Ravenclaw, themed, Hogsmeade, WC: 1125

AU, but not massively.

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Amber liquid rest, hardly touched, in the grimy glass standing on the counter of the Hog's Head Inn. Ron's pale fingers brushed it, not really thinking about the drinking, but trying to pretend that he was tired in the hope that it would work and trick himself into believing it. He felt as though he hadn't slept for weeks - and that was probably true. Troubled by a lack of something within him. Hermione was long gone, seeing someone else. Harry was married to his sister, Ginny. Ron had been unable to complete the Auror programme, opting out in the final throes to help George with the store - not that it brought him any joy.

He wasn't in the right line of work to meet someone special, he supposed. He supposed that he should let it go. Yet, every night he ventured out to Hogsmeade, where the brothers were preparing a second store, drinking at a pub where no one knew him, until he thought he was numb. The truth was that the numbness didn't exist. Not even a little bit. There wasn't love in his life like there used to be.

Let Fred go. Let Hermione go. Let Harry go. Let the people he loved go and move on with his life, fighting crime, taking names. Ron's heart wasn't in it because his heart wasn't invested in anything. Despite his most common compliment being of his loyalty, there was nothing anymore. There wasn't anything to be excited about.

Sometimes Ron would lay awake at night on the sofa in the Hogsmeade store, sweat droplets dousing his forehead, panic forcing its way into his mind and his uncomfortable body coiling itself into something that might bring some relief. He'd tried counting sheep, like Hermione had suggested so many times. That never worked.

"I'm closing up," Aberforth muttered to Ron as he mindlessly scrubbed another grubby tankard. Ron took the hint, downed his biting drink for good measure - Firewhiskey was meant to provide some sort of feeling, whether warmth or just a shock - but getting nothing from it. He left money on the counter, not uttering a word to the empty pub as he braved the outside.

Mid-Winter, he reckoned, was no one's favourite time of year. Weather was miserable; cold, wet, and far too much snow up in Scotland. The whiteness of the scene seemed just as bleak and meaningless as the rest of his life. So close to Christmas, one might expect there to be shoppers casting their eyes into golden-lit windows. Such was not the case post-war. Hogsmeade was slowly falling into some sort of disrepair, funded almost exclusively by villagers and the seasonal attendance of Hogwarts students.

Tonight was no different. Lamps guided the shadowed route from the Hog's Head Inn down the small street towards the shop, as Ron touched the keys in his jacket pocket. And yet, there was something more than shadows moving in the distance. A short figure, closer and closer, its own path cast into the deep snow. Blearily, Ron looked towards it, trying to figure out what it was.

A dog. Not a small one either. Golden in colour, from what Ron could tell of the dark. A brown muzzle, patches of white snow stuck to its fur. Unwillingly, it made him smile. Such a strange sight was somewhat comforting in such ridiculously blank times. A dog, wandering over to him in the middle of the night, clearly come from some sort of adventure in the snow. But it probably had an owner somewhere out in the cold who was looking for him. Instead of waiting for the owner to turn up, Ron walked on towards the shop, his skin cold.

The dog followed him, jogging along beside him, paws patting down the snow next to Ron's own footsteps.

"Sorry buddy," Ron said as he opened the door to the shop, shuffling inside and leaving the dog in the cold. Of course he felt awful about it, the dog scratching at the door as Ron stumbled up the stairs for once, falling on top of the dusty sheets, blessedly exhausted.

Next morning, the dog was there when he left for the store in London. It was still there when he returned. On the second night, he let it inside to have something warm to eat. Maybe it wasn't the best thing for a dog, but the snowfall had persisted through the day meaning it must have been frozen outside. Ron stayed in that night, the dog at his side, warmer and more comforting than a Firewhiskey had been in years.

When Saturday came around, he put up photos and knocked on doors to find the owner. No such luck. The dog followed him to each house, sitting down while Ron spoke, staring up at him and panting in spite of the cold.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked the dog, stepping away from the seventh 'no' of the day. "I can't keep you."

And yet, the dog followed him back home, acting more like his own pet than ever. Ron figured that it was comforting, even if he hadn't asked for it. They wandered past children playing in the closest corners of their gardens, too afraid to go too far out; past elderly witches clucking about their husbands; and past middle-aged couples reliving their childhoods in building snowmen. The world certainly seemed a little brighter than usual.

That night, Ron stepped outside into the cold air alone again. But he couldn't face going back to the Hog's Head Inn for some reason. He thought that maybe his tiredness was just catching up to him, but in all honesty he just didn't feel like spending the money on a drink that would do him no good thing at any stage in time. The drink didn't help him to feel numb, and it certainly didn't help his liver. It was only ever a bad habit acquired from what he thought was the correct response to a messy situation.

He returned home, because that silly dog had already changed him for someone a little bit better. And there was no one else right now. As much as Ron had been caring for it, it had been caring for him.

So, when Ron Weasley clicked open the locks to the shop, jogged upstairs, opened the door to the flat, and let the Labrador fuss over him, there was only one thought that was really occupying his mind.

"You need a name," he said to the dog, fluffing his pet's ears warmly.

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Much love to y'all!