Later, Mrs. Weasley called to her youngest son from the kitchen.
'Ron. Come in here.'
'You said you'd make the TWINS do the bloody dishes!'
'Mouth, Ronald Weasley.'
She cast a charm he recognized from a time he had almost walked in on what must have been a quarrel between her and his father, and he realized that no-one would hear what was said next.
'You wrote to me before Christmas, to tell me he could do with presents.'
'Yeah.'
'What else did you know?'
'What do you mean?'
'Does he talk about home to you?'
'No! He doesn't need to! I saw it. I told you there were bars on the window, didn't I?'
'You wrote to me before that. Before you saw that.'
'He's never said anything. Really! I just…I noticed he never got anything, either, not a letter or a package or…and his clothes, his home clothes, fit him way worse than mine do, so…I just thought he could have something, that's all!'
'He eats at school, right?'
Ron paused. 'He….he does now.'
'Now?'
'Maybe…it took awhile. He eats more now than he did at first.I…I had enough to be getting on with back then, I didn't know to tell you about that, too!'
'No. No, you're fine. You told me about the presents, and you brought him here. You're fine.'
'Is…is he fine?'
Mrs. Weasley looked at her son and thought about all the things she'd never really want him to recognize in Harry. She'd never lied to any of them: she wouldn't start now. But she had no intention of troubling Ron further. 'He can be. I think.'
'You're gonna feed the hell out of him, aren't you?
'Mouth, Ronald Weasley.'
He smirked, but then looked up at her, the expression of one making an appeal on his small face. 'You will, though?'
'I will. You boys go play.'
