Ginny was already gone by the time Ron got up on the morning of the day that Great-Aunt Muriel was meant to leave. Yawning, Ron wandered over to his closet and started rummaging through his clothes. Mum had done the wash yesterday, so he didn't need to decide whether something was clean or not – he just had to decide on what to wear.

Aunt Muriel's leaving today, Ron thought sleepily. His hand closed around a shirt that was buried behind the others and he drew it out to get a better look. It was an old shirt of Fred's, yellow with a red dragon on the front (George had owned a matching one, red with a yellow dragon, but that had somehow been so badly ripped that Mum had given up and thrown it in the rag bin). I'll celebrate by wearing my favorite clothes.

Tossing the shirt onto the floor behind him, Ron grabbed a pair of brown pants and his Christmas jumper (blue) then stepped out into his room to change. He couldn't remember exactly when Dad had said Aunt Muriel was leaving - before lunch, hopefully. Then the twins would be allowed out of their room, and because they were still grounded they would have to let Ron play with them...

Leaving his pajamas in a heap on the floor, Ron padded out of his room and down a flight of stairs to the bathroom. He couldn't help but stare at his reflection as he brushed his teeth - his hair was tangled and matted to one side, and there was a stain he hadn't noticed earlier on the yellow cotton of his shirt. Ron narrowed his eyes at himself, scrubbing harder at his teeth. It didn't matter that he didn't look like a girl, Aunt Muriel was only staying a few more hours at most, he had been good the whole week, he had even worn the stupid dress to the stupid funeral -

But Uncle Billius was dead, Fred and George were grounded, and Aunt Muriel was leaving today. Ron spat out his toothpaste, turned his back on the mirror, and snatched up the brush.

"Don't miss the back bit," the mirror advised as Ron yanked the brush sullenly through his hair.

Fifteen minutes later, having wincingly tied his hair back with a bit of string and donned his least-girly girl-shirt (green), Ron plopped himself down at the breakfast table and leaned forward to pull the milk away from Ginny. "Mum, can you get me a bowl?"

Ginny was staring at him. "You brushed your hair," she blurted when Ron scowled at her.

"Shut up," Ron retorted. Mum gave them both a warning look, setting a bowl and spoon in front of Ron. "Girls," she said sternly, and then: "Your hair looks wonderful, Ronny."

Ron felt his stomach drop at her praise. He didn't know why it bothered him, but all of a sudden he felt like crying. He stared at his empty cereal bowl, trying to figure out why he was upset, and that was when Aunt Muriel made her entrance.

"No tea for me, Molly dear," she proclaimed loudly. "I'm afraid I've been quite put off of it." She sat carefully in Dad's chair by the door and fixed her stern gaze on Ginny. "You mustn't let your brothers bully you," she lectured. Ginny squirmed, glancing at Mum, who gave her a stern look. "They'll try and make you do things you might not want to, but we girls have our own ways of getting what we want. I predict you shall do well for yourself, Ginevra."

Then, to Ron's horror, she turned her attention to him. The corners of her wide mouth immediately turned down in an exaggerated frown. "Veronica, no boys are ever going to take you seriously if you can't fix your hair properly," she said. Ron glanced at Mum, who was frowning at Aunt Muriel as she directed toast from the toaster to a plate. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you, young lady," Aunt Muriel said primly. She sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "My Bill was always such a good boy, but then he had to see that horrible Grim! Anything could happen, who knows if we shall ever see each other again? You must listen to your great-aunt, Veronica, what I'm telling you is important."

Ron stared at his lap, suddenly very certain that he was no longer hungry. Why did he even try, what was the point if Aunt Muriel was going to complain about him anyway? She didn't understand, no one did.

"If you don't learn to look after yourself now, it will but much harder later and other girls will tease you about it -"

"Are your bags all packed, Muriel?" Mum interrupted. "Perhaps the girls can bring them to the door for you, while you finish your breakfast."

"Oh no, Molly, that's quite alright, I would like to enjoy the company of my nieces while I am still here," Muriel said. "Now, Veronica, as I was saying, I know you are very upset about your Uncle Billius -" she paused to blow her nose "- but I've always thought pink was a lovely color, especially with your Weasley hair -"

Ron didn't even realize what had happened until Mum dropped Aunt Muriel's plate of toast. Startled by the crash, he looked up to see Ginny gaping open mouthed as Mum hastily cleared up the mess while trying to aim her wand discreetly at Aunt Muriel. Then Ron too was frozen in his seat because:

Great-Aunt Muriel was bald.

She paused mid-lecture, reaching a hand slowly up to her head as horror dawned on her face. This quickly turned to rage, but Ron knew what trouble looked like and this was it. Gryffindor he may be, but he wasn't stupid: so, while Ginny sat frozen and Aunt Muriel was for once speechless and Mum was still trying to reverse the damage, Ron pushed his chair hastily from the table and bolted.

Mum found him in his room an hour later. After writing a furious letter to Charlie, Ron had changed back into his favorite shirt and pulled on the big brightly-colored hat Mrs. Lovegood had given him for Christmas when he was seven. He had also gone through all his clothes and hidden anything that even remotely said "girl" in with Ginny's clothes, but hopefully Mum wouldn't see that. Even if she did, though, he didn't think he could really get in more trouble than he was already in.

Instead of yelling, though, Mum only handed him a marmalade sandwich. "Thank you for brushing your hair this morning, Ronny," she said gently. "I know it's been a tough week, and I'm proud of you and Ginny and your brothers. Now why don't you help me get your sister's things, and you can have your room all to yourself again?"

"Am I in trouble?" Ron couldn't help but ask. He stared at his sandwich.

Mum sighed. "No harm was done, and as I said it's been a tough week. I would like you to write your Aunt an apology letter, you can send it with Errol when I write your brothers. Dad just took her home, he'll make sure she knows you didn't mean it." Ron took a bite of his sandwich and decided not to correct her.

The sun had set already, but there was still enough light that Ron could make out the hills on the horizon, and the wind in the leafless trees. Ron pressed his nose against the window pane, watching the rain drip down the glass. The glass was cold and beginning to fog where he breathed against it, but as long as the condensation didn't obscure his vision he didn't really mind. Ron had heard from his older brothers that it snowed more at Hogwarts, but he had a hard time imagining a place where the snow lasted for more than a few days at a time. Those places belonged in story books, not in the real world.

"What are you looking at?" Ginny asked curiously from her position on the gaudy rug covering the floor of the sitting room. She was doing her math work, like Ron was supposed to be doing, but he just couldn't bring himself to be bothered.

"She's looking at all the lovely snow," Fred sighed. He was slouched in the large armchair by the fireplace, pretending to read the Introduction to Magic for Young Witches and Wizards. It was one of two copies in the house – the other was draped over George's stomach where he lay napping next to Ron on the sofa.

Ginny scowled at Fred, then turned her attention back to Ron. "Ron?"

"Nothing," Ron mumbled. He pursed his lips so that they pressed against the glass and wondered if condensation was the same thing as spit.

George let out a snore, and Ginny giggled. Setting his book down and climbing out of his chair, Fred crept over to where Ron was, snagging Ginny's quill on his way. Ginny started to protest, but Fred pressed a finger to his lips and crouched at George's head. Turning away from the window and the rain, Ron sat back to watch, delighted.

"Give him a mustache," Ron whispered, watching in fascination as Fred carefully traced a pair of glasses that looked suspiciously like Percy's around George's eyes. "And some warts."

"A scar, like Harry Potter," was Ginny's contribution. Fred dutifully added their suggestions, then added fangs and two triangles which might have been horns onto George's forehead. Then he tossed the quill back to Ginny and flopped back into his chair, ignoring the book he was supposed to be reading in favor of staring at his sleeping brother.

After a few seconds where George continued to snore, Ron grew bored again and returned to gazing out the window. Ginny started to fidget, then huffed. "Ron." Ron ignored her. "Ron."

"What?"

"I need help," Ginny said. She lifted her sheet of parchment and waved it at him.

"Go ask Mum."

Ginny pouted. "I don't want to. Can't you just help me?"

"No. Ask someone else."

"Ron," Ginny whined. "I don't get it."

Sighing, Ron turned to her. "Don't get what?"

"Do you add the five first or the three?"

Peering down at her problems, Ron squinted. The one Ginny was asking about seemed to be a problem asking for both addition and subtraction – it wanted her to add two to five and then subtract three. Ron glanced unhappily at his own work, which was sitting innocently on the arm of the sofa. His quill was dripping ink onto the already smudged parchment, but that was the least of his worries. Top by far was the fact that if he didn't do his work, he wouldn't be allowed any desert this evening.

"Ron."

"I dunno, Ginny, go ask Mum," Ron sighed. He turned and pulled his work back onto his lap. He had learned multiplication earlier that year and was currently struggling through basic division, with limited success. It would take all his brain power to do his own problems, he knew, so he didn't have enough to spare for Ginny's, too.

"But I want you to help –"

"Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes," Mum's voice called from the kitchen. Ron looked up, alarmed, and saw an equally panicked expression flicker across Fred's face. George mumbled something, and they all watched him warily until he let out another snore. Fred glanced apprehensively at the doorway, then to George's ink covered face, then back towards the kitchen before he slid off his chair and onto the floor.

"I'll help you, Gin," he said. "Just make sure and tell Mum it was me helping you."

Dear Charlie,

It snowed yesterday and Dad took us sleding at the muggle hill in town. Fred and George were allowed to come to, so it was fun. Hows quidditch ? Are you beating the Slytherins? I wish we could come to see you play, I want to see you win for Gryffindor. Nothing else is interesting, but my birthday is in two weeks! I will be turning 9 years old, and I will only have 2 years left until I can go to Hogwarts!

Ron.

PS Mum says I have to take off my hat but I wont.

Charlie stared glumly at the pile of schoolwork before him. There was a 24 inch lab report for Potions that he hadn't started yet, three new incantations and wand movements to be learned for Charms the next day, and a star chart of the southern hemisphere for which he would need to spend at least three hours in the library. And then there was Ron, who had apparently refused to take off a hat in the two weeks since Aunt Muriel visited.

Sighing, Charlie picked up his quill and pulled a sheet of parchment towards him. Should he start with the Potions report, he wondered, or maybe draw the outline of his star chart? He could probably put off Charms until tomorrow morning, and do it in between classes. Or maybe he should write Ron back. She would be waiting for his letter, probably - he could send the present he'd gotten her in Hogsmeade, take a trip up to the owlery. He liked the owlery.

Charlie was still agonizing over his options when Jack bounded down from the dormitories and flung himself into the chair across from him. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Charlie said immediately, hopefully. "Do you want to go flying?"

Jack sighed. "It's my turn to feed the kneazles."

Over Christmas break, the litter of kneazle kittens had grown to half-size, which meant that they were now the size of normal house cats. They were still living in Hagrids hut, but they now required almost constant supervision, and had to be trained regularly so that they would be ready to sell at the end of the term. Each student had been assigned a kitten to train, and they all took turns feeding them every morning and night. Care of Magical Creatures was Charlie's favorite class, and he would have happily taken on the entire litter if it meant he didn't need to worry about Potions or, Merlin forbid, Transfiguration.

As it turned out, Jack was one of the students who would happily take Charlie up on that deal.

"It has to be twenty-four inches," Charlie said as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. Jack rolled his eyes. "You realize I'm in the same class, right? I'll write it different enough that Slughorn won't know it wasn't you."

Charlie paused at that, and Jack smirked when he caught Charlie's look. "I'll make sure you get a D," he drawled, and now it was Charlie rolling his eyes. "I'm going to train your kneazle to steal people's wands," he warned. Jack laughed. "Just make sure it steals Yaxley's!" he called as Charlie headed for the portrait. "Then maybe we'll have a chance at winning the house cup!"

The snow which covered the grounds was up to Charlie's ankles as he trudged down from the castle. The light in Hagrid's hut was on, but when Charlie knocked there wasn't any answer, and when he carefully pushed the door open (trying not to knock any snow inside), there was no one home. There was, however, a plate of rock cakes carefully arranged on the table, and Charlie happily grabbed a few to stuff in his pockets. While he himself didn't particularly care for them, except on occasion, he had discovered that the owls loved them and Hagrid was always pleased when Charlie asked to take some with him.

The kneazle kittens watched gravely from their enclosure as he pulled the kneazle pellets (Guaranteed to Keep Them Coming Back For More!) out from the closet and spread it in their food tray. Only once he had placed the food in the enclosure and packed everything away did the first, largest of the kittens approach. Then suddenly they were all crowded around, gulping up the food like it was the last meal they would ever have. Charlie rolled his eyes, and snagged another rock cake on his way out.

Dragging his feet, Charlie had almost reached the entrance to the castle when he heard his name called in a wheezing voice from behind. Turning, he saw Professor Kettleburn limping up the path on his peg legs. "Hello, Professor," Charlie greeted him. "I was just feeding the kneazles."

"I thought it was Hartwood's turn tonight?"

"His sister took a spill in the greenhouses," Charlie lied. "He went to visit her in the hospital wing, so I said I'd feed the kneazles for him. I don't think it was anything serious, though, they're probably back in the tower by now."

Professor Kettleburn had started nodding half-way through Charlie's fabricated explanation, and he now interrupted him with "A little pixie told me you had applied to that new program they're running up in Romania. You want to study dragons, eh?"

Charlie straightened, a grin spreading across his face. "Yes, sir, I mailed in my application three days ago. You've been to the sanctuary, haven't you?"

"Oh yes, wonderful place, I was actually hoping to head back there myself this summer to help out with their program." They started together the rest of the way to the castle, and Charlie held the door for Kettleburn as they made their way to the Great Hall. "A friend of mine said they've been receiving quite a few applications, it seems to be popular among men of your age in particular."

Charlie nodded eagerly. "I've always loved dragons, sir, and your class is my favorite. If I'm accepted to the program I'm hoping I might be able to stay on - a friend of my brother's said that they're always looking for new recruits."

"True, true," Professor Kettleburn said. They exited the Great Hall and paused in the hallway. "Well, give Hartwood's sister my regards and keep up the good work, Weasley. I'll be sure to write Melissa and put in a good word for you at the sanctuary."

Charlie still had a grin on his face when he returned to the Gryffindor Common Room. Jack looked up from the Potions book which was spread across his knees. "What's up with you then? Did you feed them?"

"Professor Kettleburn said he would write the sanctuary for me," Charlie said happily. At Jack's alarmed look, he quickly assured him: "Don't worry, I told him Jess took a spill in the greenhouse and you went to check on her." He peered at the parchment. "How's it going?"

"Almost done," Jack said. "Have you started on the Charms we were assigned?"

Charlie pulled the Charms scroll he had on loan from the library out from under the rest of his school work, and settled onto the large couch across from Jack. "'Chameleon charm,'" he read, "'to make an object blend in with its surroundings.'" Taking his wand, he carefully copied the movement outlined in the text and tapped the inkwell on the table "Coloro abscondus!"

The inkwell turned the color of stained parchment, and Jack rolled his eyes. "This," he complained, gesturing at the camouflaged inkwell, "is why you have abysmal study habits, and yet still made prefect."