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.

Ron slept late the next morning, and so when he finally wandered downstairs in his pyjamas to see about breakfast the only other person in the kitchen was, surprisingly, Percy.

"Morning, Percy." Ron yawned, making his way over to the cabinet where they kept the bowls. Someone had left the cereal and milk on the table, so all he needed now was a spoon.

Percy glanced up at Ron, then scowled at him. "You're going to Saint Mungo's today."

Ron blinked, surprised that Percy had brought it up. "Yeah…."

"We can't afford Saint Mungo's, Ronny."

Now it was Ron's turn to scowl. "I know. I said I didn't want to go."

Percy looked up from his breakfast, seeming surprised. Ron poured the milk, stirring his cereal.

"Then why are Mum and Dad taking you?"

"Dad said I'm not sick," Ron said defensively. "He said it's what's best, and that he and Mum love me."

Percy rolled his eyes. "Of course they love you, Ronny. They're Mum and Dad, it's what they do. But you didn't answer my question."

"It's because I burnt my dress and kicked Mum and Ginny out of my room," Ron said, staring at his cereal. He still felt rather guilty about that.

"But that was an accident, and no one was hurt." Percy was frowning now, as though Ron was being intentionally evasive.

"I know. I've said, I'm not sick." Ron repeated. He didn't understand why Percy wasn't getting it. It wasn't because of his outburst, really. It was because they kept happening. And while he wasn't quite sure they justified a trip to Saint Mungo's, he knew his mum and dad were worried, so he would just go to make them happy. It was just one visit, and then, when the healer told them whatever it was they wanted to hear, that would be that.

"Ronny, are you – what are still doing in your pyjamas?" Mum was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips. "We're leaving in fifteen minutes!"

"Breakfast!" Ron protested as she made to clear away his dishes. "I'm having breakfast!"

Mum clucked at him. "What have you been doing all morning? Your father told you we'd be leaving at noon, didn't he?"

"It isn't noon yet!" Ron protested through a mouthful of cereal. He was shoving it in his mouth as fast as he could now, because he knew it wouldn't be long before Mum actually made him go get dressed, with or without finishing his breakfast.

"We're stopping at the market first so that I can pick up our food for the week." Ron shoved his last spoonful of cereal in his mouth and Mum banished his bowl to the sink. "Now, go get dressed."

Ten minutes later Ron was rushing into the sitting room with his shoes untied and his jacket slung over one shoulder. Mum wasn't there yet, so he took a minute to catch his breath and tie his shoes. He wished that he'd known they were leaving earlier, but a rushed morning wasn't that unusual, especially when there was a set appointment involved.

"Bill!" Mum's voice sounded from somewhere upstairs. "Can you –"

"Bill's not here!" Percy called from the kitchen. "He's meeting someone at the Leaky Cauldron about some sort of internship."

"Charlie!" Mum again.

"I'm busy!" Ron could barely hear Charlie's voice through the walls of the house.

There were footsteps on the stairs, a muffled conversation, and then Mum appeared again in the doorway and bustled past Ron, grabbing the floo powder off the shelf and offering it to Ron at the same time she used her wand to ignite a fire in the fireplace. "We're going to have to be fast with the shopping," Mum fretted, taking a pinch herself. "All ready, dear? You go first – Quimbly's Market."

"Quimbly's Market," Ron said clearly, tossing his powder into the fire. The fire flared green, and Ron took a deep breath before stepping into the fire and letting it pull him away. The fire roared around him as he spun through the floo, elbows tucked close to his sides. Just as he was thinking he might have to take a tentative breath and risk getting soot in his mouth, the fire spit him out on the thick carpet which many wizarding businesses set out before their fires. Stumbling a little, Ron quickly regained his balance and moved out of the way as Mum stepped out of the green flames, wobbling only slightly as she adjusted her purse.

"Here, Ronny," Mum handed him a sheet of paper and a bag. "Get everything on this list, then meet me back here in –" she glanced at the enormous clock which hung suspended over the shelves in the store, "– half an hour, and then we'll head to ministry to pick up your father."

Ron took the bag and studied the list as his mother set off. 2 bags of carrots, 4 onions, 1 bag of sugar, 2 pounds of cheese … there were about five other items on the list, but Ron supposed he could find those later. Carrots, onion, sugar and cheese sounded like a good start. About to set of in search of the items on the list, he was startled into nearly dropping his bag as a boy, maybe a year or two younger than himself, came barreling out of the fireplace and nearly crashed into him, veering off just in time and instead careening straight into the carts lining the wall which were meant for carrying groceries.

Once he'd got over his annoyance of having nearly been run over, Ron approached the boy, who was sprawled on the floor and appeared to either be laughing or crying. "Are you all right?" Ron asked tentatively.

"Andrew!" A flustered looking wizard stepped out of the fireplace, his eyes skimming over Ron and immediately landing on the boy on the floor. He strode over and grabbed the boy by his arm, hauling him rather roughly to his feet. "What have I told you about foolish antics in the floo?"

Andrew appeared not have heard him, and was laughing giddily. "That was brilliant!" he laughed. "Did you see? I came out so fast!" He broke into a fresh round of giggles, even as the man – Ron supposed he was the boy's father – rolled his eyes in exasperation. He gave Andrew a gentle shake. "Deep breaths, Andrew. Settle down." His eyes settled on Ron, who was still staring, and a slight frown settled on his face. "He didn't run into you, did he?"

Ron shook his head. "No, sir." Shooting one more glance at the still giggling boy, he turned away and set off down a random lane of shelves. He supposed the boy had taken the floo at a run. He and George had done it once as a dare, and it hadn't ended nearly as well as it had for that boy: George had run straight into the back of the fireplace, bounced off, and had ended up in the Leaky Cauldron with a concussion and a bloody nose, while Ron, although he had actually managed to get where they were going (Madam Malkin's), had come shooting out like the boy and done at least five somersaults before crashing into one of the measuring podiums and fracturing his arm. Fred would have done it as well if Dad hadn't caught him and put a stop to it before anyone else could get hurt.

Ron had found the first three items on his list and was searching for the fourth when he ran into Andrew again. "Hey, you're the boy I almost ran over," was the cheerful greeting. "I'm Andrew."

"Ron," Ron introduced himself, feeling the warm pleasure he always got whenever someone recognized him as a boy. "I did that once, but I broke my arm."

"Really?" Andrew breathed, staring at Ron with newfound admiration. "Did it hurt?"

"Er, yeah … "

"Wow! I'm glad I didn't break my arm. So what are you doing here? I'm picking out a present for my sister, Meg. Well, not here, we're just here for lunch, but then we're heading to Diagon Alley. Are you here by yourself?" Andrew peered around Ron, as though expecting Mum to be right behind him.

"I'm with my Mum," Ron said, deciding to answer the Andrew's last question first. "We're getting groceries."

"Ooh, can I help?"

"Andrew!" Andrew's father appeared, and took Andrew firmly by the hand. "If you keep running off we'll have to go home without getting anything for Meg." His eyes came to rest on Ron again, but this time he smiled instead of frowned. "Who's this?"

"Ron!" Andrew said eagerly, trying to tug his hand out of his father's grip. "He's my new friend! I'm helping him get groceries." Ron felt that warm feeling spreading though his chest again.

"No, we're getting lunch," Andrew's father corrected. He shot an apologetic look in Ron's direction. "Say goodbye to Ron, and then we need to go."

"Bye!" Andrew said cheerily, waving with his free hand. "See you at Hogwarts!"

"Bye," Ron said, waving uncertainly. He stared after them, unsure what to make of Andrew. He seemed awfully excitable, and talked a lot, which was something Ron didn't know quite how to deal with. And he didn't look nearly old enough to be starting Hogwarts. On the other hand, he'd thought Ron was a boy, which in Ron's mind was enough to redeem him all his chatty, cheerful, slightly annoying characteristics. Feeling a slow grin settle over his face, Ron set off again in search of the last six items on his list.

Fifteen minutes later he made his way to the check-out counter, both hands holding the bag which was slung over one shoulder. Seeing that Mum wasn't there yet, he dropped his bag on one of the benches near the fireplace, then wandered over the toy section. As usual, there was the section with the play animals, the section with the dolls, and the quidditch section. Ron headed straight for the quidditch section, peering at the miniature figurines which waved their brooms at him and at the toy snitches, which were carefully packaged in bright paper with warnings not to touch until purchased.

Ron was the most interested in the quidditch players. His favorite, of course, was Bernie Smith, Keeper for the Chudley Cannons, but he also liked Tom Bryson, who was their lead Chaser and Captain. Finding them, he pulled them from where they had been shoved to the back of the shelves. Bernie strutted proudly back and forth on his little stand, while Tom leaned casually on his broom and waved at Ron with an easy smile on his face. "This year," Ron promised them. "This year you'll win the finals, and I'll be there …" he imagined himself in the top box, cheering them on, and then after the game going down to the pitch with his dad, maybe even getting his broom signed … Ron sighed. Although he would cheer them on every second of they played, he knew enough about quidditch to know that they'd never make the world cup, the finals, or even the semi-finals. Maybe regionals, though….
"Ronny?" Mum was standing at the end of the aisle, both bags in her arms. "It's time to go."

Ron waved goodbye to the action figures, then trudged to the fireplace after Mum. While it wasn't in his nature to worry too much about things that hadn't happened yet, he was rather dreading going to Saint Mungo's. After all, he wasn't sick.

"Mum," Ron hissed, scooting closer on the narrow bench. "Why does she have a bird coming out of her head?"

They were sitting in the waiting room at Saint Mungo's, and Ron was staring at all the witches and wizards sitting around them. Some were together, like the young man holding the older man's enlarged, purple arm oozing green liquid in his lap, and the two teenagers who were glaring dagger at each other but appeared not to be able to untie their shoes, which appeared to have attached the two together. Others were alone – like the woman with what looked like at least ten extra fingers, and the man who was hopping excitedly in the middle of the room, exclaiming at random moments: "Did you see the orange?!" and then apologizing for yelling, and then doing it again. Others, like Ron, were just trying to stay as far away from everyone as possible.

Mum wasn't paying attention to Ron – instead, she was staring at the welcome witch, who was twirling her hair and doodling on a scrap of paper, and occasionally looking up in annoyance at the man who was jumping and shouting in the middle of the room. So it was Dad who leaned over and answered.

"It looks like someone tried to transfigure her in a grandfather clock."

"You can do that?" Ron was surprised. He knew about transfiguring animals into objects, and people into animals, but it had never occurred to him to try to transfigure people into objects.

Dad chuckled. "You could, but I wouldn't suggest it. Your target would end up looking a bit like that poor women, I'd imagine.

"Aha!" Mum muttered, and Ron looked up to see a trainee talking with the welcome witch. She nodded and, after scanning the room, pointed over to where Ron and his parents were sitting. The trainee came over, and smiled at them.

"Good afternoon," he said, sticking out his hand to Dad, and then to Mum. "My name is Max Gibbons, I'm Healer Sanders' intern. You must be the Weasleys."

"Good afternoon, yes," Dad said as they all stood. He looked slightly uncertain. "Will it be you or Healer Sanders seeing us?"

"Oh, Healer Sanders, for sure," Gibbons gestured for them to follow him. "I'm just an intern, and she said that your case was intriguing." He glanced at Ron, who was staring at him curiously. The man didn't look much older than Bill, so Ron didn't think he was too long out of Hogwarts, but it was hard to be sure. "You must be Veronica?"

"Ron," Ron corrected.

"Nice to meet you." They reached one of the lifts, and Gibbons gestured them inside before pressing the button that would take them to the fourth floor. "Healer Sanders' office is on the fourth floor of the pediatric wing," he explained.

They left the lift, and Gibbons led them down at least ten different corridors before they reached they're destination, at which point Ron was well and truly lost. He didn't think he'd be able to find his way back to the lift if he tried. As such, he resolved to stick close to his parents. As long as they stuck together, he figured they wouldn't get too lost.

They were welcomed into the office by a petite woman with glossy black hair and pale brown eyes. She had a professional air about her as she waved them over to the seats in the corner and talked briefly with Gibbons before grabbing a clipboard off her desk and coming over to join them.

"Good day," she greeted them, shaking hands with Mum and Dad and then, to Ron's surprise, offering her hand to him as well. "My name is Healer Helen Sanders. You've already met my intern, Mr. Gibbons. You don't mind if he sits and observes?"

Mum shook her head. "Not at all."

"Excellent. Shall we begin, then?" Healer Sanders then proceeded to ask them a few questions: How old was Veronica when she began displaying this behavior? Had it occurred in any of her siblings? Did Mrs. Weasley remember anything particularly memorable about the time she was pregnant with Veronica?

Since it was mostly his parents answering the questions, Ron quickly grew bored and started fidgeting in his chair. Staring around the office, he took in its appearance. There were a few drawings on the wall by other children, of witches and wizards and Hogwarts, as well as bookcase which had a number of books both for children and for adults. There was an examining table on the far side opposite the door Ron had come in, and a set of cabinets next to Healer Sanders' desk. The walls were white, and the floor was blue. There was one window, above Healer Sanders' desk, but Ron could tell that it was fake and so quickly lost interest.

Having examined the room, Ron turned his attention to the intern. He was sitting in the corner, taking notes and every once and a while answering questions that Healer Sanders shot his way. He seemed nice, Ron supposed. He hadn't seemed surprised or annoyed when Ron corrected him when they were introduced, and he hadn't been rude at any point as far as Ron could tell. So yes, Ron decided, smiling shyly when Mr. Gibbons looked up and caught Ron staring at him. Mr. Gibbons was alright as far as people went. Ron wondered which house he had been in.

"Veronica?"

Ron started guiltily, realizing belatedly that Healer Sanders had asked him a question. "What?"

Mum sighed, and Dad's lip's twitched. Healer Sanders repeated her question. "How long have you thought you were a boy?"

"I've always been a boy," Ron began, but when Mum cleared her throat he elaborated. "Since I was two, I s'pose."

"And you've never seen yourself as a girl?"

"No, because I'm a boy."

"And you're absolutely, one hundred percent certain that you're a boy?"

"Yeah."

"Very good." Healer Sanders scribbled on something on the clipboard in front of her, then put down her quill and looked up at Mum and Dad. "I have some things to discuss with you in private. If you like, Mr. Gibbons can take Veronica outside while we talk."

Dad glanced at Mum, then at Ron. "Is that all right with you, Ronny? We won't be long."

Ron nodded, and got up to follow Mr. Gibbons out.

After walking down the hall in silence for a few minutes, Ron suddenly asked "What is Healer Sanders telling Mum and Dad?"

Mr. Gibbons took a moment to respond. "She's telling them what the next steps are for you towards finding a cure."

"A cure? I'm not sick."

Mr. Gibbons shook his head. "No, you're not sick. I don't think that, and neither, I think, does Healer Sanders. You're out of the ordinary, though. We've never seen anyone with a story quite like yours, and right now it's pretty clear that neither you nor your parents are satisfied with what's happening right now. So what we're trying to do – what its our jobs as healers to do – is to make sure that you're happy and healthy and safe. So I suppose what you and your family need is a cure for happiness."

"But I'm not sick."

"I know."

A/N - To see more about when/how I'm updating this, visit my profile page. Thank you for reading.