Explore-io?
There were many things one could say about Ron Weasley, if one were to remember he was there. He was clever and wicked good at strategy (dodging pranks for years tended to give a person an uncanny ability to hide), he was kind to animals (especially since animals were the only creatures who ever gave him any time of day), and he absolutely loved strawberry jam on toast (because he could make it for himself when his mum inevitably forgot to wake him up for breakfast after dealing with his siblings in the morning.) If one were to categorize Ron Weasley past “the smallest ginger boy one” or “I don’t know, kid number one hundred or something” or “pest” (Percy) or “mistake” (Fred) or “runt” (George) or “Ronnie” (Mum) or “kiddo” (Dad) or “hey, leave me alone, boys are always ruining everything, MUM!” (Ginny) or “give our love to everyone else” (Bill and Charlie), one would say he was an adventurer.
The holidays and summers were always the worst for Ron, who spent most months out of the year living with his sister and parents (who were still distracted but not as much and never forgot him for meals), being tutored, exploring the farm around the Burrow, and writing plans for what new and undiscovered thing he’d find when he went to Hogwarts. He was going to make a name for himself there, and, in the meantime, hopefully figure out how to avoid his brothers for the next five or so years.
Luna, who lived just a few miles down from their lake (“It’s really a swamp, Mother, I don’t see why you can’t just spell it away and clean this place up a little” “Eat your dinner, Percy.”), once told Ron that she could give him a necklace of Hideywink Shells that would help keep him invisible, but he told her that wasn’t too much of a problem for him. She patted his head like she wasn’t a whole other year younger than him and went to play with Ginny.
Summers were the worst because it meant three months of brothers who, at best, wouldn’t give him the time of day, and at worst, would. The problem with being the sixth son was that any time he complained about the tricks his brothers played on him or the things they would say to him, his mom never had time to talk about it and his dad told him to put his “chin up”.
“I would have loved having brothers growing up, kiddo. They’re just teasing, try not to be so sensitive, ok, bud?” And then he’d go into his workshop or play quidditch with the twins or help set the dinner table or go back to work and Ron would be standing there with shaky hands, and a newly acquired phobia of spiders.
It’s not like Ron was an idiot, either. Of course being eleven to the twins’ thirteen made him a baby in their eyes. Percy was even older, newly made prefect and a pain in the arse, and Bill and Charlie only wrote home once a month. Ginny and him used to be close but they were fighting because of some stupid reason (she wouldn’t tell him and kept slamming the door in his face) and his parents had spent most nights in quiet conferences in the kitchen trying to figure out how to afford Ron’s cauldron and wand since they had promised Percy new robes for his dumb, shiny badge.
Ron had floated the idea of going to Beauxbatons at one point. (France was home to Verity Vance, a witch who wrote “100 Discoveries of the New Wixen Age” and Bill, who probably didn’t know he existed but was so, so cool, said that most of his Egyptian friends who worked in the catacombs had gone to Beauxbatons through their exchange program. It sounded amazing.) His dad ruffled his head when he got up the courage to ask one night, and chuckled and said, “wouldn’t that be something, kiddo,” and that was the end of that.
Ron wasn’t selfish enough to hate being poor (all the best and exciting stories started with that—Aladdin was his favorite) and he wasn’t uncharitable enough to truly even hate his siblings (Fred and George did let him sleep in their room that one time), but he longed for just one day where he could be the hero, the adventurer, the main character in a quest so important, so awesome, that even Bill would come home and say, “Good job, Ron.”
“Ronald, dear, please stop daydreaming and let’s go.” His mum held out the floo powder and looked at him like she always did, exasperated and distracted, as she shooed Ginny into the fireplace. His brothers had gone ahead, pushing Percy into the floo, disappearing in a poof and a stream of curses that he was sure would have earned all three of his brothers two weeks of kitchen duty, if his mom had even been paying attention.
They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron in a whirlwind of sound and, in his mother’s case, fury because she had to pull Percy off of George while Fred was chanting “fight! fight! fight!”. (They had snuck into a muggle movie theater last month and told Ron all about it. Fred and George had been quoting it ad nauseam much to his parents’ confusion.)
“Boys!” The whole inn and dining area seemed to shrink at his mom’s sharp rebuke—Tom even bowed his head in her direction. “Mother, they started it.” Percy stood imperiously with his arms crossed. Fred and George stepped back with their hands up, shaking their heads (George whispered, “Boo, you whore!” and Fred snickered). Percy straightened his sweater and stuck his nose up, “Whatever.”
As she launched into a lecture that Ron knew would at least be 20 minutes, he wandered over to the bar and sat on the stool. Tom passed him a fizzy water with lemon and a wink.
“Wha’ new adventures are ya on this year, lad?”
Ron grinned and tossed the water back and rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand quickly, like he watched Bill do one time with his dad’s secret stash of firewhiskey. He used a deeper voice and whispered, “Alas, nothing new yet. Have you anything?”
Tom nodded conspiratorially and jerked his thumb towards the private rooms downstairs. A lot of people his dad worked with at the Ministry would rent them for important working lunch meetings or a location closer to Gringott’s. (The goblins still wouldn’t allow the Ministry to attach a Floo entrance to their lobby. Ron’s dad and Bill got into a fight about it over Boxing Day last year, with Bill calling his dad a lot of names Ron didn’t understand and his dad calling Bill “idealistic” and “young”. Bill hadn’t been home since.)
“Word ‘round the Alley is the minister went in there about three hours ago and a bunch of pretty prom’nent folks have been running in ‘n out like chickens wit their ‘eads cut off.”
Ron’s eyes widened. He looked back at his family, his mom still in full swing, three brothers looking significantly cowed. Another fifteen at least then. Ginny was looking out the window across the room, and, just like this whole summer, not paying him one iota of attention.
“Tom, it was great talking with you but I have to use the restroom, thanks, mate, bye!” Tom winked as Ron slipped off the chair and headed in the direction of the facilities. Before he got there, he took a sharp left into the alcove off the main room, and jumped behind a large curtain that covered it when not in use. Several shoes scurried by and when the path seemed clear, he quietly exited his hiding space. He crept towards the first private room. The door was cracked and surprisingly, Ron could hear voices coming out. He congratulated himself on his good luck that whoever it was forgot to set the privacy wards when they walked in.
“…and if you think for one second we’ll just sit here and wait for your approval to act, you’re dafter than a flobberworm.” Ron hid behind a large planter and listened to the angry male voice.
“Just calm down gentleman—“
Ron winced as he heard glass breaking like someone threw some against the wall.
A lower voice hissed, “Don’t give them a reason, Siri.”
An arrogant sounding sniff and then the second voice chimed in again, “This is why we have protocols in place, I’d listen to your werewolf, Black. Bones is already facing an inquiry for not following protocol, Potter is refusing to cooperate with his superiors, his damned wife supporting his insubordination no doubt, and your “handling” of this situation has caused the prime suspect to flee and a child go missing.”
The first voice responded icily, “It’s Lupin-Black, Minister Fudge, that werewolf is my husband, and if you would stop blocking us at every turn, we would have both the traitor and Harry right now.”
A thump against wood practically shook the door. Minister Fudge’s voice (Ron recognized it now) sounded like he was chewing rocks and he yelled, “You will NOT jeopardize our treaty with the goblins to use unauthorized artifacts to trace people, even if that person is Harry Potter! I don’t care what rights you say you have to your esteemed,” this was sneered, “family’s vault—the goblins alerted us as per the regulations they signed, and we came.”
The other voice (and it must have been Professor Lupin’s if the minister was arguing with Professor Black) growled out, “And the only reason they made that treaty was because the Ministry held several of their own nation’s artifacts hostage in the negotiations. I teach History of Magic, Corny, don’t even try it…”
The minister sputtered and Ron wasn’t sure if it was the nickname. the truth bomb, or the twin cracks of apparition that signaled the two teachers left without hearing him out. He crouched further behind the planter as he heard footsteps leave the room and head towards the inn’s main floor.
Ron let out a huge sigh and jumped out of his hiding spot.
Harry Potter? He was alive? He was missing?
Now this sounded like an absolutely delicious adventure. Imagine what his family would say if he found Harry Potter?! What Bill would say!
Ron realized a lot of things as his mind raced. He realized his mom was probably looking for him by now (fifteen minutes had passed at least ten minutes ago). He realized going missing for ten minutes and ten hours wouldn’t make a difference in the ferocity of the lecture he would receive. He realized it would be worth it to have one day—just one day—this summer not in the shadow of his siblings. He realized that if running away was good enough for Bill, it was good enough for him. (And this wasn’t really running away, it was running towards.)
As Ron justified it to himself, he crept into the private room that was just vacated. His dad had shown him a trick one year to getting around.
“All Ministry-used spaces have a rune that will take you back to the entrance of the Ministry. It’s a quick way to get back to work if you can’t apparate for whatever reason.” (Fred and George mimed drinking behind him, and Ron’s dad swatted at them and then shrugged. While he rarely indulged in alcohol, his office mates did on the regular. Apparently Muggle Relations became a lot harder after the 90s. Something about a net and a world wide web. Ron tuned it out since it sounded spider-based and he has a very firm rule about avoiding spiders and all adjacent topics.)
With one big breath for luck, Ron touched the rune on the side of the wall and watched as it activated. He found himself in the alley entrance for the Ministry, breathing heavily and feet a bit unstable. There was literally no turning back now, so Ron allowed himself a small moment of internal screaming, then straightened his back and stepped into Muggle London.
As his brothers would say, “You go, Glen Coco.” He didn’t know what it meant, but maybe Glen Coco was some kind of famous muggle explorer? Whatever. He’d be the Glen Coco of the wizarding world.
No one would forget his name:
Ronald Weasley, the savior and discoverer of Harry Potter, Bill’s favorite brother, and someone worth paying attention to.