Unbeknownst to many, Molly Weasley grew up on a farm. She grew up on a farm with two siblings— both of whom were boys. Since her parents were often too busy to mind their daughter’s appearance, all three of the children sported a choppy bowl cut for the first 11 years of their life, much to Molly’s chagrin (the boys did not seem to mind too much). Young Molly resented this family practice greatly as it caused many misunderstandings about her gender among adults, especially next to her brothers. So naturally, Molly grew up to value her wavy, ginger locks and the freedom to let it grow as long as she desired. Her hair was a way to express her femininity in a manner that made her feel undeniably prettier.
Things changed once she had Bill.
As a mother, she had many more responsibilities to worry about that were far more important than her looks. After Bill, there was Charlie, and after Charlie, there was Percy and the twins and simply put, there was no time for Molly to be fretting over her hair as she once did in her youth. So these days, she keeps her hair at about shoulder length, occasionally sporting half-up pigtails if she needs her hair out of her face.
However, deep inside, Molly still yearned for someplace to project her inner desires. All of her children have been boys so far.
Until Elizabeth.
Elizabeth was her first daughter, named after Elizabeth I of England. Fierce and stubborn, the girl was notably intelligent from a young age, albeit a bit lazy at times. She began to speak earlier than all her siblings but one (Charlie), and could play an impressive match of Wizard’s Chess by the age of 8. And yet, Molly could never really truly get the girl to dress like, well, a girl.
At first, it was merely convenient. She was grateful that her child wasn’t trying to grow up too fast, like wearing makeup or nail polish before she even started Hogwarts. It saved money too. Despite Arthur’s position at the ministry, it took a lot of money to care for seven children. But over time, it became glaringly obvious that Elizabeth was not outgrowing this tomboyish mindset, especially when compared to her younger sister.
Ginny, only a year younger than her sister, was quite different from Elizabeth. She was fiery and graceful where Elizabeth was timid and rough. She also showed much more interest in dressing up than her sister ever had. The older of the two had decided from a young age that she disliked the color pink, skirts, dresses, and any sign of femininity besides her long, auburn hair.
Her hair.
For the first 11 years of life, her mother found great difficulty in getting her hair even trimmed because god forbid she clean up any split ends. Where Ginny didn’t care much for her hair, Elizabeth found great pride in hers. She hated change and her hair was no different. It was one of the few things she had control over, appearance wise. Nearly all of her clothes were either hand-me-downs from older cousins or hand sewn garments from her mother. She rarely had the option to buy new clothes or wear something the boys had grown out of that Molly deemed unisex enough. When she did get to buy new clothes, it was always a fight with Molly; she wasn’t allowed to wear clothes that were too boyish or made her already-petite stature appear even shorter. This included baggy clothes and her brothers’ clothes.
The tension between Elizabeth and Molly was impossibly thick by the time Fred and George started Hogwarts. With only Ginny and Elizabeth left at home during the school year, the attention was all focused on the two. It did not help that her youngest had begun to show immense interest in Quidditch. She had hoped at least one of her daughters would pick up a less rowdy hobby but if it helped the kids bond, she would turn a blind eye to it.
Things only escalated by the time Elizabeth was 11. She fought adamantly with her mother over the summer, pushing her not to buy a new uniform just for her for the upcoming school year. She could “just wear Fred’s old one.” Of course, Molly took this as a personal offense, claiming that Elizabeth had to be madly ungrateful to not accept a chance at new clothing. It was nothing new. However, the back and forth banter had Arthur stepping in to cease the crossfire when it got too heated and Ginny “going to bed early” so she didn’t have to hear their voices. Molly didn’t need to know that she ended up sneaking Fred’s old uniform into her suitcase anyways.
Since Ginny and Elizabeth shared a room, it did not become uncommon for the younger to slip into Elizabeth’s bed halfway through the night.
Tonight was not an exception.
Molly had been especially pushy lately for Elizabeth to wear this frilly, baby blue dress with a neat bow on the back and a lace trim across the edges to their cousin’s wedding earlier that day. Elizabeth gave in eventually, tired of fighting all the time. Tired of having to scream and shout just to be heard and then ignored regardless. These days, it felt as if her mother was too excited for her to start school, to finally get rid of her troublesome presence. The wedding had lasted from early evening to past midnight.
During that time, Elizabeth had stuck closely to Ginny and Percy. She plastered a porcelain smile on her face and participated in the wedding games and even the dance floor for a little under a half hour. God knows her lovely cousin didn’t deserve to have her wedding ruined by one of Elizabeth’s outbursts. She was happy for her, she truly was, but she just couldn’t stand the feeling of open air against her exposed shoulders and collarbones, her long hair pinned and adorned with delicate flowers that itched at her scalp, and the piercing clack of her chipped, white, 2-inch heels that Molly insisted she wear with the dress. All of her brothers wore suits, albeit a little tattered and faded. Nevertheless, it sounded much better than her current situation.
Determined to make it through the night, Elizabeth let her mind float outside of her body, looking on as a spectator. It was easier to ignore the nausea in her gut that way. Luckily, she had the foresight to not fill her plate with much. Grabbing just enough food to not be suspicious and giving whatever she didn’t manage to finish to George.
Standing on the left of Ginny and their mom and on the right of her brothers and their dad for family pictures, it was strikingly obvious that she was a girl. There was no doubt about it. The thought only made her stomach churn and her mind drift farther from her body.
By 11 pm, she couldn’t take it anymore. So, she was sitting at her table, watching the guests party on the dancefloor when Bill came over. Percy had gone outside to supervise Fred and George on the balcony and Ginny had gone to get more fruit. Their table was in the far corner where the lights were dimmed so she wasn’t really worried about keeping up the charade at that moment.
“Hey Liz, you doing alright?” Bill questioned softly, taking a seat next to her.
“Yeah, just tired.” She responded, voice uncharacteristically airy and fading away at the end.
“Hm…”
They sat in silence like that for a few minutes, Elizabeth with her gaze trained on the dance floor but not really seeing and Bill beside her, rubbing small circles into her back.
After a few minutes of this, she was unwillingly pulled back into her body. The first thing she was aware of was her palms against the grainy texture of the seat. Her arms and legs tingled faintly and her eyes slowly came into focus. And then all at once, a wave of feelingwashed over her body. The music was drilling into her head where it was previously blocked out and the itchiness of the dress hit her at full force. She had to get out.
“Sorry, I need to use the restroom for a minute.”
Not looking back, she detached herself from Bill and headed straight for the bathroom. If she were any more level headed, she might have noticed the concerned look he threw her way as she left.
Walking just slow enough that it wasn’t obvious she was in a rush, Elizabeth made her way through the corridor, letting the music fade into the distance at every turn. Eventually, she found a secluded nook far enough from the venue that she could safely slide down the wall and sit down. Head between her knees, the wide skirt pooling around her legs.
She didn’t cry. Girls cried and Elizabeth didn’t feel anything close to a girl.
She didn’t cry but if when Percy found her, draping his suit jacket over her shoulders and pulling her into a warm embrace, a few tears trailed down her cheeks, nobody has to know.
She didn’t cry but if when Fred and George picked the lock to her and Ginny’s shared bedroom, only to push their beds together so they could all cuddle, Elizabeth in the middle, a few damp spots appeared on George’s pajama shirt, nobody has to know.
—
The school year was also off to a rough start. Apparently, the stairs at Hogwarts had refused to let her up to the girl’s dormitory. Dumbledore himself had to cast a spell that would allow her up.
Fred and George had snickered and joked that it was obviously because Elizabeth was more man than Percy. It had meant to sting but she couldn’t do more than punch Fred weakly in the shoulder and laugh along. Something about the comment released a flurry of butterflies in her stomach, lifting a bit of weight off her shoulders that she had forgotten was there.
So much happened during first year that in perspective, a haircut really didn’t seem all that scary of a change anymore to Elizabeth. Compared to a, quite literally, deadly game of chess and her best friend nearly getting killed by an evil wizard? She figured a bit of change in hair would not be too bad this year. So that summer, Elizabeth asked her mom to cut her healthy, waist length hair to her shoulders, layered if possible. Surprised but not unhappy, Molly complied. At the first sign of nerves, Molly had simply reassured Elizabeth that “it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”
She loved it. The awkward phase lasted maybe three days before it settled into loose waves that rested on her shoulders and framed her face nicely. With that first haircut overcome, she asked to borrow the scissors.
What she purposefully didn’t mention was that she would be taking the scissors to Hogwarts.
—
The first night back, she had waited until her two other roommates were asleep. Quietly, she pulled back the curtains on Hermione’s bed.
“Hermione,” she whispered.
Blearily, Hermione blinked the sleep out of her eyes as she turned her head towards the direction of the noise.
“Liz? What are you doing awake at this hour?”
“Can you come to the bathroom with me?”
“Er, alright. Why?”
“You’ll see,” Elizabeth huffed as she headed to the dorm bathroom, Hermione quickly trailing behind.
Once in the bathroom, Elizabeth locked the door and pulled out a small case she had sheathed away in her hoodie pocket (she liked to sleep with Charlie’s old hoodie on because it was “warmer” that way.)
“Can you help me cut my hair?”
“Uh, I don’t really have much experience with cutting hair”
“You just have to make sure it’s even in the back, alright?”
“Alright.”
They spent roughly an hour in the bathroom, chatting away and catching up over the summer as Elizabeth carefully chopped away at her hair with thinning shears and Hermione evened up the back. By the time they were done, Elizabeth ended up with a shaggy haircut that missed her shoulders by an inch. It was undeniably messy.
“Are you sure it isn’t too short?” Hermione questioned as they cleaned up the mess they made.
“It’s perfect. Thanks ‘Mione,” Elizabeth claimed, taking Hermione’s hands into her own.
And how could Hermione deny that smile? She had never seen her friend so happy.
She smiled back, “I’m glad you like it.”
The haircut was androgynous enough that most people didn’t question it. Although, she did get quite a few compliments from girls, a feat that made her giddy even if she didn’t know why it did.
—
People often wondered why THE Harry Potter hanged out with two girls or if he secretly liked any of them. To people who actually knew them, it was obvious that that wasn’t the case. If anything, Elizabeth was more like his best buddy. They roughhoused and were brash and dumb around each other. Hermione was often supervising the two. It seemed she was the brains of the bunch.
Elizabeth was no prodigy at quidditch but she wasn’t bad. And yet, she felt some sort of despair when Ginny joined the team. Constantly overshadowed by Harry’s “greatness,” it hurt her pride to be worse at Quidditch than Harry (who had never picked up a broom before 1st year.) But that was different because Harry’s a boy. Ginny was a girl and for some reason it hurt that she was better than Elizabeth at something like quidditch. Not that she wasn’t proud of her or something, but Ginny was younger than her and better than her at something all of the guys did, something he’s been doing
Ginny was Mum’s favorite daughter and Harry her favorite son. So where did that leave Elizabeth? She often wondered what life would be like if she was a son. If she was taller, had a deeper voice or sharper features. If she didn’t have to wear dresses, makeup, elaborate hair accessories.
Regardless, it was growing up between Harry and Ginny that made Elizabeth realize. She had always envied her older brothers. But that’s what they were. Older brothers. They were grown. It made sense they had things she didn’t.
Nonetheless, watching Harry, who was the same age as her, mature was nothing short of psychological torture. While her hips widened and chest grew, Harry’s arms grew muscle and voice dropped. It eventually got to the point where she had mastered changing clothes with her eyes closed to avoid the mirror. The mirror always freaked her out. It cruelly reminded her of her wide hips, heavy thighs, and short stature. It sent spiders crawling up her spine to see somebody on the other side of the glass who she logically knew was her but wasn’t at the same time.
Mum had never truly ever succeeded in getting Elizabeth to wear a real bra. Lately, she even found herself layering two sports bras on top of each other, both with the padding removed. Even though her chest did not grow much through puberty, it was still noticeable despite her attempts to hide it.
This fact had always rubbed her the wrong way. It was blatantly unfair that she had to go the extra mile for her chest to appear flat, which was never a hundred percent successful by the way, whilst boys just naturally came with a flat chest. Similarly, boys were often taller. Elizabeth knew Harry was… malnourished and that’s why she could keep up with his height for the first 2-3 years but, after that, she felt left behind. Even Hermione was an inch taller than her by the end of 3rd year.
It did not help that she naturally had a round face and a higher pitched voice. Something that she saw other girls, including Ginny, gracefully grow into, where Elizabeth only grew more into herself. Her poor posture and baggy clothing did not help with her already short stature, but she couldn’t look at herself otherwise.
—
Two weeks ago, she had been hiding in the Astronomy Tower, unable to face anybody at the moment.
Hermione had convinced Elizabeth to sneak into the kitchens during dinner with her to say goodbye to the house-elves before they leave. “It’ll be fun,” she said.
On the way there, Professor Mcgonagall happened to catch them heading the opposite direction of the Great Hall.
“Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, I’m going to have faith that you are planning to turn back around,” she paused, raising her eyebrow for emphasis, “and sit through dinner like the rest of your peers?”
“Yes, of course Professor, we were just…”
Hermione came up with some genius excuse as usual. But Elizabeth heard none of it. She was still stuck on the part when Mcgonagall had called her Mr. Weasley. Having five older brothers, all of whom were gryffindors, it makes sense that their head of house would confuse her with her brothers at least once. And yet, it didn’t feel like that at all, like a statistically probable mix-up. Even unintentional, it didn’t feel like a mixup at all.
It felt right.
That is how she- he? That is how he found himself, hours later, sitting in a corner of the Astronomy tower, tracing patterns into the dust that reside on the stone tile.
Even though Fred and George were chronic pranksters, it was no doubt that they truly did love their siblings. With Bill living in Egypt, Charlie in Romania, and Percy drifting further away from the family, they were the usually the oldest siblings around. Ironically, they were arguably the most immature as well.
So, when Elizabeth felt as if he couldn’t go to his parents for something, with Arthur’s ignorance and Molly’s stubbornness, he went to the twins. He assumes that is how they found him so easily anyway.
It was not past curfew yet so he’s honestly surprised anybody was looking for him already. Then again, he did throw the lame excuse of “I need to go” before promptly dissapearing the second Mcgonagall had her back turned instead of heading to dinner or the kitchens with Hermione.
“Lizzyyyyy, you up here?”
He looked up right in time to see both of the twins stumble through the doorway, clearly out of breath, squinting around the dark tower.
“Over here,” he called out, voice losing its confidence at the end.
Both heads snapped in his direction as they spotted his balled up form on the ground. It was Fred who kneeled in front of him, half jokingly ruffling his hair before Elizabeth swatted it away with a scowl.
“Okay kiddo-”
“Not a kid,” he intercepted.
“Sureekid,” George said as Fred dramatically shoved his index finger in Elizabeth’s face to prevent him from interrupting again.
“Why’d you run away earlier? Hermione said she couldn’t find you and-”
“Harry said you had the map since you troublemakers were using it this morning,” George easily finished his sentence.
Two pairs of eyes bore into his own, perfectly content to wait him out until he said something.
“Professor Mcgonagall called me Mr. Weasley when she caught me and Hermione sneaking to the kitchens,” he admitted, eyes landing on his shoes.
The twins laughed, “Oh, well, don’t work yourself up about that, it was about time honestly.”
“Yeah, good Ol’ Minnie’s just getting up there in age, ya know, and having known seven of us?”
“But... what if I liked it?” he hesitated.
The pair quickly fell silent in contemplation at that. “Bloody hell, well then I figure that that would make you a bloke, wouldn’t it?”
Elizabeth looked up at that. “Wouldn’t that be, y’know, weird though?”
“Mate, you’ve been weird, with those freakish chess abilities of yours and such”
“It’s not that weird,” he mumbled, despite the small smirk appearing on his face.
“We already have, what, five brothers in this family? What’s one more?” George shrugged.
“I s’pose…”
“Well if you’re a bloke, don’t you need a bloke name?” asked Fred. “How ‘bout James?”
“Richard?”
His nose scrunched in distaste. To be honest, he has had a name in the back of his mind for a while…
Arthur once joked that if they had any more sons, they would run out of royals to name them after that didn’t repeat initials. (Molly was insistent they must have a different first initial so that their Christmas sweaters were all unique.) Curious, a young Elizabeth found an old book in The Burrow’s tiny office room with the entire lineages of European muggle royalty.
One of the names had stuck out to him almost immediately.
“Or Ronald? Ron for short?”
“That’ll work,” the twins nodded in unison, “Now get off the floor, Harry snuck you some food into the common room.”
They made quick work of hauling Ron up and heading back to Gryffindor’s common room before curfew, but not before punching him lightly in the shoulder and trussing up his hair.
If after “dinner,” Ron crawled into Hermione’s bed, sobbing nearly incoherently into her arms about how he’s a boy right as she set about a silencing charm, nobody needs to know.
And unbeknownst to them all, as Ron told somebody his name for the first time, the Weasley family clock that hung in the kitchen of The Burrow underwent a slight change.
—
Now, it was the last day of school and Molly hadn’t found out about Ron’s new name yet or even his haircut. So far, he’s only told Hermione, Harry, and Ginny, none of whom were all that surprised. Ginny honestly just said “about time” and patted him on the back. Harry, on the other hand, had squinted at him and asked if it was supposed to be a secret.
As he sat in the train compartment on the way back to London, he couldn’t help but pick at his already-torn cuticles and occasionally bounce his leg. Eventually, Hermione had enough of his nervous habits and simply took his right hand into her left, effectively stopping his ministrations and continuing their conversation without missing a beat. After what happened with Scabbers and Sirius, it was weird that returning home would be the last straw of his sanity. Honestly, he’s worried about Harry. He hates having to let him return back to that house, especially after last summer when he witnessed the bars on his friend’s bedroom window.
He kicks Harry’s shin from across the small compartment to catch his attention, tilting his head when they make eye contact to question if he’s doing alright.
He understands what Ron’s getting at, thankfully, and returns a reassuring nod before responding to something Hermione had said.
Luckily though, Harry will be spending most of his summer at The Burrow this year. So, he reckons that he’s allowed to worry about himself a little bit too. He loves Harry, he really does, but honestly Mum probably loves Harry more than him anyway. Therefore, he’s sure his mate will be well cared for this time.
Hermione, the blessing that she is, had offered to magically grow his hair back before summer break. Although that would definitely prevent another fight with her mother so soon, his entire being screamed for her not to. He doesn’t know how long he would be able to handle having to hide himself after the whole year he spent not needing to.
So he declined.
Luggage in one hand and an unopened chocolate frog box in the other, Ron Weasley got off the Hogwarts Express. He spotted his family fairly quickly. Considering he basically just had to look for a gaggle of ginger hair, it wasn’t that hard.
“Oh Elizabeth, there you are- what happened to your hair?” his mother called out, frowning, once she saw him heading over.
All preparation for this moment flew out the window the second he was within five feet of his mother.
“Er…” he stumbled eloquently, “I spilt a potion on it during class so Hermione helped me trim it a bit.”
“Hm. We’ll talk about this later,” Molly admonished.
They never talked about it later.
It became a common trend between them. If Ron had done something Molly didn’t like, she wouldn’t say anything about it until she was especially agitated and reprimanded him for everything he’s ever done at once.
Lately, however, Mum had gotten the habit of tossing off-the-shoulder remarks about him casually to nobody in particular while clearly knowing he would hear it.
Once, she even left an old, framed photo of Ron from when he was about seven years old on the kitchen table, claiming she had just found it while cleaning. The breach of the subject allowed her to openly wallow about how she “misses her daughter” and reminisce on how “she used to be so cute, what happened?”
It only served to make Ron lose his appetite for the day instead of incentivizing him to be more of a girl, contrary to what his mother seemed to believe.
As a result, Ron spent most of his time playing chess with Harry and Percy, helping test the twins’ new experiments, and practicing quidditch with anybody who wanted to, which was usually Ginny.
Nobody has explicitly said that he’s trans out loud yet, but he thinks Percy has started to catch on. At first, his older brother sent questioning glances over the newspaper he was reading in the living room the first few times he heard the others refer to him as “they” or called him “Ronald.” Ronald was ridiculous enough that they could pass it off as a silly name, despite the fact they all had quite posh sounding names, especially Ginevra “Ginny” Weasley. Soon enough, Percy was doing it too, even if he usually only talked to him to scold him for something.
Ron honestly decided he would never outright tell their parents unless they directly asked him. He knew his dad was less confrontational than his mom, but they shared similar views nonetheless. Despite preaching that they accepted everybody, it was clear expectations were different when it came to their own children.
It was one thing for somebody else’s kid to be trans and another for their own, because they knew their kids and there’s no way any of their kids could be trans. They raised them better than that. And what would other adults say?
By the end of the summer, Molly had come up with a ridiculous number of restrictions on his clothing. She insisted that if he just stopped “hiding in his clothes,” he would be more confident in his body. Similarly, she relented how her friends and other adults were beginning to raise questions about the way he dressed. It was one thing for a young girl to dress so tomboyish and another for a teenager. He obviously wasn’t growing out of “the phase” Molly insisted it was.
So, she came up with a “compromise” that consisted of Ron dressing at least halfway femininely until he was an adult. Molly tried to reason that if he wanted to dress like a boy and she wanted him to dress like a girl, then a fair compromise would be for him to dress in a way that makes it obvious he’s a girl but still a little more masculine.
Bullshit.
Compromises require a near equal sacrifice from both parties. But Ron knew what she really meant, even if she didn’t say it outloud. She was scared of what other people thought of their family. It was bad enough that they were one of, if not THE poorest pureblood wizarding family, that her oldest two children already moved so far away right after graduation, and that twins were always such troublemakers. Ron being trans would only add more fuel to the fire. He understood how much appearances meant to his mother, how she spent her entire adolescence unable to be pretty or popular.
And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Now, he had to be extra cautious of what he wore. His outfits had to fit the occasion, not be too baggy it made him look shorter, and be feminine in some way. He can’t even wear a jacket if it was not absolutely necessary, and the jacket had to get approved too. She had even gone so far as to prohibit him from cutting his hair again. Luckily for him, he HAD agreed for Hermione to help brew a potion that would stop his hair from growing for roughly a month. And, she too would be staying over at The Burrow for a bit to watch the Quidditch World Cup over the summer so she could help him trim his hair if necessary.
Of course, none of these rules stopped him from wearing what he wanted half the time anyway. The twins often gave him their hand-me-downs secretly and Ginny would sometimes even buy a matching jacket or sweater with him that was slightly more masculine so it was harder for Molly to object to him wearing it.
Feeling suffocated any time he was near his mother, Ron found himself spending increasingly larger amounts of time in the attic with Harry, who was usually content to do his own separate thing just with a bit of company. When he wasn’t in his room, he could often be found in Charlie and Bill’s room. Nobody has inhabited it since Charlie moved to Romania.
Sometimes, Ron likes to fantasize that the room was his, that he gets to move into this room or even the attic after his parents accept him as a boy. It had been convenient when they were younger for Ginny and Ron to share rooms as most of their siblings had, other than Percy. Additionally, they were both girls so the room was easier to decorate.
But looking at it now, there was nothing in his and Ginny’s room that indicated it was his room. Ginny’s walls were decorated with Quidditch things and her shelf filled with her journals. She even has a small area dedicated for her Pygmy Puff.
It is a stark contrast to Ron’s side of the room, which largely felt impersonal and lifeless. Most of the decor and furniture in the room came from both of their baby showers, gifts from aunts, uncles, etc. before they were born. It featured soft, baby pink floral decals, purple castle themed shelves, and even a butterfly height chart. Oddly enough, Ron had grown to find comfort in the room, a feeling he often resents himself for. The thought that if he were a real boy, he would not find comfort in such a feminine room plagued him. Yet again, this is the room he grew up in. This is the room where he lost his first tooth and hid his and Ginny’s stash of candy that they forgot about until it rotted.
So, to avoid the complex emotions that came with sitting in his childhood bedroom, Ron spent a lot of his time in his eldest brothers’ bedroom. It helped that their rooms were on the same floor, the first floor. He remembers when Bill and Charlie would sneak into his and Ginny’s bedroom when they were real young to build a blanket fort. The challenge was to be quiet enough that the others didn’t wake up. They failed most of the time, leading to a clumsy pair of twins, who dragged a begrudging Percy along with them, to join the activity halfway through the night. It was not often that their parents caught them though, considering they slept on the fourth floor, separated from the kids’ bedrooms by the bathroom on the third floor.
He misses those days, when gender meant nothing. Childhood, a time when the only visible difference between him and the twins was how they were dressed. It was also a time when he trusted his mother blindly, when he knew he could come to her for anything and she would help him, no doubt. Now, that doubt has built an unbridgeable gap between the two, emotionally.
Thankfully, the school year was right around the corner. He can not believe a time has come when he honestly preferred being at school than at home. Hermione could not believe it either.
—
The school year was already off to a rocky start. Apparently, the Triwizard Tournament would be hosted at Hogwarts this year and their new Defense Against the Dark Arts was bonkers. Hogwarts would be housing both students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. Ron would be lying if he said that the girls from Beauxbatons were unattractive.
Additionally, the stairs to the girls’ dormitory had stopped letting him up again. This time, however, he asked Dumbledore to be put in the boys dormitory. Seeing as the stairs are never wrong, the man had merely hummed before saying, “I believe there is an extra bed in Potter’s dorm,” and leaving to attend to other, probably more important, matters.
Most kids did not really care about the fact that Ron was a boy and adjusted easily. It helped that he was beginning to pass. They were still young enough that his higher pitched voice and short frame did not stick out too much yet. Those who did try and bother him though were effortlessly fended off by the twins who had really started to perfect their pranking skills. Honestly, Ron was just giving Fred and George more opportunities to test their experiments at this point.
—
When Harry first got selected for the tournament, Ron was sure that he had to have put his name in. How could he not? It was Ginny who convinced him otherwise.
“Have you ever known him to purposefully attract attention to himself like that? It’s bad enough that he’s always getting roped into You-Know-Who’s plans.”
She made a valid point there.
So, Ron made it his goal to try and earn back Harry’s trust. God knows his friend needed all the support he could get, starting with the dragons Charlie owled him about.
Furthermore, with the Triwizard Tournament came the Yule Ball. He couldn’t ask Hermione, could he? She’s a girl and she's a gorgeous one at that.
But Hermione has known him since first year so there’s still a strong possibility that even though he's already out to her, she still views him as a girl. He would get it if she does think that way. He might have too if he was her, truthfully.
Putting his worries aside, Ron builds up the courage to ask Hermione to the ball in an empty corridor with shaking hands and a box of chocolates. Girls like chocolate, right? He’s pretty sure he’s seen Hermione eat chocolate before.
Surprisingly, she says yes.
That weekend, she tells him that Krum asked her to the dance too, the day after Ron did. He’s relieved that he asked when he did then, and also a little giddy that THE Viktor Krum asked his best friend out. Or his date? He supposes he can call her his date now, huh?
Then, there is the problem with his outfit. His mom had sent him a frilly, maroon dress-gown item a few weeks prior. It had the entire Gryffindor table laughing at how ugly it looked over breakfast. He hoped it was for Ginny and that Mum had sent it to the wrong offspring. Unfortunately, it was definitely meant for him and he had nothing else he could wear.
Later, during the Yule Ball, he would realize that Mum had bought Ginny a new dress and the twins proper suits for the dance, even if a bit worn, while his outfit was clearly beyond traditional and almost as feminine as it was ridiculous looking. Hermione had been able to get rid of some of the ruffles and lace but that was as much as she could do without seriously damaging the damned thing.
Honestly, the only thing holding him together was giggling with Hermione as they stumbled across the dance floor, trying to avoid running into their peers. Ron was never a great musician and made an even worse dancer. Hermione was not half as bad but she too was inexperienced in slow dancing.
It may have been even more entertaining to watch Harry dance with one of the Patil twins, who obviously was not really interested in him as a person. Ron supposes that is fair as Harry was not interested in her either. They both just needed somebody to dance with. However, that did make for quite the awkward batch of interactions.
Little did Ron know that two days ago, as Molly Weasley was finishing knitting Christmas sweaters for all of her children, including Harry and Hermione, something had caught her eye. Leaning back in her rocking chair, Molly was finishing up the bottom of the last sweater, Ron’s, when she saw it. The Weasley family clock. Molly only wears her glasses when she knits these days, which is the only reason she was able to see it in the first place; the name on the arm of the clock that belonged to her second youngest child had changed. Where the letters used to spell out Elizabeth, they now read Ronald, in the same bold font as the rest of the arms. Since she had enchanted the clock herself, she knew it was no accident or prank. It was the truth.
That night, Molly had stayed up an extra three hours, knitting.
By the time the trio had left the ball, which was early on purpose, Hermione was able to easily use the invisibility cloak and a shrinking charm to sneak into Harry and Ron’s dorm along with all of her Christmas gifts. The group had agreed to hold off on the presents in the morning so that they could all open them together after the ball. They sat in a circle atop Ron’s bed, curtains drawn closed with a silencing charm encapsulating them.
They took turns opening presents one by one until they reached the last set of gifts. So far, he had gotten a proper binder from Hermione, (something about taking care of his health) a bunch of chocolate frogs from his siblings, and a Chudley Cannons hat from Harry. He had hugged them both for that. However, each of them also had a gift addressed to them from his Mum, all wrapped using the same white and red striped wrapping paper. This one they decided to all open at the same time and last considering it was obvious what it was going to be.
Tearing open the wrapping paper, Ron’s heart stopped as he saw the contents of the box. Sitting neatly folded in the small cardboard box was a gryffindor-red sweater. It was exactly what he expected but not really at the same time. The sentiment was different. Just like every year, the sweater contained his first initial on the front. But unlike every year, this one held his real initial.
There on the front of the sweater was a bold, golden ‘R’.
His hands shook slightly as he went to take it out of the box, afraid it might disappear if he touched it. Unwillingly, he could feel tears begin to silently cascade down his face as he wrapped his fingers around the soft fabric.
“Ron? You alright there, mate?”
He hadn’t realized he had gone completely silent. Ron looked up to see two pairs of concerned eyes staring back at him, both of his friends already wearing their own customized Christmas sweater.
Unable to form any words yet, he simply held up the sweater in front of his torso, frontside facing them.
“Oh Ron…”
“I’m so happy for you, dude”
Two pairs of arms snaked around his shoulders, engulfing him in a tight embrace that seemed to shield him from the world at that moment. And Ron knew.
This is how it felt to be acknowledged. This is how it felt to be known and loved for who you really are.
In the morning, Ron will wake up to find his friends still there beside him, a tangle of limbs that he would rather die than ever be ungrateful for.