Disclaimer: This world and all its characters belong to JK Rowling. I wrote this purely for entertainment purposes, and have no wish to sell, copyright or otherwise claim any of this content.

Fifteen minutes later found Charlie struggling to get one of Mum's dresses over his head, while Ron stood by the door with his own dress slung over one arm and trying to stifle his laughter with the other.

Finally, after Charlie had struggled for a good five minutes without success, Ron gave up with strangled choking sound that dissolved into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. "You're doing it wrong!" he laughed.

Charlie held the dress out in front of him, glaring at it. "Alright, so I can already see how you hate getting these things on. Show me how to do it."

"If you put your head through first, you get stuck," Ron explained, still laughing. "And if you try to put your arms through first it rips." Ron tugged off his shirt, but opted to keep his shorts on. "Watch – you do it like this." He pulled his dress over his head and all the way down over his arms so that the neckline was around his waist, then stuck his arms in the holes and puled it up again over his shoulders. "Now you do it."

Obediently, Charlie pulled Mum's dress over his head, this time managing to get it on right.

"And now you do the buttons." Ron buttoned up his own dress, then watched as Charlie did his.

Charlie walked over to Mum's large mirror, holding the skirt bunched in his fists even though there wasn't really any danger of him tripping (it was too short), and stared at himself for a moment.

"Very nice, dear," the mirror murmured. Charlie narrowed his eyes, and Ron burst out laughing again.

"All right, you," Charlie turned on Ron. "No more laughing. Let's walk around the house and you can show me what Ginny normally likes to do."

Ron turned and walked down to the sitting room, where he climbed on the couch to reach the bin which held all the animal toys.

"What I like to do," he explained as he dumped them on the floor, "is have them go on adventures. But whenever I play with Ginny, she insists on grouping them into families, and then going on adventures, which isn't any fun because then they have to talk to each other." He pushed half the pile over to Charlie, who was settled awkwardly on the floor, trying to sit with crossed legs under his skirt. "Help me separate them into families."

Silently, they began to separate the creatures. Every now and then, Ron would sneak glances at Charlie, who was frowning in confusion at his animals. He didn't seem to know quite what to do with them, but that wasn't what intrigued Ron. After all, the only reason he knew which animals belonged to which family was because he'd had to play this over and over again with Ginny. No, what intrigued Ron was the fact that Charlie was trying. While the others asked questions, or assumed they knew more about Ron than he himself did, they never actively tried to understand. Not like Charlie was trying now.

Ron realized that he was finished sorting his animals, and was about to turn and help Charlie when an idea occurred to him. He picked up one of the larger animals (a griffin) and began talking to it, every now and then shooting Charlie a look to see if he was listening.

"Look, she's putting Beth and Cally in the same family. I bet they like that."

"No, don't worry, she can't hear us."

"She's my older sister. Her name's Charlie and she goes school, but not in the summer."

"She's wearing a dress because she's a girl."

"Of course she's a girl. She doesn't look like a girl, she looks like a boy, but she's still a girl."

Charlie was staring at him now, a strange look on his face. "Why are you doing that?" he asked.

Ron continued talking with the griffin. "She doesn't normally like to wear dresses, but now she has to because she's a girl."

"Ron," Charlie's arm reached across and plucked the griffin from Ron's hands. "What are you doing?"

"I'm talking about you," Ron said simply.

"Merlin … " Charlie rocked back, staring at Ron as though he had never seen him before. "Okay." He glanced down at his dress. "Let's get out of these, okay? You're right, they're really uncomfortable. I don't know how Mum and Ginny wear them."

When they were comfortably back in their own clothes, Ron and Charlie returned to the sitting room to clean up. As Ron climbed onto the couch again to put the toy bin back on the shelf, Charlie spoke.

"Is that really what it feels like, when other people talk about you?"

"Yep." Ron turned on the couch so that he was eye to eye with Charlie. "Like they're talking about someone else."

"But we've always talked about you like that. It's not like … it's not like you don't know we're talking about you."

"No, I know you're talking about me." Ron hopped off the couch, avoiding Charlie's confused gaze. These were the kind of questions he didn't like – questions he knew the answers to, but couldn't find the words to explain. It wasn't like he didn't know they were talking about him; like Charlie had said, they'd always referred to him as a girl. But he wasn't a girl, so it always felt like they were talking about someone else. Anyway, he didn't want to think about it anymore. "Can we play quidditch?"

Charlie sighed. "No, I don't think we should. Even if Mum didn't say it we're technically grounded, because we're at home while everyone else is out. And when she comes home she'll probably be mad, so we should do something to make her less mad. Let's go back outside." He headed for the back door. "We can de-gnome the garden."

Ron groaned, but followed his brother out anyway.

Dinner that night was an unusually quiet affair. It seemed that Ginny had got out of her shock from that morning, and was now shooting Ron angry looks that promised trouble later – she obviously hadn't taken well to being so forcefully banished from his room. Ron, never one to be put off by evil looks, scowled back at her. She deserved what she got, even if he hadn't meant to be so forceful.

After dinner, when everyone went their separate ways, Ron lingered in the kitchen while his mother finished clearing the dishes. He had decided that now, when no one else was in the kitchen, was a good time to apologize for his outburst, but also to make it clear why he'd had the outburst in the first place. After talking with Charlie, Ron had decided he needed to make sure Mum understood what was going on. He really did hate wearing dresses. When two minutes had passed and she still hadn't noticed him, Ron cleared his throat.

"Mum."

Mum turned, and when she saw that it was him she sighed. "Ronny. Do you want to tell me what happened this morning?"

"I didn't want to wear the dress."

Mum pursed her lips. "And that justified throwing me and your sister out of your room?"

"No," Ron mumbled. "But –"

"No buts, missy. I know you can't control your magic yet, but outbursts like that can't happen. You quite upset Ginny, and the outcome could have been much worse."

"I know, I'm sorry –" and he was, he really was, "– but Mum, I can't wear dresses, and you can't keep calling me Veronica, or Ronny."

Mum closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Ronny," she said, opening her eyes and looking straight at him. "You are a girl. You can play with your brothers and you can wear shirts and pants whenever you want except when we go to see family. You're brothers don't like dressing up either – dress robes are no more comfortable than dresses. You can and will wear dresses when the occasion calls for it, and Ronny is and has been your name your entire life."

"I'm not asking to change my name," Ron argued, even though he was. "I just want you to call me Ron!"

"Ron's not an appropriate name for a young girl," Mum said sternly.

"I'm not a girl!" Ron shouted. Nobody was listening to him!

"Don't you take that tone with me –" Mum began, only to be interrupted by Percy, who was in the next room.

"Mum! Ronny! I'm actually trying to get some work done in here!"

Ron ignored him, taking Mum's distraction as an opportunity. "You never listen to me –"

"Ronny –"

"How am I supposed to get decent grades with you two bickering –"

The front door opened and Dad strode in, pausing as he took in the scene. "Molly –?"

"- so I'm not listening either!" Ron turned and ran, pushing past the one of the twins – he didn't care which one – on the stairs, and slamming his door behind him. Downstairs, he could hear his brothers asking bewildered questions as Mum scolded Percy and Ginny complained loudly (again) about something (probably him). Throwing himself onto his bed, he lay there, listening to the ghoul groaning in the attic and fuming silently.

Mum never listens to me. I try and I try to tell her and she never listens to me.

Stupid Percy and his stupid homework. If school turns me into someone like Percy, I don't even want to go. (That wasn't true.)

Stupid dresses. Stupid Aunt Muriel. Stupid Ginny, and Mum.

Stupid Charlie for making me get in a dress today.

Stupid Charlie for making me talk and for cutting my hair and for listening to me.

Stupid Charlie for making me feel like …

For making me feel like myself.

"Ronny?"

Ron stirred at the sound of his father's voice, trying to remember why he was in bed with his jeans on. Mum didn't usually allow them to go to bed with their clothes on. Blinking his eyes open, he noticed with some confusion that it was dark out. Hadn't it just been light?

"Ronny?" Now Dad was kneeling next to his bed, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay, sweety?"

Ron pushed himself up, then twisted so that his back was against the wall at the head of his bed. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he tried to make out Dad's face in the dark. He probably wanted Ron to apologize for running out on Mum...

"I'm sorry," Ron said. "I shouldn't have argued with Mum."

"Don't worry about that," Dad sighed, getting up and sitting gently on the bed next to Ron. "But Ronny, look at me." Ron stared at him, fully awake now. He'd never heard Dad use that voice before. "Tell me the truth. Why wouldn't you wear that dress today?"

Ron frowned. "Dad, I've said. I don't like dresses." He was pretty sure he'd made that clear that afternoon.

"Is that all?" Dad's voice was gentle, probing.

"Yeah. Well, that and the fact that it's unfair. No one else has to wear them, so why should I?"

"Ginny has to wear dresses, too."

"Dad. I've said, I'm not like Ginny."

In the dim light, Dad was studying him closely now, closer than he had in at least a year. Part of Ron wanted to squirm under the scrutiny he wasn't used to, but the other part made him sit still, wanting to be understood.

"I shouldn't have to wear dresses because boys don't wear dresses."

Sighing, Dad leaned back and stared at the ceiling where, if Ron listened closely, he could here the ghoul snoring. "We're listing to you, Ronny, we really are, and we're just trying to do what's best for you." His voice grew gentle, and he lay a hand on Ron's knee. "The thing is, this is something we know nothing about. So tomorrow, you, your mother and I are going to Saint Mungo's to see if there's a specialist who might know what you're going through. It's just a visit, and it does not mean that you're sick, or that there's something wrong with you. Your mother and I are trying to be the best parents we can, and right now, Ronny, we need help." He sighed, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. "You have no idea how hard it is to say that."

Ron shook his head, as much acknowledge that he probably didn't know what it was like as well as to protest going to see a specialist.

"I don't want to go to Saint Mungo's, Dad. I'm not sick, and I know it's expensive." Even at eight years old, Ron knew that money in the family was tight. He didn't want to add anymore weight than he already did.

"Don't worry about the money, Ron," Dad said. "It's not really expensive, and the health benefits of my job cover most of it anyway. And no, you are most definitely not sick. You just need something that Mum and I can't give you."

"I don't," Ron muttered, although he could tell he was fighting a losing battle.

"It's just one visit, Ronny. We'll leave at noon tomorrow, and be back before dinner." Dad swooped in to plant a kiss on Ron's head before Ron could squirm away. Although he appreciated the gesture, he felt that eight was too old for being smothered with hugs and kisses all the time. He wasn't a baby. "Now let's get you to bed. We have a big day tomorrow, and you should be well rested, as should I."

Ron nodded and climbed off his bed, rummaging through a pile of laundry at the foot of his bed to unearth his pyjamas. Dad also got up and moved to leave, but hesitated at the door.

"You know that we love you, right? Your mother and I, we love you so much, Ronny, and we only want what's best for you. You know that, don't you?"

Ron glanced up, and nodded. "Yeah," he said. But even as he said it, he wondered: if Mum and Dad loved him so much, why wouldn't they listen to him? Why wouldn't they call him Ron, and understand that he was a boy, not a girl? "I know."

"Good. Sweet dreams, Ronny. I'll see you in the morning." Dad turned and left, leaving the lights on and shutting the door gently behind him.

Ron waited until he was sure his father was gone, then crossed room and tapped the light, plunging the room into darkness. Feeling his way back to the foot of his bed, he got out of his dirty clothes and pulled on his pyjamas in the dark. Then he climbed into bed and pulled the covers snuggly over his head.