Ron Weasley had never truly appreciated how lucky he was to have his dad—at least, not until his fifth year at Hogwarts. The realization struck him one evening when he noticed Harry’s faint stubble coming in, yet his best mate did absolutely nothing about it. That’s when it hit Ron: Harry didn’t have anyone to teach him how to shave.
Over the summer, when Ron’s own facial hair had started making its rather unimpressive debut, his dad had sat him down, handed him a razor, and walked him through the process with the same enthusiasm he used when explaining the function of a rubber duck. It had been a simple, almost forgettable moment—until now. Now, watching Harry go without that same experience, Ron knew what he had to do. If Harry’s dad couldn’t be there to teach him, then Ron would.
"Harry, mate," Ron said one evening as they lounged in their dorm, the other boys distracted with their own activities - Seamus was loudly reenacting a Quidditch play, Neville was trying to fend off Trevor from jumping into his trunk, and Dean was scribbling something in a sketchbook. He hesitated for a second, then blurted out, "Do you, uh... want me to teach you how to shave?"
Harry, lying on his bed with his arms behind his head, blinked at him, looking caught off guard. “Oh—uh—yeah, actually. That’d be brilliant,” he admitted, rubbing at the patchy stubble on his chin. “I was gonna have a go at it myself, but... well, you know.” He gave a helpless sort of shrug. “No idea what I’m doing.”
Ron let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. "Right. Yeah. It’s not hard or anything, but if you do it wrong, you’ll end up looking like you had a scrap,with the Whomping Willow."
That got a snort out of Harry. "Sounds about right."
Ron pushed himself up and led Harry into the shared bathroom, where all the boy's toiletries were scattered across the sink in typical teenage boy fashion. He rummaged through his bag. “D’you have a razor?” he asked as he pulled out a slightly battered looking can of shaving gel
"Yeah—managed to scrape together enough money from the couch cushions to get one," Harry said, pulling a still-packaged razor from his bag.
Ron snorted. "Blimey, that’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard."
Harry just shrugged. "It was that or use Dudley’s old one." He said, scrunching up his nose in disgust.
Ron recoiled slightly, also scrunching his nose up in disgust. “Right. Well, first thing—wash your face.”
"Alright," Harry said, turning of the tap cupping his hands under the stream of water and splashing his face a few times before grabbing a towel to dry off. "What next?"
Ron stared at him, horrified. "Bloody hell, Harry, is that really how you wash your face?"
"Yeah?" Harry frowned at his reflection in the mirror. "It gets the dirt off, doesn’t it?"
Ron let out a snort. "Mate, you need to use soap."
"Oh," Harry muttered before reaching for the bar of soap beside the sink, giving it a sceptical look. "This good?"
Ron shrugged. "It’s what I use, so I guess so."
Harry nodded and turned the tap back on, rubbing the soap between his hands until they were covered in lather. Once satisfied, he set the soap down and scrubbed his face, then rinsed off and patted his skin dry with a towel. He glanced at Ron through the mirror. "Good?"
“Much better. Right, now—” Ron handed him the shaving gel. “Put a bit of this on your hand and just rub it over the stubble.”
Harry squirted some of the weird blue gel onto his palm, giving Ron a quick glance to make sure he wasn’t messing it up. Then, he spread it across his face, covering the patches of stubble as best he could.
"Perfect. Right, now you get the razor," Ron said, waiting as Harry tore open the package. "You need to shave in the direction the hair grows."
Harry nodded and lifted the razor to his cheek. "Do I need to, like, press on it?" he asked, glancing at Ron again.
“No, just let the razor do the work. If you press too much, you’ll cut yourself and end up looking like a ruddy vampire victim.”
Harry followed Ron’s instructions, moving cautiously at first. Ron watched, occasionally chiming in with tips, warning Harry not to go too fast and reminding him to rinse the blade often. When Harry finally finished, he grinned at his reflection. “Is that it?”
"Pretty much," Ron nodded. "Just rinse your face with cold water, and you’re done."
As Ron and Harry walked back into the dorm, Neville, Dean, and Seamus were still deep in conversation. Neville glanced up, and his eyes immediately went to Harry’s face.
"Hey—" Neville frowned slightly. "Did you shave?"
Harry rubbed his now-smooth chin and nodded. "Yeah. Ron taught me."
Neville hesitated, glancing at Ron, then back at Harry. He’d noticed a bit of stubble on his own face over the past week, but he hadn’t really known what to do about it. He swallowed, shifting awkwardly. "Was it… hard?"
Ron, now lounging on his bed, shrugged. "Nah, not really. Just gotta know what you’re doing, or you’ll end up looking like you lost a fight with a Hippogriff."
Neville chuckled nervously. "Right. I, uh…" He rubbed at his chin. "I think I might need to learn too."
Ron blinked, then grinned. "Oh—yeah! No problem, mate. I can teach you now, if you want”
Before Neville could respond, Dean, who had been listening quietly, cleared his throat. "Actually… I could probably use a lesson too," he admitted, rubbing the barely-there stubble on his jaw. "No one’s ever shown me how either."
Seamus, who had been leaning back on his bed, suddenly sat up. "Y’know… I mean, my dad showed me once, but that was years ago. Haven’t exactly had him around to remind me." His voice was casual, but there was something forced in the way he said it.
Ron glanced around at the three of them, surprised. "Blimey. Alright then—time for a group lesson. The Weasley School of Shaving, apparently."
Harry smirked. "You should start charging for this."
Ron rolled his eyes but couldn’t help grinning. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t blame me if you all end up with plasters on your faces."
The five of them made their way to the bathroom and Ron walked them through shaving, while Harry watched from beside Ron. Dean, Neville and Seamus followed Ron’s instructions, just as Harry had and after 10 minutes, they were all freshly shaved.
As the five of them stepped back into the dorm, all freshly shaved, there was a brief moment of silence before Seamus ran a hand over his smooth chin and grinned.
"Well, would you look at that? Feels weird, but I reckon I look dead handsome now."
Dean snorted. "Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that." He tilted his head, inspecting his reflection in the window. "Honestly, I think we all just look the same."
Neville, still rubbing at his face, frowned. "I keep thinking I missed a spot."
Ron flopped onto his bed, looking very pleased with himself. "Nah, you lot did alright. No major injuries, no blood, no plasters needed—successful lesson, if I do say so myself."
Seamus, still rubbing his now smooth jaw, suddenly smirked. "You know, this is like one of those father-son 'bonding' moments or whatever."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, like, a proper 'coming-of-age' thing."
Harry snorted. "Father finally taught us to shave."
The others all burst into laughter, Seamus nearly choking as he tried to stifle a cackle.
"Blimey, Ron," Dean grinned, "guess that makes you our honorary dad now."
Ron groaned, shoving a pillow over his face. "Merlin’s balls, don’t even start."
Neville smirked. "Too late, Dad."
Harry leaned back on his bed, still grinning. "Well, you did teach all of us a new life skill. Next thing you know, you’ll be giving us advice on taxes and mortgages."
"Oi, sod off!" Ron threw the pillow at him, but Harry dodged it, laughing.
Seamus stretched out on his bed, looking far too smug. "Reckon you should start tucking us in at night too, Dad."
Dean nodded solemnly. "Read us a bedtime story, maybe?"
Ron groaned again. "I hate all of you."
But he was smiling.
Eventually, their laughter died down, and the five of them settled into their usual easy chatter.
And perhaps, Ron didn’t really mind being their honorary dad.