Title: Fairy tales and Firesides
Rating: K
Word count this chapter: 1100 (not including A/Ns)
Summary this chapter: Round 10; post-second Wizarding war. Ron has a conversation with his mother.
Team: Chudley Cannons
Position: Beater 2
Optional prompts used: -'every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain.'-James Moriarty, BBC Sherlock- -apologise-

Bonus points (?) to anyone who gets the Passenger reference!

The calm before a storm is one thing. But the unnerving, utterly still tranquility after it is completely another. Because when you consider a storm and all that it entails – especially when the storm arrives in the form of a war – it seems obvious that afterwards, no one is sure what to do. Or where to go. Or what to say.

Such is in the Weasley household, where Ron is used to saying that he has 'five brothers, a sister, and an annoying owl', and Ginny is used to having two prankster older brothers, and George is used to being part of a matched set, and Molly Weasley is used to proudly informing people that she has seven children. Everyone is a lot sad and a little confused, and the overbearing calm is something they can't handle.

Everyone has their own way of coping. Mr. Weasley plays with his Muggle toys. Mrs. Weasley knits everyone a sweater, even though it isn't Christmas. Charlie goes to visit his dragons each day. Bill goes off to the bank early in the morning and comes back late at night, leaving Shell Cottage to visit The Burrow each Sunday. Percy works to rebuild the Ministry. Ginny flies on Fred's broom. George sits in his room, staring at the lines in his hands and the cracks on the walls and the joke toys that he and his brother created, only they don't seem so funny now. Ron doesn't know what to do. So he watches.

He watches everyone go about their new activities – be it reconstructing the scarred wizarding world or brooding – and wonders what he is supposed to do. Hermione is there sometimes. Harry is there sometimes. But they're both only children. The only people Ron feels will understand are his brothers and sister, and they're all busy trying to seem busy.

One day, he's watching his mother knit. She doesn't get up and enchant the knitting needles to work for her. She sits at the armchair, brow furrowed, concentrating on an intricate pattern for a blue blanket. Ron was trying to read his Chudley Cannons book, but eventually gave up and reverted to watching the two thin needles clicking and clacking. He listens to the crackling and popping of the fire in the background, trying to shake his thoughts loose.

"I know you're looking at me, Ron," Mrs. Weasley says eventually.

Ron jumps.

"What?"

"Is there something you wanted to talk about? I'm not doing much of anything important."

Ron clears his throat. "You're making a blanket," he gestures. "That's important."

With a heaving sigh, Mrs. Weasley sets her knitting down and leans forward. "I'm your mother, Ron. I'm here for you to talk to. You look like you need someone to talk to. What is it?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Ron mumbles, "The house is just quiet, that's all."

"Not quite the same without all the explosions coming from your brother's bedrooms, is it?"

"No," he replies, staring off into space. "I mean. It's different."

Molly raises an eyebrow. "Maybe it's not your forte, Ron, but you should talk to me. We've all been too quiet for a family lately."

"I don't want to talk."

"Why not? I'm not going to judge you."

"I just don't."

"Ron, you have to have a conversation with me at some point-"

Overcome by a burst of anger, Ron's voice raises. "I'm upset because my brother's dead, alright, mum? Is that good enough for you?!" His ears are turning red.

When he looks over, he thinks his mum might be crying a little bit – she looks unhappy, at least – and is immediately overcome by guilt. "Uh, look. I. Sorry, mum," he mumbles.

"You don't need to apologise for what you're upset about," she said. "You don't need to apologise for missing Fred."

"I'm apologising for yelling."

At this moment, Ginny runs down the stairs, broomstick in hand. She cautiously walks through the kitchen, staring at Ron and Mrs. Weasley. "I'm going out," she says, and neither of them replies. Ginny always does this now; she never stays in the house for long. Ron only wishes he had an occupation like that. Then maybe, he wouldn't be having this exceedingly awkward conversation with his mother.

"You don't need to apologise for that," mum says to him after Ginny has left. "You feel strongly about it. That's a good thing. But-"

She stops when Ron huffs. "What?"

"I wouldn't have to feel strongly about anything if Fred was still around," he says, rolling his eyes to seem nonchalant.

"You always feel strongly about everything, so don't say you wouldn't," Mrs. Weasley says, the tips of her lips curving upward. She gets up, taking a kettle off the stove by hand. She's bent on doing things by hand nowadays, maybe to keep busy for longer. Mum pours tea into two mugs, and takes one over to Ron. Though he doesn't much fancy any kind of tea, he takes it willingly. It's too hot, but there's honey in it and it tastes sweet.

"Huh," mumbles Ron. "I guess."

"I'll tell you something," says mum with the air of a child revealing a secret. She's sitting next to Ron now, and she leans toward him. "Every fairy tale needs a good old-fashioned villain. And you know, villains always have victims."

"If you're trying to tell me that we're part of a fairy tale, there's no way I'm buying it," Ron says, glaring at nothing in particular. What's the point of even trying to convince him of that?

"You don't think we're in a fairy tale?" mum asks. "We live in a world where magic exists. For most people, that's definitely the stuff of fairy tales."

"Yeah, well. Those muggles don't know what they're asking for," Ron says resentfully. "Did they know being a wizard means wars?"

"There are muggle wars too, Ron. That's the nature of humans," mum says gently. "The point is that people will always die, and it's alright to be upset, it's alright to be angry and resentful and hateful about it. It's most important to be able to put your anger away, eventually. I know Fred's death has hurt all of us. Being able to carry on after it is impressive. But being able to replace your grief with happy memories; that will make you truly strong."

Ron, strangely comforted by his mother's words, downs his tea, nods, and stands up. "Happy memories," he says. "Right."

Staring into the bright orange flames of the fire, he is overcome with some sort of determination that may or may not wear off quickly.

He has a new pastime; instead of watching other people aimlessly and being angry at the world, Ron will think of 'happy' memories.

Taking his mother's words to heart, he sits at the fireside every day, legs criss-crossed, and he makes a photo book.