Author's Note: Written for Round 3 of the QLFC 6 — '90s Nostalgia

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Chaser 1

Prompt: Tamagotchi

Prompts Used:

4 (location) London Underground

11 (object) jumper/ sweater

14 (genre) Family

Word Count (excluding Author's Note): 1645

A/N: AU Wherein Ron finds himself in possession of a Niffler somewhere just after he leaves Hogwarts to take up a career at the Ministry.

Having to read up on Tamagotchis since I did not grow up with these, I focused on how much like a real pet these were and how that can sometimes not go according to plan.

Beta Love: Le soleil brille pas pour toi, crochetaway, and an extra gold star to Story, Please for going through two different versions. Many thanks.

Oh, Brother

He'd known it was a bad idea when George had proposed it. Ron noticed he didn't see his older brother running around with a Niffler, and he'd said as much. Still, once he'd gotten a look at the adorable little thing, he forgot his objections.

And now it's going to be the death of me.

Ron was pacing back and forth through Charing Cross station, panicked. He'd decided to take the Tube this morning because he was unsure whether he could Floo into the Ministry with Fred in his pocket, and he had to take Fred to work now because — well — because he'd known better all along, hadn't he? He didn't even listen to himself.

"Good gracious, Fred. Where are you?" he muttered aloud as he walked along the edge of the platform, his eyes turned down towards the tracks. This pass he was focusing on the nooks and crannies along the rails, searching for his increasingly mischievous pet who had disappeared somewhere on the short train ride from his flat. As Ron made another pass along the westside tracks, he found it hard to believe it had only been a week. So much had happened.

And, as usual, Ronald — it's been chaos. Ron stopped short, mid-sweep. His "inner Hermione" was peeking out again. It was not his preferred voice-over for his conscience — but it was one that he found was increasingly prevalent. It made him smile, despite himself. He could always count on Hermione to be the voice of reason. Even if she is a bit bossy about it.

He stopped and grabbed a seat on the end of a nearby bench, sinking back with a heavy sigh. How did I end up here? It was simple, really.

George never did say how he had come across the Niffler, or why he wasn't keeping it for himself. He had insinuated that it might be a companion for Ron, despite the fact that Ron had three other roommates and a job with friends and former classmates. Ron certainly wasn't lonely, and that was before one took into account his active dating life. No, in retrospect, it hadn't made much sense that Ron needed a pet — that seemed to be more what George needed. Still, when Ron had made just that argument, George shrugged him off.

"I have the whole business to care for now," he said with sad smile. It was all George ever seemed to focus on lately. Ron wondered if there wasn't more he could do, but between just getting started at the Ministry, and trying to figure out how to 'adult,' he was in no position to make an offer of time. So, when his brother had reached out and indicated that it would be a help to him if Ron could care for the creature — even if only temporarily — Ron jumped at the chance.

That was Sunday. By Wednesday, he'd already gotten a Howler from his flatmate.

"Weasley! Your Fred has pulled apart my favorite cashmere jumper and done his business on the kitchen counter! Twice! You'd better come handle it, mate."

Ron sank down into his chair and tried to hide his face from his co-workers. That jumper would cost him a week's worth of salary to replace, and he was sure to be the butt of office jokes for longer than that. He scuttled out of the office as quickly as he could to get home and address his pet problem, but not without first filching a tome on magical creatures from Hermione's desk.

If only I could read as fast as she does.

At that moment, a train pulled into the station, startling Ron from his reverie. The platform filled with people, most of whom, like himself, were now officially late for work. The longer Ron stayed down in the Underground, the worse his situation got, but he could not work out a way to fix it. A missing Niffler was more than a nuisance; it could be a downright catastrophe. Having one, whether he was an employee of the Ministry or not, was not exactly legal. It wasn't quite illegal, but one was supposed to be certified to handle Nifflers considering their considerable magical abilities.

Of course, what was worse was that, in the interest of being a good brother, he was putting his whole career on the line. And now? Well, losing said formidable magical creature — essentially unleashing it — among the throng of unsuspecting Muggle commuters during the busiest time of the day? Ron could see the dreaded pink slip in his future.

He stood up and faced the crush of morning metro riders, pressing against the tide, looking for something — anything — that would indicate that Fred might be close by. In his pocket, his hand clutched at the small nest of gray cashmere where Fred had last been. It was a nervous habit by this point, like searching for his keys. He kept going back to the unwound piece of jumper hoping he would somehow find Fred there. It was no good, though. His pocket was still empty.

And then, he saw what he was looking for. A woman in a long trench coat, her face stern and eyes focused on the escalator ahead as she barreled forward in the crowd. He watched as her focus was suddenly lost, and her hand rose up to clutch at her throat. "My necklace..."

Ron approached her, hoping desperately that she wouldn't freak out. He was closing in fast, but not fast enough.

"My necklace!" she shouted. "Help! HELP! I've been robbed!"

Ron was almost upon her as she quickly stepped aside of the rush and sought out a bobby, all the while shouting her outrage.

Great. Just what I need.

Ron quickly redirected himself, trying to appear casual as he passed her by, but his hasty change of course caught the policeman's eye instead.

"Oi! You! Stop right there. I need to talk to you!"

Ron felt the breeze pick up in the tunnel and checked over his shoulder. An eastbound train was careening up the track at a frightening speed. Ron looked back at the approaching officer, still some distance away, and thought he had a chance. It was then that a chittering squeak grabbed his attention.

Fred — still clutching the stolen necklace in one hand — had reappeared, and was in the process of sliding back down into Ron's jacket pocket, much to his alarm.

"Oh, no you don't!" Ron thrust his hand in after the little pest and dragged it out by its scruff. Squawking and whining, Fred had the nerve to flash a proud grin. It would have been funny if it weren't so gravely serious. Ron took stock of his situation and made a decision; it would either be a disaster or bloody brilliant. He said a silent prayer that it would be the latter.

It only took a matter of moments.

The approaching train had stopped to divest its passengers. Ron snatched the necklace away from Fred, tossing it towards the approaching officer.

"Oi!" he shouted at the bobby. "You looking for this?" The policeman stumbled to catch the glinting, golden object, losing his concentration just long enough. Ron ran through the closing doors of the train, Niffler firmly in hand, and let them shut behind him. He watched as the bobby called into his shoulder com through the glass and stepped deeper into the car.

"I think I've had just about enough of pets for this go 'round," he said to Fred, even though it garnered some awfully odd looks from his fellow passengers. At the first opportunity, he moved on to the next car. He switched trains at St. Pancras, Baker Street and, once again, at Whitechapel as he made his way back to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. All the while, Fred slept, balled up in the remains of the sweater he'd ruined, rhythmically snoring to the clack-clack-clack of the train.

XXXXX

"You're the fourth person I've manage to foist the little bugger on," George laughed as he locked the Niffler back up in a cage on his desk at the shop. "Just remember, I didn't tell you to keep it. I only suggested…"

"But, George," Ron interrupted, annoyed to find his good deed of brotherly devotion turned into the punchline of a cruel joke. "I'm your brother!"

"How right you are, brother o'mine. Good of you to remind me." A smile plastered across his face, George proceeded to the front of the shop and rang the register. "Ten galleons," he said, holding out his hand.

"Wha—?" Ron stammered. "You're gonna charge me for this mess? I could've lost my job! My— My flat!" His face flushed a bright crimson. "I—I have to replace that damned sweater! Do you have any idea how much that'll cost me?"

"Significantly more than ten galleons," George answered, his hand still outstretched. "You can thank me later," he winked.

"For what?" Ron shouted in frustration.

"The family discount, of course." George never heard the door chime ring as Ron stormed out. He was too busy laughing.