
"He likes sweets," he replied.
"He also likes dragons, but he doesn't have one," she sighed.
"Well, that would be irresponsible, he might get eaten," Draco drawled.
"Quite," she agreed her lips twitching, as she set a teapot down on the table with a selection of cakes and biscuits.
"Weasley, why are you here," Draco asked, his eye's cutting from the dark-haired woman to Ron.
"It's regarding an incident that took place in Diagon Alley last week," Ron spoke calmly, his eyes on the woman who was now pouring three cups of tea. Pansy paled and her hands shook as she set down the teapot and gestured for him to help himself to milk and sugar which he did, adding a splash of the creamy substance and two cubes of sugar to the porcelain cup she had given him.
"What incident," Draco asked his eye's fixed on his pale friend.
"Nothing, perhaps you should leave Draco," she spoke her voice wavering.
"What incident Pansy are you in trouble," the blonde asked, rounding the table to kneel next to the witch.
"It's nothing, Draco, I'm fine," she stuttered.
"Weasley what incident," the other man asked, his silver eyes meeting his blue pair.
"Parkinson was attacked in Diagon Alley last Tuesday," he replied, raising his teacup to his lips.
"You went to the alley alone," Draco asked her, and Pansy nodded.
"You know it isn't safe Pans, you should have asked someone to go with you," he spoke quietly.
"Anabelle's Hogwarts letter arrived, and she was so excited to get everything, I had hoped that nobody would do anything with me having her and Hector with me," she told her friend, her green eyes watering.
"Pan's that was reckless, the last time you went someone broke your arm," he told her quietly.
"I know," she agreed, her lower lip trembling.
"Parkinson this isn't right, you need to testify against Smith and if you consent to share your memories of the previous attacks we can convict the perpetrators too," Ron spoke up, watching as Draco tried to offer comfort to the shaking witch.
"Who's going to believe me, a Death Eaters whore," she asked bitterly.
"I believe you and so will others, people shouldn't be attacking you for going to the shops," he spoke passionately, his eyes fixed on hers.
"I don't want people to feel sorry for me," she told him harshly.
"Do it for your siblings then, Smith tried to hit them. What if you ignore this, let him go free and he attacks Anabelle or Hector? What if one of the people who hurt you, hurt your siblings or hurt the younger siblings or children of one of your friends. You care about them more than anything. Prove it, testify and keep them safe," he told her, his voice impassioned.
"I'm not a bloody Gryffindor," she laughed.
"No, you're not but everyone has courage within them, you need to find yours," he replied, rising to his feet.
"Weasley, I don't think I can," she whispered.
"If you change your mind, you know where the Auror department is," he told her quietly, pausing at the closed doorway of the kitchen, "I never expected to find you living in Ottery St Catchpole, did you know that I grew up on the other side of the large green hill, there's a few other magical families in the area too," he told her quietly.
"I knew there were other Magical dwellings, I didn't know one of them was yours," she confessed. Ron nodded at her and to Draco who seemed oddly quiet and pensive before pulling open the wooden door. Hector and Anabelle stood there guiltily, a set of extendable ears held between them. Ron reached into his pocket and pulled out a small purple package. Fred and George had given it to him that very morning when he had called in to see them; it was their latest invention; Metamorphic Mints that would allow a person's hair to rapidly change colour with their emotions. Hectors eyes widened at the sight of the WWW logo and Ron smiled.
"This is a new product, hasn't been released to the public yet," he told the boy, leaning down so he was level with the child, Hector's eye's widened further when Ron handed him the package.
"Thank you, Mr Weasley," he told him, smiling up at him with a dimpled smile.
"No problem, thank you for having me, lunch was delicious," he spoke, casting his eyes back to the woman at the table before turning his eyes back to the children. Anabelle had shoved the extendable ears into her pocket and had a bashful smile on her face, Ron chuckled and made his way back down the corridor to the front door. It was a short walk to the nearest apparition point, set between two large oak trees at the edge of the hill. With a final glance at the chocolate box cottage, where it sat in the distance, Ron apparated back to London, hoping that Parkinson would change her mind and press charges on the scum that had attacked her.