Family is Forever
Ron stared fixatedly at the small scorch mark on the corner of the kitchen table.
It had happened shortly after Fred and George had come of age and were finally allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts. The whole family had been there, as well as Harry and Hermione, who were as good as family, crammed together around the family table to celebrate the twins and their newfound magic ability. Molly had been beaming with pride as she brought out a giant cake, decorated with thick, white frosting with seventeen multi-colored candles on top.
“Now,” Molly had begun as she set the cake down in front of the twins. “Just because you’re seventeen now and can use magic does not mean you can go waving your wands about all willy nilly. You’re men now, adults, and you’re expected to behave responsibly. Magic is a responsibility, boys.”
“I don’t remember you giving this speech to Bill.” Fred said, ignoring his mother’s words.
“Or Charlie.” George added.
“Percy neither.”
“Well none of those boys were as irresponsible as you two!” Molly snapped, glaring at the twins who grinned back at her with identical, lopsided smiles. “All I’m saying is to think before you act.” Fred cast a sidelong glance at George.
“Never really been our strong suit.” He shrugged. Molly threw her hands up, huffing in frustration.
“A galleon says they set something on fire before the end of the meal.” Ginny had whispered to Bill. Bill snorted.
“I’ll bet five that it happens before the cake’s cut.” Ron had watched in amusement as the two shook hands and Molly pretended not to notice, instead opting to lead them all in a somewhat snappy rendition of Happy Birthday.
“Alright boys! Blow out the candles!” Fred and George inhaled deeply.
“One,” Fred said.
“Two..” George said. They exchanged a glance.
“Three!” They each grabbed their wand, casting a spell that should’ve produced a small puff of air, blowing out the seventeen candles. Unfortunately for everyone sitting at the table, the double effect of both boys casting it at the same time caused a gust to burst forth from each wand, sending sparks of fire in every direction.
And chaos erupted.
Hermione shrieked as the ends of her hair began to smoke. Percy’s robes – his new robes, as he’d later remind everyone – began to smolder as small embers clung to his chest. Scorch marks began to cover the wooden table. Molly swatted at the table with her bare hands.
“Not with your hands!” Arthur bellowed at her, pulling out his own wand.
“-bloody idiots!” Molly snarled, slapping the burning wood.
“-just bought these –“
“Aguamenti!” George yelled.
“NO!” A chorus of voices from the table erupted as a jet of water exploded from the end of George’s wand, soaking everyone and everything until finally it ended, and silence fell over the room.
The cake was a wet lump in the middle of the table, with frosting-stained rivulets of water running off the edges onto the floor. Clumps of soaked chocolate clung to Hermione’s hair, and somehow Harry’s glasses had gotten broken again in the chaos. Percy was staring despondently at his once immaculate robes, Ginny and Bill were secretly exchanging galleons under the table, and Charlie was barely choking back a laugh. At the head of the table, Fred and George stood, wet and cake-stained, flanked by Molly and Arthur, who looked equally stunned. Suddenly, Molly burst into laughter.
As if on cue, the rest of the family erupted with her. Ron clutched his aching sides as his family laughed together, tears collectively rolling down their faces, and Molly had pulled the two red-faced twins into her arms, hugging them fiercely.
“Happy birthday, you bloody twits.” She’d whispered.
Ron smiled sadly as he stared at the mark. His mother had banished most of the marks on the table, after banning Fred and George from using their wands in the kitchen ever again, but George had secretly sealed this one, casting a powerful preservation spell over it.
“Our legacy.” He’d whispered to Ron, winking. Ron ran his thumb over it, swallowing hard. The birthday had marked one of the last times that the whole family had been together, without any threat of war, death or dismemberment plaguing them. He’d clung to that memory, and to so many more like it of family dinners full of laughter while hunting horcruxes. When he was trapped in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor, listening to Hermione’s screams he envisioned her laughing, eyes crinkling at the corner and wild curls tumbling across her face as she sat squished between him and Harry at the end of the table.
He never could’ve imagined this.
This.
No one spoke now. No one laughed. No one smiled, or poked fun, or placed silly, inane bets. No one played pranks, or snapped at one another.
They were silent.
Molly had strictly enforced Sunday dinners, almost immediately after Fred’s funeral. She’d already lost one son, she was not about to let anyone else fall to the wayside.
But too much had been lost. Too much had changed.
And then Harry and Ginny split, and Harry’s invitation had been rescinded. Hermione had left, her spot vanishing as well. And with Fred gone..
Chasms of heavy, unfilled space separated all of them.
“Ginny. How’s quidditch going darling?” Ginny looked up from the plate of food she’d been slowly picking at. Molly’s lips were twisted in a forced smile.
“Uh, good.” Ginny said. Molly clenched her fork tightly.
“Good.” She said. “Good, good.” They descended back into silence, and Ron poked at the mashed potatoes on his plate.
“Chicken’s good, Mum.” Molly looked up and smiled, tight lipped, at Percy.
“Thank you, Percy!” She said, her voice higher than normal. Ron nodded his affirmation.
“Yeah, Mum.” He said. “Real good.”
“Where’s Dad?” Ron looked up as George spoke.
George.
His hair was long like Charlie’s had been, but far more unkempt, and a thick beard covered his face. He took a long swig from the mug clutched in his hand, which Ron knew did not contain pumpkin juice like the rest of the family’s.
“Working.”
The word spoke volumes. More than any of them – Ron included – wanted to hear. Percy smiled tightly.
“I imagine he’s been busy.” He said. “Lots of opportunity for overtime.” Molly pressed her lips together as George snorted.
“Yeah,” He scoffed. “Been working ‘overtime’ for three weeks straight now, hasn’t he? Hasn’t even bothered to come home at nights.” Ron dropped his gaze.
He knew, of course. They all did.
“He’s just been busy.” George snorted again before draining his mug.
“Keep telling yourself that.” He snapped, pushing away from the table. Ron stole a glance at his mother, who’s face had gone white and was staring fixatedly at the plate of bread in front of her while George lumbered out of the room. Ron glanced at his siblings, who were all doing an excellent job of avoiding one another’s eyes. Finally, Percy stood.
“I should go-“
“Leave him.” Molly’s voice was quiet, but firm. Percy hesitated.
“Mum?”
“I said, leave him.” She repeated. “Leave him. He’ll.. he’ll calm down, on his own.” She picked up her fork, shoveling a mouthful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. “Well?” She said through her food. “Isn’t anyone going to eat?” Ron watched her sadly.
“Mum.” Ginny spoke this time, her voice soft. “Have you spoken to Dad?”
Ron knew she knew the answer.
Molly was not the forgiving type. Ron knew precisely where his red-hot temper and snap judgements came from, and it was not from Arthur Weasley.
“If your father wants to speak he knows where to find me.” Molly snapped, the fiery Prewett temper simmering barely under the surface.
Unluckily for her, though, Ron was not the only Weasley to inherit her temper, and Ginny’s eyes narrowed. Bill placed a hand on Ginny’s arm, a gentle warning that she shrugged off angrily.
“So that’s it then.” She said flatly. “You’re just going to give up on your marriage out of, what? Spite?” Molly turned on her daughter, eyes flashing angrily.
“Oh don’t you talk to me about giving up on relationships.” She snapped. Ginny stood up, her chair clattering to the floor as she did.
“Don’t you dare bring Harry into this!” She roared and Molly stood up to meet her daughter.
“You left the second things got difficult-“
“I left because he wanted kids!”
“-couldn’t even be bothered to talk-“
“-never listen to anything I say-“
“ENOUGH!” Ron slammed his palms down on the table, face flushed with rage. His mother whirled to face him.
“Ron,” Charlie put a hand on his shoulder.
“And you!” Molly snapped. “You think you can raise your voice at me and lecture me about the complexities of relationships?” Ron blanched, anger sloughing off him. “Did you even try, Ronald? Have you spoken to her? Did you fight for her, fight for the woman who you swore to me was ‘the one’?” Ron recoiled as his mother’s words struck him, sharp and venomous.
“I-“
“Cowards.” Molly spat the word. “Both of you.” Ginny stepped back as if struck, and Ron?
Ron saw red.
“How fucking dare you?”
But it wasn’t him that spoke.
Percy, of all people, stood up, gripping the edge of the table tightly and leaning forward, his face twisted in a snarl as he faced his mother.
“How dare you speak to him that way? After everything he’s been through, after everything we’ve all been through, and you dare to speak that way?” Molly reeled back, her mouth gaping at her son. Ron felt an uncharacteristic swell of affection towards his elder brother.
“I-“
“Don’t.” Percy snapped. “You are our mother. You’re our mother. And I know you’re hurting, hell, Mum, we’re all hurting. But you can’t keep doing this.” His voice softened. “Fred is gone, Mum. He’s gone. He’s not coming back, ever. And you’ve been trying to preserve what we had before, but.. it’s not that. And it will never be that.”
“I just,” Molly’s voice cracked. “I thought I’d always have you. All of you. Fred, George, even Harry and Hermione. And when things fell apart with you all, I just..” Her voice trailed off.
“Harry is happy, Mum.” Ginny said quietly. “And so am I. His girlfriend is lovely, her name is Rachel. She’s a muggle, and she wants a whole house full of kids and they are so in love it’s sickening.” Molly smiled sadly.
“And you?” Ginny grasped her mother’s hand tightly.
“I have the quidditch world cup in six weeks.” She said softly, and Molly laughed. “I’m also very happy.” Ron felt his mother’s eyes on him. He shifted uncomfortably.
“I’m getting there.” He said finally. “But.. Hermione and I, we.. weren’t right.” The words settled around him, and for the first time Ron felt the truth in them. “We weren’t right.” He said it again with finality. “And that’s alright. It hurts, but it’s alright. And Hermione,” He hesitated, as Neville’s words echoed in his head. “Hermione is happy.” Molly pulled him into a hug, sniffling loudly.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered. Ron hugged her back tightly.
“It’ll all be alright,” He said. “We’re family, right?”
September 8, 2004
Ron stared at the ivy-covered cottage.
It was the exact sort of home he would’ve guessed Hermione would own, and he supposed he could give Malfoy one point for giving her that.
He still didn’t like the bastard though.
Five months had passed since they’d spoken. Five months since Ron had blown up at her. Five months since he’d stumbled upon Neville in the Three Broomsticks. Five months since he’d come to terms with their breakup and her subsequent relationship with that complete asshole Draco Malfoy.
Come to terms with, not learn to like.
It had been three months since that explosive supper at the Burrow. Two months since Harry and his now fiancé Rachel Long had started coming back to dinner. Two months since his father moved back in.
And three days since the last time Neville had told him he needed to make things right with Hermione.
He knew that he needed to, of course. He’d known for a long time, even if he’d chosen to ignore the fact. But he didn’t want to ignore it anymore.
“I want to make things right.” He’d said to Neville earlier that day. Neville’s deep brown eyes shone, and he’d pulled Ron into a tight embrace, cupping the back of Ron’s head in his hand.
“I’m so proud of you.” He’d whispered in Ron’s ear, sending shivers down his spine.
Yes. He wanted to make things right.
But as he stood in front of the stone cottage, fear trickled down his spine. He should’ve sent a letter. Or gotten Harry to speak to her. Or done anything, really, other than what he was doing. He didn’t even know if she wanted to see him.
“Are you planning to knock on the door, or stand there slack-jawed all day?” Ron whirled around to see Draco Malfoy leaning against a large sweeping willow tree with his arms folded.
“Fucking hell, Malfoy! How long have you been standing there?” Malfoy smirked.
“I watched you apparate here.” Ron felt his cheeks redden and he clenched his fists angrily, before inhaling deeply and pressing his palms against his pants.
“Is..?”
“She’s not here.”
“Oh.” Ron looked down, somehow even more uncomfortable than he’d been before as silence fell between the two men. “Is she-“
“Why are you here, Weasley?” Malfoy interrupted.
“I came to talk to Hermione.”
“I know that,” Malfoy sneered. “I didn’t figure you came to talk to me. But why? What do you want with her?” Ron shifted uncomfortably as anger bubbled inside him.
“I.. she’s my friend.” He finished lamely. Malfoy scoffed.
“Do you know what I’ve had to deal with for the last five months?” Ron felt his features twisting into a scowl.
“Forgive me if I don’t give a flying –“
“Crying. Her fucking crying. Every day, for five months. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. But crying. You know what it’s like to listen to the woman you love cry? To hear her heart break into a million little pieces day by day because of her piece of shit so-called ‘best friend’?” Ron fell silent, any retort or argument dissolving in the wake of Malfoy’s words. “Do you know,” Malfoy hissed, taking a step forward. “How many times I wanted to come to that tiny little shithole you tried to imprison her in and beat the shit out of you? How many nights I lay in bed dreaming about all the ways I’d make you pay for how you hurt her? Do you know how much I fucking hate you?” He pressed a finger into Ron’s chest. “You, never deserved her.” Ron swallowed hard.
“And you think you do?” Malfoy laughed mirthlessly.
“Not even a little bit.” He said coldly. “But unlike you, I’m not going to try and hold her down to make myself feel better. She chose me, Weasel, and I will do everything in my power to be a man worthy of that choice.” Malfoy dropped his hand and brushed past Ron, moving towards the house. “She’ll be home in five. You can wait for her inside, as long as you’re not going to be a twat.”
Ron sat in an uncomfortable wingback chair, covered in emerald green leather clutching a mug of tea tightly. Across from him were two far more comfortable looking chairs with a side table beside each one, each laden with books. Malfoy sat in one, legs crossed comfortably as he flipped through a large, leatherbound book.
“I didn’t know you were a reader.” Ron said. Malfoy snorted.
“I suspect there are a great many things you don’t know.” He drawled, not looking up from his book.
Ron surveyed the room. In the same way Neville’s house had plants lining every available surface, it seemed that a never-ending collection of books decorated every nook and cranny here. It had been something that had driven Ron mad when they’d lived together. He couldn’t figure out why she needed so many books, why she couldn’t just borrow from the library, why she insisted on keeping ones she’d already read.
Aside from the books, though, were the pictures. Framed photographs of the couple hung on every spare space of the wall. Hermione reading on a beach. Draco straddling a muggle (!!) motorcycle. The two of them eating ice cream. Hiking. Laying in the grass. So many smiling and laughing Hermione and Malfoys staring down at him that Ron averted his eyes, focusing instead on a minute piece of lint clinging to his jeans until finally he heard the fireplace roar to life.
Hermione was home.
Malfoy stood up, setting his book on the top of the pile on his table and walked out of the room. Ron strained his ears, but heard nothing. Were they even speaking? Had Malfoy taken her out of the house? Did she leave?
No.
He rolled his eyes.
A silencing spell.
The large grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly. Ron watched as the hand slowly inched around the clock, second by second.
Minutes passed.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. This was a mistake. A fucking mistake. He should’ve gotten Harry to speak to her first, before Malfoy could intervene, that bloody-
“Ron.”
He looked up.
She looked different. But very much the same. But different. Her hair was.. somehow wilder than it’d been when they were together. But it suited her far more, he realized, than all the taming spells and potions she’d desperately tried to utilize. He felt a pang of regret at how relentlessly he and Harry had teased her about her hair. He should’ve been kinder, should’ve appreciated her more, should’ve-
“What are you doing here?” Ron jumped.
“I.. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Draco said as much.” Ron flinched as his name rolled off her tongue. Draco. A sigh slipping from her lips. “Well?”
Ron shook his head. He needed to focus. Needed to make things right.
“I.. look. I just wanted to say.. I’m sorry.” The words felt flat to him. Forced.
“You’re sorry.”
Insincere.
“I, yes. I am. Sorry, that is.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms.
“Sorry for what?” Ron blanched.
“For what? For.. for everything!” He exclaimed. “I mean, you want an itemized list, ‘Mione?” Hermione glared at him.
“So let me get something straight, Ronald Weasley. You come to my house unannounced after five months of not speaking to me, to give me some half-assed generic apology for ‘everything’ and expect everything to just be fine?” Ron stared at her helplessly. “I don’t accept.” He gaped at her.
“You.. what?”
“I. Don’t. Accept.” Ron felt his temper rising, and his breath came quick and shallow.
“That’s not fair, Hermione.” He said quietly. “What more do you want me to do? I came here, I apologized, I’m trying to make things right between us-“
“You’re not trying to make anything right!”
“I am, ‘Mione! Fuck! I came here today, didn’t I? I apologized to you, didn’t I? What more do you want?”
“I want you to acknowledge it!” She screamed, her face twisted in rage. “I want you to acknowledge what you did! Acknowledge how you broke our friendship over nothing!
“FINE!” Ron roared, and Hermione fell silent. “You want me to acknowledge it? Fine. I acknowledge that our relationship ended because of me. I acknowledge that I refused to grow after the war and that I was trying to keep things the same as they were. My brother had just died, I watched Harry die and come back to life, my entire family fell apart, in spite of my mother’s best efforts, and yeah. I tried to cling to the way things were to keep more things from falling apart. I acknowledge it, Hermione. I acknowledge that I.. I never appreciated you the way I should have. That I never treated you the way I should’ve. And I acknowledge that I was a complete bastard about Malfoy. I don’t like him, Hermione. And I probably never will like him, but it’s not because of the death eater shit. I don’t like him because he’s an arse. But he’s your arse, ‘Mione. And if you love him, then I’ll.. learn to live with him. Because you’re family, and I love you.” Ron looked up at Hermione, who still stood in the doorway of the room, eyes filled with tears.
“You’re over the death eater shit?” Ron felt a small smile prick the corner of his lips.
“I’d rather live in a world where death eaters are reformed than in a world where they cling to their prejudiced bullshit.” He said. Hermione gave him a small smile.
“I accept your apology.” She said softly.
Ron landed on the gravel path of Neville’s home and took off, sprinting towards the large stone house. He skidded around the bend, scattering rocks as he did.
“Trix!” He bellowed, and the small elf jumped, scattering handfuls of weeds as she did. “Trix! Where’s Neville?” Trix clasped a gnarled hand to her small, skeletal chest.
“Mister Ronald scared Trix!” She gasped admonishingly. Ron grimaced.
“Sorry, Trix. I just.. is Neville home? I need to speak with him!”
“Mister Longbottom is in the backyard.” She said curtly, gathering her weeds. Ron nodded his thanks and took off, jogging towards the backyard.
Neville was hunched over a small bush, a basket of blueberries at his feet. His t-shirt was sweat soaked, clinging to his back and stained with dirt. Ron grinned at the sight.
“Neville!” The man straightened up at Ron’s voice, and he turned, a smile spreading across his face.
“Ronald!” Neville exclaimed happily. “What are you doing here?”
Ron crashed into him, grabbing him forcefully around the waist and pulling him close against him. Neville grunted as Ron enveloped him, and he grinned.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Ron smiled as he moved one of his hands up to cup the back of Neville’s head, tangling his fingers in the damp tendrils.
“You?” Ron murmured. “You owe me nothing. I, however, owe you everything.” And without thinking, Ron lowered his head, pressing his mouth tightly against Neville’s.