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Chapter 10

Ron didn't pry, but he was pleased to see that his words had made some kind of impact on Harry, because on moving day, Ginny appeared the happiest Ron had seen her in a very long time. It seemed Harry had taken his very vague and inexperienced advice and done something to assure Ginny that she was important to him.

Cheerfully, she offered her assistance in their move.

Ron didn't have much to bring over. Just his clothes (which, once he had his own money, he was going to replace), and everything he'd had pinned to his wall. It almost felt a bit childish taking all the Chudley Cannons things he'd collected over the years, but he couldn't allow his mother to toss them out either, which he knew would happen if he didn't take them. Perhaps it was time he got a new bedspread, but he could at least store the other stuff away somewhere as keepsakes.

He'd just watched the last of his possessions fly into a large cardboard box when Ginny came into his room and sat down on his now bare bed. She looked around at the empty walls, where all of his posters had once been, and smiled. "Ah, so that is the colour of your walls?"

"Ha, ha."

"Hermione will be disappointed," Ginny continued. "She actually told me she thought your obsession with the Cannons was endearing; even when I told her you'd had it that way since you were five."

"Really?" Ron asked, his mind suddenly picturing an even bigger room for more souvenirs. "She likes my room?"

"Yeah," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "She loves a lot about you, Chudley-Cannons-obsession included." She looked at the box on the floor and smiled. "But I'd still think of a new way to decorate."

"You're being unnaturally nice," Ron said, suddenly suspicious. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. I just assume I have you to thank for Harry's sudden change in attitude."

Ron flushed. "Er, he told you about that?". He really didn't want to engage with Ginny in a conversation about this. It was one thing giving Harry advice; it was a whole other thing to have to talk to his sister about her lovelife. Though, from what she had just told him, it seemed that Hermione and Ginny didn't seem to have an issue discussing theirs.

"No, but it was such a sudden change, I assumed someone was in his ear, and you were the one I told about my frustrations, so I figured… well, thanks, Ron."

"Anytime," Ron mumbled, not meeting her eye. "Someone needed to say it. I don't want him messing you around."

"Funny, isn't it?" Ginny continued, as if she was oblivious to his awkwardness. "You and I, being friends. I mean, you're my brother and I love you, but it's almost as if we're friends now, too."

"I guess," Ron said, the thought only just occurring to him that he had, in fact, been spending a lot of time with his sister since the war. "It makes sense, I suppose. I'm friends with Harry, you're friends with Hermione, I'm with Hermione, you're… with Harry." The last part came out in a squeak.

Ginny snorted. "It really makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it? Me being with Harry?"

"Well, you are my sister," Ron said, "and he's my best mate, and… you're my sister, and it just feels… weird. But I'm alright so long as I don't hear about the intimate details —"

"Says you, who shares that with Harry!" Ginny scoffed.

"That's different," Ron said.

"How?"

"Hermione isn't his little sister."

Ginny laughed. "You being my brother doesn't seem to stop her…"

"What?"

"Nothing." Ginny stood up from the bed, grinning. Then, catching Ron completely off guard, she hugged him. Ron hugged her back, and he realised that he couldn't remember the last time he'd even hugged his sister. They must have been really young…

"What was that for?" he asked when she pulled away.

"For standing up for me," Ginny said. "Even when I don't need it, even when I resent you for it, even when it's to your best friend. Thank you."

"Er, anytime." Ron picked the box up from the floor, and Ginny followed him down the many flights of stairs until they reached the bottom. Harry was already waiting, with even less stuff than Ron had.

It was a stark reminder for Ron that while Harry may have been famous in the wizarding world, he had grown up with less than Ron had. It had taken Ron a very long time to work it out; that his best friend in the whole world had had a miserable life growing up thanks to his Muggle relatives, and most of the time, Harry had never sought the attention he got.

Ron got that now, and he no longer envied Harry. In fact, he felt sorry for him. Ron wanted nothing less than to ever be in Harry's shoes.

Harry eyed the box Ron carried in his arms, then smiled. "Plan on decorating the house?" he asked.

"No," Ron said. "I just don't want Mum throwing them out. Although," he looked to Ginny, "apparently Hermione finds it endearing, so you never know."

Harry snorted and then nodded to the fireplace. "You ready?"

"Yep."

It felt very odd to be leaving the Burrow, knowing that he'd never be back. Not to be living there, anyway. He'd probably still come over for dinner often, and to visit. This had been the only home he had known, and as small and as crowded as it was, it was still home, and, if he was being honest, always would be. No matter where he lived in the future, he'd always remember the Burrow.

Molly gave them each a hug, wiping her eyes and carrying on like it would be the last time she'd ever see them. She then placed a container of food on top of Ron's box.

"That's so you boys don't go hungry tonight." She sniffed, gave them both another hug, and finally stepped back to give them access to the fireplace.

"It's alright, Mum," Ron said, throwing some Floo powder into it. "We'll come back to visit often. You're all good."

Ron let Harry go first, considering it was his house. Ginny said goodbye to him in a way that forced Ron to look away. She said something about seeing him tomorrow, letting him settle in. Then Harry was gone.

With one last goodbye (to his family and his home), Ron followed and was soon stepping into the much darker room of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

He looked around, a strange feeling settling upon him, and it wasn't because this was now his home; Grimmauld Place had always made him feel a little uncomfortable, even when it had been bustling with the Order.

"The Blacks were a miserable sort, weren't they?" he said to Harry. "We definitely need to brighten this place up a bit if we're going to be living here."

Harry smiled and nodded. "Yeah, definitely can't live here with house-elf heads all through the house. Hermione would have a fit. They'll be the first to go. Maybe some new furniture, too. Something more…"

"Colourful?" Ron offered, looking down at his box of Chudley Cannons stuff again. "I mean —"

"We'll go shopping tomorrow," Harry promised. "For now, let's just sort out what's what."

Ron followed Harry up the creaky staircase, stopping on the landing with the covered portrait of Walburga Black. "I really wish that could go," he said. "Not sure I fancy coming down for breakfast every morning and having to see her." He shuddered, still remembering the times she'd screeched for hours at a time when he, Harry and Hermione had stayed there for a brief time on their Horcrux hunt.

"We'll work on that, too," Harry said. "Maybe Auror training will teach us some new tricks that we can use."

"If Moody couldn't do it, do you think we can?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, continuing up the stairs until they reached some of the bedrooms.

"You can have that one," Ron said, indicating the one Harry had lived in for a bit after the war. "If you want, I mean. I guess we have plenty to choose from."

"Nah, this will do me," Harry said. "Which one will you pick?"

Ron contemplated some of the wooden doors. One had belonged to Sirius' parents, which he flat out refused to even consider. Another was the one he'd stayed in just the other year. "That one, I guess."

Harry nodded.

Ron pushed open the door to the room slightly down the hall and opposite Harry's room. It was just as he had left it before; cold, dark and rather gloomy. At least this time he had the means to change it.

He set the box down and turned to Harry. "Are we crazy for living here?" he asked. "It's not the best place in the world…"

"It's the only other home I know," Harry said. "It'll be alright for a while, won't it?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I guess. It's huge for the two of us, though."

"Would have been even bigger with just me." And Ron saw the grateful smile Harry gave him. It warmed Ron; he was welcome here.

"So," Ron began, "what should we do on our first night here?"

…

The answer to that question was to have a quiet night in. That evening, around dinner time, Ron fetched the food his mother had given them, and they sat in the large kitchen at the end of the table to eat it. It wasn't much, but it was more than what either of them could have cooked for themselves.

"So, maybe shopping for food is the first step tomorrow?" Ron asked as he sent his empty plate flying to the sink. "Where is Kreacher, anyway?"

"I… dismissed him," Harry said. "When I first came back. He wasn't too pleased about it, but he's free now. Who knows where he's gone, but I'm sure if we ever need him, he'll be glad to come back to the house of his old master."

"Right, so I guess we'll be doing our own dishes then?" Ron said, and Harry smirked.

"Don't let Hermione hear you saying that," he said.

"Don't plan on it," Ron said, yawning. To his surprise, he realised that that was the first time since that morning that he'd thought about Hermione. In the hours leading up to dinner, he and Harry had attempted to brighten up the place, but to no avail. "I hope she's alright," he added after a moment.

"Percy said she was fine, didn't he?" Harry asked. "That it was all going to plan?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, but I'd love to hear from her personally, you know? I guess it takes a while for an owl to get here from Australia."

"I guess…" Harry looked around the empty kitchen, frowning. "Hey, you don't fancy a Butterbeer, do you?"

"Sure," Ron said. "You got any?"

"No," Harry said, "but I can get some. Why don't we really celebrate our first night as housemates?"

"By getting drunk?" Ron asked.

"No, by, just… celebrating?"

Ron grinned. "Sounds like a plan, mate. Listen, you get them this time, and once we start getting paid for the training, I'll do the next one." Once again, he felt a thrill rush through him over the thought of making his own money. There were so many things he wanted to do with it that he doubted he'd be able to do it all on the first go.

"Agreed," Harry said and he clambered from his seat. "Won't be too long," and he vanished down the hall, where Ron heard the whoosh of Harry disappearing via the fireplace.

The house immediately became quieter the moment Harry was gone. Ron got up from his own chair and wandered back down the hall and to the stairs. He contemplated writing to Hermione while Harry was out and letting her know that he wasn't at the Burrow anymore. But then he decided against it. She had far more important things to worry about than him telling her that he'd moved house. He'd mention it in a reply whenever he received an update from her.

Instead, he moved into the living area, which — like the rest of the house — was dark and bland. Sirius had hated this place growing up and as an adult, and Ron had never been a fan of it. It held a lot of memories for him, good and bad, and he hoped that eventually he'd be able to erase the bad ones entirely.

He moved into the drawing room and sat down on the sofa, smiling slightly to himself. Here had been a good memory for him. It hadn't been that long ago, though it felt like a lifetime. It was the first night here after escaping the wedding, and they'd all been terrified of being discovered after the attack in Muggle London.

Ron remembered how he'd insisted he sleep on the floor and let Hermione sleep on the cushions. It seemed silly now, considering all that had happened, but it had felt right at the time. He'd been so desperate to prove himself to her despite having just fled an attack on theirs — and everyone else's — lives. In fact, it had seemed even more important in that moment to give her some sign about how he felt. How many more days would they have together?

And it had kind of worked, too, for not long after Harry had fallen asleep she'd shifted on the cushions, her head turning slightly to face him. She'd been so close in that moment, and even with his own fear for his family, his father's Patronus the only word that they were safe, her presence soothed him.

"I'm scared," she whispered.

Those two words put everything else aside then, and he reached for her hand and squeezed it.

"Me too," was all he said.

He had expected her to let go after that, but she didn't, and he had absolutely no intention of letting go if she didn't want to. They'd fallen asleep like that, and it had been the calmest he had felt in a very long time.

In the present, he sat there for a long while, until Harry returned carrying some bottles of Butterbeer and one large bottle of Firewhisky. He held them up. "All ready to go!" he said.

The remainder of the evening was great, Ron thought. They chatted, mostly about Quidditch and what would happen once the new season started. Ron, as usual, had higher expectations for the Cannons than he should have, while Harry said if it was possible, he'd really like to attend a game or two. His only experience in watching the professionals was in the World Cup, which had been years ago now.

"I hear Oliver Wood is actually getting a chance to play this year," Ron said. "So the Prophet says, anyway."

They both smiled at that, and as amusing as it was, Harry and Ron agreed that they were genuinely pleased for the old Gryffindor captain.

"Though, I'll be honest, it would be a sweet victory if the Cannons beat Puddlemere," Ron said.

As the evening wore on, and the Butterbeer bottles slowly emptied, Ron found himself contemplating what life was going to be like in the coming months. The day after next he'd be all consumed with training, but what would happen after that? Once training was complete? Would he become a real Auror? Someone who could go on missions, catch Dark wizards?

And what of his life with Hermione? She wanted to finish school, and he had no doubt that once she got her one hundred NEWTs or whatever exceptional result she was capable of, she'd be highly sought after in whatever career she chose to pursue. But then what?

"You alright there?" Harry asked, snapping Ron from his thoughts.

"Hm?"

"You looked as if you were lost in thought," Harry said. "And you had a stupid grin on your face."

"Oh, right." Ron felt his ears burning. "I was just thinking." He wasn't sure Harry would appreciate him talking about how he just simply could not imagine a future that didn't involve Hermione in it anymore, so to change the topic, he said, "This'll be great, won't it?"

"What will?" Harry asked.

"The two of us living together?"

"Yeah," Harry said with a small smile. "I think it'll be fantastic."

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