Ron was standing just outside the edge of his parents's home. If he moved one more step forward, he'd enter the front yard. Outwardly, nothing seemed to have changed. The garden was in it's usual state of neglect, gnomes were infesting the rosebushes, and something in his father's shed was giving off black smoke. The Burrow itself seemed to have been patched up a little. The walls were freshly painted, a veranda had been added to the kitchen, and the roof had new tiles on it.

He was hiding behind a large rhododendron bush. Bill had told him of his parents's weekly family diner this morning. He had immediately decided that he would surprise his parents by attending. All of his family would be present then, and Bill agreed that their mom and dad would be thrilled.

And so, Ron waited in the falling gloom for the moment when all of the Weasleys to appear. Charley had floo'd in half an hour ago, followed minutes later by Percy. Ron had an excellent view on the kitchen from where he was standing. Harry, Ginny, and Hermione all came through the front door, Ginny giving him a covert thumbs up just before the door opened.

His mom had aged a little. She was thinner now, and, judging by what he could see in the few seconds the door was opened, had also attained a few wrinkles around her eyes. His father was unchanged, ever the same man Ron remembered from his earliest childhood.

George apparated in. Seeing him sent shivers down Ron's spine. For just a second, Ron thought it was Fred, and in that instance, he was back at Hogwarts, clearing rubble off his fallen brother's body. George was in a relationship now, and had become the father of a beautiful boy.

Now, the Burrow was nearly full. Bill and Fleur, their three children, Harry, Ginny, Hermione, George, Angelina, their boy Fred, Charley, Percy, Mom, and Dad were all sitting in the kitchen. Ron realized the extension of the kitchen wasn't done out of luxury, but out of necessity; there wasn't enough space for their family in the old kitchen.

His mother was busying herself with the soup. The smell of a rich Weasley meal wafted over from the house, and ultimately led Ron to move his feet forward. Once that first step was made, his strides only grew bigger. Wishing to reunite with his family for the first time in over four years, Ron marched up to the front door.

Meanwhile, in the Burrow, a clock chimed. It was a unique clock, custom made for Molly Prewett-Weasley, and given to her as a present from the man she would call her husband from that day on. It had nine hands once, until that fateful day when one of the arms had broken off. All of the arms save one were currently directed at "Home", while one had been stationary at "Travelling" for four years, three months, and twenty-one days now. As Ron's feet touched the grass of his parents's garden and the clock chimed, the last of the arms, bearing a picture of an eleven-year-old Ronald, moved from "Travelling" to "Home". None of the guests noticed.

One family member did notice however. She had been watching the clock whenever it chimed for the last few years, hoping to see what she had just seen. Molly Weasley's hand stopped in mid-air, the ladle of soup in her fingers forgotten. Its contents splashed onto George's hand.
'Mother!' he cried out as the hot contents made contact with his skin, 'Aren't I disfigured enough?'
Molly didn't notice.
Silence fell over the room as all eyes moved from a frozen Molly Weasley to the clock she was gazing at. One of the kids was about to say something when the doorbell rang.

A cacaphony of sound as all of the Weasley's began talking amongst themselves. A mother, beating her children to the door, and opening it wide. A son, welcomed home after his long pilgrimage.

There was no song that could describe that evening. No words that could ever do that moment justice. Ron did not believe that any combination of instruments and notes would ever truly catch the emotions of that moment.

Surrounded by his family, Ron talked of his travels again. Seated next to Hermione, he told them of his life; of the long hikes in the wilderness, the campfires he had shared with other travellers, and the places he had visited. He spoke of Muggles and their ways, illiciting many questions from his father, and amazing Hermione with his ability to live in a world she had thought he would never be a part of. He spoke of spells and cantrips, earning the respect of his brother Bill, who was well versed in the magial arts. He spoke of parties he had visited, and beaches he had been on, causing a grin to form on Ginny and George's faces. A lastly, he spoke of his thoughts, confirming his parents's decision to let their son go about his adventure without letting him in on their overbearing worries.

It wasn't so much deep in the night as it was early in the morning when Ron stopped talking. Bill and Fleur had left for home, as had George and Angelina. Percy and Charly had fallen asleep against each other, while his parents seemed to be on the brink of dozing off. Harry and Ginny made whispered goodbyes, and apparated out with two barely adibly pops.
'Just you and me, love,' Ron said, as he looked into Hermione's face, 'Got any burning questions?'

'Love?' she said, looking at him blandly. Though she was obviously still angry with him, Ron couldn't shake the feeling that deep down inside, there was still an overwhelming love buried away. He had decided that morning that he wasn't going to be put out by her demeanor.
'Yes,' he replied, resting his elbows on his knees and closing the distance between them considerably. If she felt anything, she hid it well.