Chapter 65: Happy Holidays

The final days of the semester were passing blink by blink of an eye, and, as the looming deadline drew nearer, Ron's problem was no closer to being resolved: he still didn't have a date to the Yule Ball.

"Pawn to E5," Ron muttered, barely paying attention to the game. He was just playing against the pieces themselves, round after round, and they didn't make for a particularly exciting opponent.

And therefore, unfortunately, they didn't make a particularly effective distraction either.

In response to his move, one of the white knights trotted over to a new position on the board. It was a terrible play, and Ron had to resist the urge to groan in annoyance: if he wanted to make this round last longer than a few minutes, he'd need a suitably bad move of his own.

With a sigh, he directed another pawn and let the game drag on.

The pieces clicked and clacked with tiny stone footsteps as they walked from square to square. Ron took a few more detours—mostly on purpose—before swiftly putting and end to things.

He called it. "Checkmate."

The white king surveyed the board, its small grumbles sounding like a pair of particularly peeved pebbles bumping together, then stomped back to its starting position. Following its lead, the other pieces started pulling themselves back together: some more literately than others, as shards of stone knit back into a whole.

"Hey, Ron?"

Not glancing away from the still-reorganizing board, he just tilted his head to show he was listening to whatever would be said.

"Well, uhm…" There was a shuffle as Harry shifted in place, tone sounding embarrassed and apologetic. "What do I, er… Do you know what we're even supposed to wear to a party like this?"

Ron finally looked up, scowling at the reminder. "What, you don't know?" His friend stiffened, a little defensively, and he immediately felt guilty. "Sorry, mate. I was just… trying not to think about it."

"So you haven't—?"

"No." He huffed out a breath. "You're so lucky that Hufflepuff girl asked you."

"…Honestly," he sounded hesitant to admit, "at the time, I kind of panicked and almost turned her down."

"I think I might've had to slap you, if you did." Ron just groaned. "I told you so—you're a champion, 'course somebody would ask you."

Harry sat on the edge of his bed, shooting the occasional glance to his trunk. "Anyway, so, do you know the dress code?"

"'Dress code'?"

"Like, what we're supposed to wear to the ball."

Ron blinked—right, that had been the original question. He answered, "That's what your dress robes are for, don't worry."

"My what?"

"They're basically just fancy— uhm…" He paused, suddenly recalling his own dress robes with a vague sense of dread. "Well, they were added to the school list this year. Mum got them for us when she was in Diagon Alley."

Ron left the chess board to sort itself out and scooted off his bed to look through his stuff, trying to find his so-called formalwear. Reluctantly. With any luck, he was just misremembering how terrible they were.

But, alas, he was not.

After a brief search, he pulled out his maroon-and-lace monstrosity—he'd been using it more often as a cage cover for Pigwidgeon than anything remotely approaching its original purpose. Honestly, looking at the robes now, he could only assume it had been intended as some kind of fashion-based mind game, or a joke aiming to embarrass its wearer as much as possible.

Bloody hell, that's a lot of lace.

He tossed the hideous clothes back in the vague direction of his trunk, disgusted, and then flopped back onto his bed.

"…Do they all…?"

"No, yours look loads better than mine." That came out a lot more bitter and jealous than he intended. Ron swallowed, a little annoyed with himself, before pressing on. "I think they were green or something?"

"Thanks, that should be easy enough to find—don't have much green." Harry muttered, mostly to himself, as he turned to rifle through the mess of clothes in his trunk. "Green… green… Ah!"

He triumphantly snagged the cuff of a dark green sleeve, persistently tugging at it until the whole thing came loose and the sudden lack of resistance sent him sprawling backwards onto the stone floor along with most of his clothes.

"Found it!"

Ron resisted the urge to clap mockingly at his best friend, splayed across their dorm room and half buried in the contents of his trunk. "There, see? Just like I said, it's loads better than mine."

Harry sat up, looking over the green clothes. "Oh, huh, yeah. It's just kind of like our normal school robes, but… green, for some reason."

"It matches your eyes," Ron parroted in a falsely-high tone, a poor but amusing mimic of his mother.

Green was making a weird statement, given the circumstances—as an unexpected fourth champion, and with the original Hogwarts representative being a Slytherin—but at least Harry wasn't stuck with a mess of lacy-maroon. A quick color charm would sort that out for him, if he cared enough to change it.

There's nothing to be done about Ron's robes, alas.

With another glance to his supposedly-fancy dress-horror, he heaved a defeated sigh and fell back into a sprawl on his bed. Staring up at the canopy over his fourposter, Ron decided it may be best to just cut his losses.

"Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

Still not completely pleased with his decision, Ron sighed. "Do you really think I could just… not go at all?"

"…Yeah?" From his tone, Harry had probably just shrugged. "It'll be… I mean, I'd like you to go. You're my best friend, Ron, it'd be a lot more fun with you there."

Rolling from his back to his side, he peered past his mussed up blankets and the disgruntled chess pieces to actually get a look at Harry's expression: sheepish, but definitely genuine.

"Uh, that said, it's not like I want to go either." Harry rubbed at the back of his neck. "So I wouldn't hold it against you—mainly I'll just be jealous."

Ron snorted at that, maybe feeling a little bit more open to the idea. "At least you don't have to stay the whole night." He paused, considering. "…Your date's not going to make you stay, right?"

"No." Harry shook his head. "Frankly, I think she was excited she'd have an excuse to leave early, too. Very lucky, that."

"What's 'er name, anyway?"

"Ananda Whimsy," Harry replied, a name he probably only learned after agreeing to go to the ball with her. "She seems nice enough."

Ron made a mental note of the unfamiliar name, though he probably needn't bother.

Deciding that he was done playing for the evening, he pushed himself upright to start packing up the chess board properly. Some of the pieces protested, but both kings seemed relieved that there'd be no more rounds.

"Really tall, though," continued Harry. While he did not regret agreeing to go with her, that particular shortcoming had occurred rather swiftly. "I'll probably look ridiculous trying to dance with her."

With an amused snort, Ron quipped, "I don't think that'll be the only reason, mate. It's not like you really know how to dance at all."

"Neither do you!"

His smile was distinctly smug. "I don't have to worry about that anymore."

Harry groaned, but he was grinning right back.

Then Ron paused, realizing: "Wait, haven't I already missed my chance to leave?" He sighed at the inconvenience. "That's gonna be awkward."

"Well, Sans hasn't left yet."

"Yeah, but—" Ron blinked. "Wait, 'yet'?"

Harry nodded, a smile slowly spreading across his face; plainly he was putting together a plan of some sort. "You must have been too busy panicking to hear him. He's planning on leaving the day before the ball, and coming back to pick us up."

"So he's leaving tomorrow." He paused, then repeated, "'Leaving'?" Trying to review what he knew of their non-ball holiday plans wasn't helping much; he'd been distracted—and, yes, maybe panicking a little—during the discussion. "Where is he going?"

With a shrug, Harry started, "Didn't say, but… hold on…" His eyes narrowed with confused realization. "Where did you think we were going to go?"

He bristled, a little defensive. "I figured we were just going to, I don't know, hold a little private celebration thing in that empty classroom or something."

"Oh. You know, fair enough. That's what I thought at first, too."

"So… where are we actually going?"

"Again, he didn't say." Harry paused, then gave a sort of rueful shrug. "Well technically he said that he 'would have to say, but not right now', which is kind of weird. But I think we can safely say it won't be anywhere in the castle or on the grounds."

Ron nearly asked how that would be possible, before remembering who they were talking about: the ever-enigmatic 'Rattles'. For the entire time they'd known of him, Sans had been snubbing conventional-magical travel. Thankfully his popping in and out and around the castle would be hard to notice if one wasn't looking for it—or at least it'd be hard to pin as truly irregular, beyond just being a personal quirk.

However his shortcut trick worked, plainly the Hogwarts wards couldn't stop it.

Harry self-consciously folded his green robes over the post at the foot of his bed, and Ron realized he'd kind of been staring at them. Or maybe he'd been glaring: it still stung that his mother had found Harry a set of decent looking robes, while he was left with that embarrassing lacy-frilly dress.

It was a pointless anger—Harry had the good luck to be able to afford buying new, and it was just bad luck that the secondhand shop had apparently had no better options. But it still bit at him.

At least, since he'd decided against going to the Yule Ball, he would no longer have to wear those uncomfortable-on-several-levels dress robes.

Ron shook his head, finally closing up the chess box. "Maybe I can leave with Sans, then. I'll have to ask him, next time I see 'im."

And he did ask Sans about the possibility of joining him, though it had taken a while to track him down the following morning. The answer, thankfully, was a definite 'yes'.

(Or at least a "sure, don't see why not".)

As such, that evening found him nervously waiting in an empty classroom and wondering where they would be going. And how, frankly: while he knew that Sans had some sort of transportation spell-trick, he wasn't sure what it would actually entail.

"you're early."

"Merli—!" His startled expletive broke off as he twitched backwards, startled into nearly sliding right off the desk he was sitting on. "Where—?"

Sans, who had literally just walked right out of thin air, only grinned. "what, you've never seen a guy teleport before?"

"That is not what Apparating looks like."

The golden retriever at the first year's side snorted in agreement, stretched, and then shook off the canine form to stand upright as a human. "That'd be because it's something entirely different."

Ron blinked up at Sirius Black, and came to the abrupt realization that this man was a wanted criminal. Wrongly accused, of course, but the fact remained. There was still the occasional article in the Daily Prophet calling him a crazed fanatic, actually.

It was… hard to believe, looking at him now.

Honestly, his flamboyantly colorful 'Patrick Pawdy' alias had more manic energy (albeit in a more 'excitable' than 'insane' sense) than Sirius Black as-himself.

The man looked plainer than one might expect. His long dark hair was still a mess, even with most of it haphazardly tied back, but his beard wasn't the scraggly mess Ron vaguely remembered from months ago. All in all, the infamous Sirius Black really looked a lot more human than rumors generally paint him.

"I've said it before, I'll say it again," Sirius sighed, stretching his back, "but it is so nice standing on two legs. I keep forgetting how tall I am!"

"just gotta rub it in, don't ya."

He put a hand to his chin, looking thoughtful. "You know, Rattles, I'm probably taller than you as a dog, too!"

"ouch." Sans set a hand over his heart, tone deadpan. "a critical hit."

Sirius just smirked. "I have to have something over you, my friend. Although it's a bit literal, I'll still take it," he laughed. "And hello, Ron! Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, uhm, about that… where do we go next?" he asked, adjusting the bag at his shoulder and walking over to join them.

"headquarters, of course."

That's a suspicious looking smile—

His foot didn't land on the stone castle floor, however, as in the span of a blink everything around him changed. Ron tripped over the curb on a dingy looking street, nearly falling over before catching his balance.

That wasn't at all like Apparating. It was a change between one instant and the next, like blinking—none of the usual pulled-through-a-tube discomfort or anything.

"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, taking in his new surroundings.

They were on a sidewalk bordering a old cobbled lane, and the gutter at their feet held a dirty collection of snow, leaf debris, and trash. A few of the townhomes across the street had holiday lights strung along the eves or under windows, but the sparse decorations only served to make the unlit neighboring buildings look all the more rundown and gloomy in comparison.

A chunk of snow slipped off one of the roofs and hit the ground with a wet splat.

All in all, the street looked like just the sort of place that would have criminals and thieves and other such lowlifes lurking in the shadows. Which, given Sirius Black's undeservedly dark reputation, was almost perfectly appropriate.

"yeah, so our hideout is at number twelve." Sans gave a lazy gesture toward the row of townhomes.

A row which, Ron abruptly realized, was one house longer than it had been just a second ago. He hadn't even registered the lack, but there hadn't been a number twelve before then. It was certainly there now though—the previously-unnoticeable door number properly situated between eleven and thirteen, as it should be.

"…Was that one of those secret-keeping charms?" he asked, trying to remember hazy details that were either from a slept-through class or a childhood storybook.

"A Fidelius," provided Sirius, leading the way up to the front door. "So it's perfectly secure, if kind of unnecessary since we've been at Hogwarts instead."

"it's good to have a backup plan."

The wizard nodded. "Though it was more of an original plan, considering the order of events."

"so a literal fall back, then?"

Sirius laughed as he opened the door, starting a reply before it sort of choked into an astonished gasp. He'd barely made it past the threshold, too busy staring around in abject shock. "Merlin's lacy britches, what's happened in here?"

Ducking under his arm and into the entryway, Sans gave a low whistle. "well, this place is looking pretty nice," he remarked, scuffing a foot against the carpet and watching as if expecting something to happen. "even got out all the glitter."

Looking from the shabby and drab wallpaper to the threadbare rug, Ron couldn't help but echo a skeptical, "Nice?"

The front door clicked shut behind them.

"You should've seen it before," said Sirius, hanging up his coat on a rack by the front door. Then he ran a finger along the rim of a plain umbrella stand, looking vaguely surprised and amused. "Dust and grime and curses—"

"Curses?" As much as he enjoyed being the first one of his friends to get to see the secret base, Ron was starting to second guess his choice.

"—and stains and taxidermied décor," the list stopped, cut short by a relieved sigh. "I am very glad that old troll-foot umbrella stand is gone."

"What?"

"for sure, and the curses really mucked up the place," Sans remarked, "pretty sure we already got rid of the worst of them, thankfully." He lightly clapped his hands, closing that topic. "so! house tour?"

"Think we still have time to decorate?"

"maybe," he allowed. "but remus may have already started on that."

"Wait, Professor Lupin is here?" Ron interrupted, surprised.

Sirius nodded. "Oh, yeah, he's been living here since last summer." Taking a deep breath, he suddenly (and very loudly) shouted, "Happy Christmas, Moony!"

There was a distant sound of something—maybe a lot of somethings—farther in the house falling over, a distinctively non-human squawk of annoyance, and then a definitely human voice expressing a weird mix of apologies and disparaging remarks with regards to the entirety of Sirius's existence.

"…I didn't know the professor could swear. Like, legally."

"Language, Moony," Sirius yelled again. "There are children present."

Sans rolled his eyes, and Ron realized that there was a weird blueish glow to them that hadn't been there before. A curtain down the narrow hall that had been twitching about abruptly fell still.

Professor Lupin appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later, just a little out of breath. "I didn't know you would be coming today, and I was just in the middle of— Oh! Hello, Ron." He smiled, straightening out his slightly stained and very disheveled robes. "Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas, Professor," he returned. It was a little weird to see his once-teacher outside of a classroom, especially with him looking so… not-teacher-ly.

"merry christmas."

"And please, Ron, just 'Remus' would be perfectly alright." His smile turned a little bittersweet. "I'm not very well your professor anymore, am I?"

"Remus?" tried Ron, testing it out, but then he shook his head. "I can try, but I think Professor Lupin just fits better."

"But—"

"there's nothin' you can do about it, i'm afraid. you give off professor vibes." Sans shrugged. "it'll lesson the confusion if you just learn to accept it."

Sirius frowned as him. "What confusion?"

"see?"

"No."

"…i just needed the sentence for the pun," Sans admitted.

"As I suspected."

Professor Lupin—or Remus, rather, still weird to say—just shook his head. "No matter, I suppose. Do we know in which room Ron will be staying?"

"Uhhh…" Sirius made a vague gesture to the upper floors. "I mean, he can just use the same one as before."

"What?" asked Ron, confused.

Sans elbowed the older wizard in the side. "just ignore him, he loses track of time occasionally."

Whatever that was supposed to mean—though apparently Remus got something out of the statement, since he no longer looked as puzzled as Ron still felt.

"Anyway," Sirius coughed, looking a bit chastised, "we were going to show him around the place, maybe decorate a bit. Does that sound good, Ron?"

"Alr—" His reply was cut short as he yawned, eyes squinting up and then not wanting to open up quite all the way again. He was more tired than he'd thought. "Alrigh'."

"…On second thought," said Sirius, "let's make it a quick tour and leave any other decorating for tomorrow."

"nice, putting it off until the day-of. i can respect that."

They didn't get very far into the tour before being stopped short—luckily not because of any lingering curse, but rather because of a very strange sight in the very first room they reached. Namely, the fact that there was a large circular hole punched through the ceiling of the dining room.

Ron stared up at it, eyes wide, and then down to an old scorch mark on the floor underneath a chair that didn't match the rest of them. "What in Merlin's name happened here?"

"a really tacky necklace, we had to get the fashion police involved," Sans remarked, with his typical nonchalance. "it was a blast."

Sirius ignored the hole completely in favor of pointing out the kitchen and saying that he was welcome to scrounge up food whenever hungry. After the dining room, none of the other rooms they peeked into had quite the same impact—though he did get to briefly see the other side of the hole in one of the upper rooms.

"And this," Sirius began, pulling open another door, "will be yours and Harry's room while you're here. I hope you don't mind sharing."

"That's fine, we're used to it anyway." Ron stepped inside, dropping his small bag by the doorway. There were two beds with mismatched comforters, one up against each opposite wall, and an old worn-looking dresser placed under the window between them. Like the rest of the house, though the paint and furniture didn't look to be in great shape, the room itself was clean and tidy.

"We'll probably be out and about the house if you need us, but my room is on the next floor up," Sirius gestured, "Remus is just down the hall, I think," another point, "and Sans has a closet somewhere."

"A closet?"

"it's a very nice closet," defended Sans. "and it's traditional, you know."

"Traditional?"

The first year just shrugged with that annoying conspiratorial grin.

"I think that basically covers it." Looking around vaguely, as if the faded wallpaper could remind him if he missed anything, Sirius nodded to himself. "It's getting a bit late now, so I think I'll head to bed." He paused, then crowed, "And I get a real bed, not just a cushion! Oh, I'm looking forward to this!"

At that, and after the small group had dispersed, Ron looked back over the simple bedroom he'd be staying in. Maybe tomorrow they could string up some red and green popcorn garlands along the walls or hang ornaments off the staircase railings. That could be fun.

He'd caught a glimpse of some of the over-the-top holiday decorations in the castle before they had left—so much more flashy and cold than the usual, all snow and ice.

So… fake. Uncomfortable.

And with all the stress he'd seen and felt personally trying to prepare for a big event that he wasn't even that interested in attending, honestly: "This'll be so much more relaxing than some fancy party."

"good choice."

Ron startled, turning to find that Sans was still standing there with an amused grin. Or was standing there again: with his quiet shortcuts he could have walked off and returned without him noticing at all, just to spook him.

"and ron." The short first-year had to reach to set a hand on his shoulder, and he had a maybe-proud sort of joking smile. "i'm glad you didn't let societal expectations keep you from a good nap."

"Thanks, Sans." Ron couldn't help but laugh a little. "Goodnight."

"g'night."

Author's Note:

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Undertale.

Ron has a realization, and decides that parties are overrated.

Man, Ron. You were just supposed to be the start of this chapter, not take over the whole darn thing! Sometimes the characters really just get away from you, sheesh. Ron can be a tricky character for this fandom, but I hope I did him justice here.

Next update should be TU2ndC in August, and UtV back again in September. Also, can you believe that come next month it will have been, like, six years since I started posting this story? Crazy!
To those of you who found it way back then, thank you so much for sticking around for so long. And thanks to everyone for all of the reviews, follows, and favorites!

To the person in the reviews who mentioned pokémon submas—you are right on! That's the hole I've fallen in, too, and have already somehow written 16,000+ words on. I'd love to post it, but I dunno if I could manage another story in an update cycle so I've just been working on it in the background when I get stuck on the others. One day!

Join the Discord if you're interested! Invite code: m3CFXnC

Stay safe out there, and I'll see ya on the flipside, everyone!