"Ron? Ron, are you awake?"

"Go away mum, it's Saturday, why don't you ever let me sleep in?" the exhausted, and highly inebriated red haired wizard demanded.

"First of all, I don't think I've got the legs to pull off one of Mrs Weasley's floral dresses, but they might bring out my eyes. Second, it's Monday, and if you're not up and out of bed in the next five minutes you'll be out of a job, and so will I," Harry retorted, throwing a pair of clean robes onto Ron's bed and turning his back. Harry had closed the door when he poked his head back in. "And send that poor witch home while you're at it, please." Only then did Ron realize that there was someone in the bathroom, using his toothbrush and wearing his shirt from the night before.

"Bloody hell."


"Look, I'm sorry about this morning," Ron tried as he and Harry walked through the fireplace, munching on a piece of toast whilst trying to tie his tie. Harry flicked his wand and the tie straightened.

"I know, but you can't keep doing this, Ron. It's not healthy. We lost Fred, and I know he wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life in pain without doing anything about it. Did you know it was Hermione's birthday on Saturday, or were you too drunk to notice? If Hermione was here..."

Ron whirled on Harry, eyes blazing, chest heaving. "Well she's not, is she? She's not hounding us about what we're doing wrong and how much smarter than us she is. And don't act like you know what Fred would want; you hardly even knew him."

"That is a bloody lie, and you know it. He was my friend, and he always supported me. It wasn't just the hours on the Quidditch Pitch or at the Burrow, the parties in the Common Room, him and George always believed in me, and that meant something. It still means something. Just because we were not blood doesn't mean that I don't hurt either. I can't help you if you won't let me, and that's all I have to say." Having said his piece, Harry strode off, oblivious of the people who waved at him, whispered in awe at the Boy Who Lived. But Ron saw. Ron saw all the time.


"So, what was it like being on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team?" the young witch on the barstool beside him asked, stirring her drink and looking at Ron through her blonde hair.

"It was great," he breezed nonchalantly. "I had a good time, won some games, even got some offers to play for a few teams, but I turned them all down. I felt like I should be doing more, and besides, anyone can sit on a broom and stop a ball that's hurtling towards you at top speed."

His date laughed, obviously impressed at his humor. Hermione wouldn't have laughed. He had known it was her birthday, but purposefully chose to ignore it. They'd been no word from her, when she wrote letters to Harry every week without fail. Everyone always chose Harry. He knew he was the better wizard, more skilled and more charming. Today, in training, Harry was the first to be picked in their training scenario, their first practical task. Everyone had clapped him on the back, told him how well he handled the situation. Ron just got a few disinterested nods. But he wouldn't think about that now. Now, it was time to have a little fun.

"You must be very brave, to go and fight Voldemort," the witch said. Ron thought her name might be Amanda or Samantha or something. They'd bumped into each other in an elevator at the Ministry this afternoon, and she seemed nice enough.

"I wouldn't say brave. I just did what anyone else would have done at the time."

"Not necessarily. I was a Hufflepuff, you see, and us badgers aren't know for our fighting prowess."

With a pang, he thought about Tonks, who had been braver than even him, had died for a better future and left her little boy behind. Teddy was living with Andromeda, and he knew that Harry kept tabs on him, but still wanted to give her space, as he felt like he was intruding and don't want to appear like he was trying to barge in on he life and take away the last pice she had of her daughter. He was a real hero.

"I don't think your Hogwarts house should define you," he replied honestly. "I think that you're allowed to change once you leave school, that you can be smart and brave and loyal all at once. Unless you're a Slytherin. I don't think their lot ever really change."

"That's true. You know, you've got a lot of hidden depth, Ronald. And here I thought you were just a war hero with a handsome face," she quipped.

Ron blushed and hid it with a sip of his drink. "I don't suppose you'd want to go somewhere a little bit louder, would you? I know a great place nearby that should be a little more entertaining, and has music you can actually dance to."

"Why not? I'm all for a man who can kill it on the dance floor. Lead the way, Weasley."

Ron fished out the money for their drinks from the jumbled contents of his robes' pockets, acutely aware that he'd spent nearly half his weeks allowance on two mediocre drinks at best. He left with the witch, trying to seem excited, when all he felt was tired. A bone-deep, numbing ache that the training and the drinks and the parties and the dancing couldn't quite dampen, as if it had permanently affixed itself to his bones. Merlin's Beard, if his thoughts were this bad he was in most desperate need of more alcohol.

The club was trendy and bright and cool, not just because it had air-conditioning, a smoke machine and electric neon lights. Fred had told him about the place, actually, just after him and George had set up shop in Diagon Alley, when they'd been trying to come more accustomed to Muggle culture, and The Ivory Fox was run by a Muggle-born. But he wasn't here to think about his dead brother. He was here for a date.

The proprietor, Erin Roberts, greeted him at the door, auburn hair glistening, cream tail swishing and curling behind her, ivory heels clacking like the fake teeth George had shown him in a Muggle joke shop. Although it was only nine, the place was heaving, witches and wizards crowding around the small tables set apart from the floor, some combination of jazz and country crooning from enchanted bottles suspended from the ceiling.

"I'll get the drinks, why don't you get us a table?" he suggested, and she nodded, unable to speak over the clamour.

Elbows leaning against the bar, Ron was just about to order a double shot of Firewhiskey when he caught sight of a familiar face, with all-too familiar hair. Sweet Circe, he thought, cant I go anywhere? He was about to turn away when his brother caught sight of him.

"Ron?" George questioned, brows furrowed, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm trying to have a date," he shot back,anger suddenly coarsing through him. "But, it seems I can't go anywhere these days without a bloody chaperone. Are you here just to spy on me? See how I'm doing and report back to everyone else about your sorry excuse of a brother? Are you here to point out all my failings and question my life decisions?

Shock was evident on George's face, and hurt, too, the kind that can only be inflicted by a sibling, by someone you love fiercely yet annoys you to no end.

"Believe it or not, Ronald, the world does not revolve around you and your miserable excuse of a life. I'm here because I'm on a date, with my girlfriend, who I'd like to get back to, if you'd be so kind. Just stay out of trouble and don't get too drunk, lest you embarrass yourself."

This was were George made his mistake. Why did his brother always have to push? Why couldn't he let things go? Why, did he have to come here, of all places, when Ron was trying not to think about Fred, and he had to see his dead brother's face. So, naturally, Ronald Weasley hit his brother in the face.


"I'm sorry you had to witness that," Angelina Johnson said to Ron's date, whose name was actually Amara.

"It's okay. Everyone knows that Fred Weasley died at the Battle of Hogwarts, and I don't think Ron's taking it very well. He's asked out nearly half the girls in the office since he started, but they all turned him down. I think that they expect this perfect war hero, when he's only just an adult. At first, I was a little taken with his fame and being part of the Golden Trio, and he was funny and polite and seemed interested, but I think he's just lonely, and doesn't want to admit it. Do you think they're patching it up?" Amara asked, gesturing to the two brothers who sat in the booth behind.

Angelina tilted her head, considering. "No. Ron's probably just trying to get Fred to share his chicken."

Indeed, it had been Amara who took the feuding boys to a small all-night diner, her and Angelina making quick work of George's broken nose and black eye, and Ron's black eye, broken teeth and bruised rib.

"No, Ronald, for the last time, I'm not sharing. But your own."

"Oh, come off it. It's not like you can't afford it. Besides, it's the least you can do after pummeling me unnecessarily."

"Unnecessarily? Unnecessarily? I'll show you unnecessarily!" George said, pulling his brother across, the table, through the plates -including the chicken- and putting him in a headlock. Ron punched him in the face, again, and the two Apparated, twisting and turning and fighting and kicking and lunging, squabbling like kittens but not really inflicting any damage. Ron chucked a spoon which they had brought along at his brother while George threw a piece of burger bun at him like a frisbee, which he unfortunately did not catch in his mouth like in the cartoons.

The two then realized where they were: Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. The two shared a look of understanding; they couldn't fight here, not at the sight if their brother's dream. This place was sanctified, holy, and it should not be tainted by their petty fighting.

The two sat on the cobblestones side by side, laughing as they bent the spoon into amusing shapes.

"It was Hermione's birthday," George noted.

"I know."

"Did you get her anything?"

"No. Did you?"

"Yeah, I did. A book on Ancient Potion-making and a quill that's ink changes colour depending on your mood, kind of like one of those old-fashioned mood rings Muggles were so fond of in the long-forgotten past."

"That's nice."

There was a breath of silence, the quiet that came with the healing of a bond.

"Did you know that Fred liked Hermione? He had a thing for her for a while, yet he never told her."

Ron bowed his head, defeated. "Yeah, I knew."

"She was always like a sister to me, and he knew nothing would ever come of it, because he knew that you had feelings for her, and he wanted you to be happy. The both of you. I know you cared about her, I know you still do, otherwise you wouldn't have got so completely foxed this weekend. Harry may have let something slip at the family dinner yesterday," he admitted at his brother's pointed glare.

"I miss him. I miss him all the time. And it's my fault. It's not Harry's, it's mine. If I hadn't left, hadn't gotten so worked up over nothing, maybe we could have found the Horcruxes earlier, maybe we could have stopped him in time. Or maybe not. Maybe I could have just been there, been able to do something. I should have been with my family; it's not like I made a difference in he end, anyway. Harry saved the Wizarding World, not Ron Weasley."

George loosed a long breath, watching as it curled around itself in the crisp night air. "I don't think that's true. I think if it hadn't been for you, Harry wouldn't have lasted as long as he did. You were the first friend he ever had, Ron. You should have been with him at the battle. And no one blames you for what happened to Fred. Death isn't something we can control, little brother. It's nasty and it's cruel and it's unfair. Yes, one of us could have been there, could have saved Fred, but what about if someone else had died, some innocent person who died because we put our family first? I don't think Fred would have been very happy about that. He was my twin, my other half, and there's some mornings where I wake up and feel like the world's unsteady, roiling under my feet. But then I think about all the people we love that are still here, and Fred wouldn't want me to be a miserable git for the rest of my life. He'd want me to look after our shop and make something of myself. That's how I honour him. Come on. I'll take you back to your room at the Leaky."

The two Apparated, both feeling lighter as their feet touched solid ground.

"Night, George," said Ron, pulling him in for an unexpected hug.

"Night, Ronald. Hey, did you want me to smooth things over with your date?" he offered.

"I should probably do that myself. Maybe send some flowers or something."

"She seemed nice. And she actually laughed at your jokes, devoid of all humour as they are."

"Ha, ha. Go on. Angelina will have my head if I keep you ant longer. Tell her I'm sorry for ruining your date."

George mock-gasped, putting a hand to his chest. "Are you telling me that most wizards don't get beaten up by their brothers, have their dates patch them up, then sit in the cold and bend spoons into amusing shapes with magic on regular dates? My, my, I'm positively shocked."

Ron chuckled. "Go, before I hex you."

George saluted and disappeared in a blink.

Ron trudged up to his room, half seeing through bleary eyes as he thought to stay awake. He wrote a quick letter to Amara -after suddenly remembering her name- and transfigured the meagre daisies on his windowsill into a bouquet of vibrant red roses. Pigwigeon, who had grown slightly but not much over the years, was excited about getting out and being useful, taking the letter and flowers with zeal.

Ron unceremoniously threw himself into bed, glad for the quiet of a dreamless sleep. He woke feeling bruised yet refreshed, somehow, like he'd given the inside of his head a good scrub. However, all that drained away like water down a drain as he beheld the latest edition of the Daily Prophet and the picture on the front cover, the boy and girl, one with hair it was almost white, the other warm brown curls that Ronald Weasley would know anywhere.

It seemed Hermione Granger had made a new friend.


Author's Note: Hello, and happy Wednesday! I'm sorry there's no Dramione in this one, and there won't be in the next, either. Chapter 10. Wow. I never thought that I'd make it this far, or that nearly 9000 people would read my little fic that started off with a house, and a boy and girl and their friendship. I never thought that I'd get such lovely reviews from people, or that you'd even like my little slice of the Wizarding World. So, thank you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for just reading this. Get ready, because I've got a whole lot more drama, friendship, and Marbles in store. Starting with the next chapter. Who's ready to meet Mr Lucius Malfoy?

All my love and gratitude to every one of you, Temperance