* lionheart .

she stops to a halt when he speaks, turning her gaze towards him, not in disbelief, but understanding. she hates that this was their childhood, hates that it followed them onto adulthood. “whatever answer you find,” she pauses, out of breath from having run a fair distance, “you won’t like it.” she doesn’t want to stop him, but she feels as if it’s her duty to at least try and keep him out of the danger he seemed so willing to run into. “you don’t have to stay. you don’t have to throw yourself in the middle of it all.”

It’s not in his Gryffindor nature to run and hide, and he considers telling Astoria as much. But does being brave mean he always has to run head first into danger? Can’t he just hold his ground and fight for what’s right without actively seeking out the fight? If Harry was here, he’d be running head first into whatever trouble lied ahead. They would use what little information they had (with plenty of help from Hermione) to save the day. But Harry isn’t here. And Ron...he’s tired. “I’m not sure I know how to do that. I’m not sure how to not stay.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles in agreement, her mind somewhere else, as she tries to let Ron’s words calm her. It isn’t unlike their old professor to fall into whatever state that was. However, she can’t shake the feeling of the Dark Mark over their heads, knowing this wasn’t just another day. The snake above them eerily reminds her of the green light that shot out of her wand, the words still tasting like acid on her tongue. Voldemort falling to his death. The Death Eaters - angry, scared, fighting and fleeing - at the loss of their leader. It makes her feel quite queasy, knowing the look on her face betrayed her attempts at remaining calm. “It’s been six years –,” Cho gasps, placing her hands sternly on her ribcage, willing herself to breathe. “It can’t – they can’t…” 

“Hey there,” Ron’s brows furrowed with concern as he takes a step towards Cho, placing what he hopes to be a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Just...calm down.” A notoriously unhelpful thing to say to someone who was not calm. He opens his mouth and waits for the comforting wisdom to pour out, but nothing comes. He closes his mouth and repeats the process not even a second later, maintaining an excellent impression of a fish before he finally collects himself with a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s happening. But I do know that when I was just a baby, my parents thought a war was over. They had ten years of peace before things went sideways. This started before us, it might as well end after us.” He had meant to say something uplifting, but the memo didn’t make it from his brain to his mouth.

she WON’T apologize, but that doesn’t make her any less sorry. even if verbalizing such things was ginny’s strong suit, they’re weasleys. even as children, they were more likely to just start talking to one another again suddenly than they were apologize for their transgressions and clear the air, no matter how long the fight had gone on - and those sort of habits run deep. maybe her apology is standing there in silence ( her nostrils flaring as she breathes heavily ) as he speaks, and allowing him to DO so. maybe it’s giving him that chance to say something that she doesn’t want to HEAR. because… his words make sense, and he’s right, and - and with them ringing in her ears it sort of cuts through that desire she has to just yell at ANYONE at all. it isn’t about the rock, or the writing on it, or her ANGER towards who did it - really, it’s about grief, and about how rage often goes hand in hand with it, and ginny…- she’d never really worked her way through the way she felt. his voice cracks and she blinks and she’s suddenly AWARE that whatever had been building up within her was coming out, now - was rolling down her cheeks, silently, and closing up her throat. she looks away ( trying to wipe her face against her shoulder, stealthily ) and she clenches her fists and when she finally looks back, her eyes are still wet but she only sounds a little caught up, “let’s just go, then. somewhere… better. unless you want to stand here and- hug, for a minute.” 

He waits with a bated breath for her to break the silence that falls between them. He feels so small. He feels like they’re both so small. It wasn’t so long ago that Ginny saw him off for his first year, was it? He was so grateful to know life without her - to get a taste for freedom from his parents and his annoying little sister. He’d give just about anything to go back to days of wanting nothing more than space from his sister. It was easy then. “Hug? For a whole minute? Sounds awful,” he says with a fake grimace, even as he pulls his younger sister in for a hug. He wraps his long arms around her, his chin resting against her forehead. A familiar comfort, a dozen years of hugs (many strongly encouraged by their parents) in the making). He pulls away, a gentle smile gracing his features. “Let’s go. The quidditch pitch, the Room of Requirement, maybe somewhere in Hogsmeade? You lead, I’ll follow, Gin.” 

“I can perform some spells - it won’t do much but it’d be something.” They both know she would need potions and dittany for her to completely heal people - but at least she could see the extent of their injuries. If there are any. It takes Ron’s words to ground her slightly, to see past the cloud of anxiety-induced fear that fell over the grounds. She tries to take a deep breath, hitching as someone runs past them. “N-no, I don’t see anyone hurt.” It doesn’t take away from the fear that someone might be. Though most people might be fleeing from fear alone, for the mere idea of Death Eaters than actually fleeing from something - but still, the Dark Mark did not hover lightly. His statement echoes her own thoughts, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest as her mind picks up the pieces. “Did you happen to see Trelawney?” She had never truly believed in Divination, preferring to lean onto more exact sciences, but Cho coudn’t shake the chill from her words and the way her body shook. “Do you think she’s alright?” 

"Trelawney?” Out of a habit, Ron had tuned out most of his former Divination professor’s words. In the ensuing chaos he had forgotten that she had even spoken. Her name coming from Cho’s mouth seemed foreign. He was about to ask Cho to clarify her concern for Trelawney of all people when pieces of the prophecy came to him. It was only fragments. She had gone on so long he hadn’t been able to completely ignore her. Something about a lamb...the kingdom of the blind...vita...something something. It was rubbish, it had to be. He looked around for the professor in question but saw no sign of her. “I don’t but I’m sure she’s fine. She has those little fits all the time, yeah? Just another day in the office for her.”

“I don’t– I don’t know.” Luna replied, her mind racing a million miles per minute. She just felt simply helpless. She could only assume the absolute worst. Could they really handle another war brewing so soon? No, they were only in their early twenties and Luna felt like they had already lived a hundred lifetimes. “Do we know if this is just happening at Hogwarts? Or is it happening in other places too?” The girl asked, as she was frantically dodging people. There was a slight memory that popped up in her mind how the Death Eaters would terrorize the Muggle world and everything in between. It couldn’t hurt to ask, especially if they were seeking a safe place.  

Ron began to move forward through the crowd; towards what, he hadn’t decided. He tugged on Luna’s arm slightly, just enough to encourage her to follow him –  or better yet, lead him somewhere he could be of use. With each step he scanned the crowd for other DA members. Neville, Hermione, Ginny, anyone who might have more information than they did at present. He had only gone a few paces when he turned around to face Luna. The fear in his eyes was unmistakable. “I – I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows. I thought it was over.” He looked back up at the sky, as if to remind himself it was real. “It’s supposed to be over.”

astoria knows his name, his face, and what he’s done for the wizarding world but she doesn’t know who he is, not really. despite this, she does not let go of his arm, the physical contact keeping her grounded and steady. there is no reassurance in his words, only confirmation of the worst. “you don’t think–” she starts, “it isn’t–” she’s unable to articulate her fears, but her face shows it all – she’s lost her color, lower lip trembling at the thought of a death eater resurgence. “we can’t stay here,” she declares, her survival instincts finally resurfacing. without thought, she starts moving with the crowd, taking him along with her. she may not know him, but she can’t face this alone. 

He lets her pull him through the crowd, too thrown to stop his feet from moving or to ask where they’re going. Each step feels like it is taking him further into the fog, further from the initial shock and into a state of denial. This can’t be happening. This is a dream. This is a nightmare. He needs to wake up. He considers her words. We can’t stay here. He stops “We can’t leave. I can’t leave.” He didn’t have a choice. He had agreed to witness whatever came next when he was eleven years old, even if he didn’t realize it at the time. “I don’t know what the bloody hell is going on, but I need to find out.”

location: hogwarts grounds

astoria’s frozen in place, her body refusing to move as a chill runs up her spine. there’s commotion all around her, bodies crashing into hers as they try to escape the grounds. she’s always been the type of person to run, not away but towards something, be it safety or danger, or anything. however, her feet remain in place, eyes staring up at the dark mark emblazoned onto the sky with horrifed disbelief. she can’t help but grab someone, anyone to tell her that this wasn’t happening – not again. she had been brave the first time, but she doesn’t think she has it in her to fight another war. she’s pleading with her eyes, wanting them to tell her that everything would be okay, “what’s happening?”

Ron’s attention is torn from the sky by the weight of someone’s hand on him. He peers down at her, trying to place a name to the face - she has that vague familiarity that comes with Hogwarts having a limited student body to spend seven years with. He has seen her around, but he does not know her. She asks a question and he wishes desperately to have an answer, a good one. One that doesn’t make him a bit queasy at the thought. Unfortunately, he can do no such thing. “I’m not sure,” he shrugs, helplessly, before taking another look at the Dark Mark etched in once-clear sky. “Something bad, I think.”

It’s all too familiar - the panic within the Hogwarts grounds, the Dark Mark looming eerily in the sky, the pain in her heart and wand gripped tightly in her hand. Cho thinks, for a brief moment, in the middle of the chaos, that she was naive - or perhaps too hopeful - thinking that she’d be able to lay down her armor six years ago. She has no time to think further on it and instead is working through the crowd, wide eyes scanning people as they run past her, searching for any visible injuries. “I can’t,” Cho chokes out, before even knowing who has a hold on her arm. She finally looks their direction and sees Ron, ache settling in her stomach. It feels unfair to see him in the midst of it all again, but she supposes it’s why he is ordering her out. “People might be hurt! They could need us. I-I have to help.”

“But - ” He cuts himself off, not knowing where that ‘but’ was even going. He needs to stop, and breathe, and just think for a moment. Easier said than done when pandemonium is breaking out around you. He glances around at the crowd, looking for signs of further trouble, before turning his attention back to Cho. “Can you help people here? I mean, don’t you need...supplies?” Truth be told, Ron knows very little of what goes into being a healer. He just shows up when he’s hurt and waits patiently for them to put him back together again. “You should go to St. Mungo’s, I can send people there if they are hurt. I don’t think anyone is hurt. Do you see anyone hurt?” He lets go of Cho, moving his now free hand to his chest. His heart might beat right out of it. Has it always been this difficult to breathe? “Merlin, I feel like a hippogriff is sitting on my chest.” 

Luna felt like she was going to be sick. This took her back– it took her back to six years ago. Six years ago where the sight was eerily similar, where people were rushing around the castle. She had to make she wasn’t sleep and this just wasn’t another one of her nightmares. Nope, definitely real. Her first instinct was to help others get out as soon as possible. Not much had changed in six years, clearly. Almost immediately, the raven haired female had felt someone grab her arm. It made her jump until she realized it was just Ron.  “Ronald, let go of me.” Luna expressed sternly as she peered around their surroundings again. “I need to do something.” 

They might as well have been eighteen, finishing a war that started long before they were born. Or, worse yet, sixteen in the Department of Mysteries, not knowing the challenges coming their way, not knowing the storm that awaited them. Only knowing that it was the beginning of something terrible. He was a fool for allowing himself to think on any level that there would be peace. That the war could ever be over. “Do what?” The deep sense of dread that had lodged itself deep in his chest disoriented Ron so, that he could barely tell up from down, much less come up with any cohesive plan. “We need to get out. All of us. Everyone needs to get somewhere safe.” Where that was, he didn’t know. 

“ i’m the youngest of three. TRUST ME, I CAN BE VERY COMPELLING. “ and she had plenty of experience in the art of getting what she wanted, even if it wasn’t at the best interest of those who she wanted something from. usually, her parents, but she could try to practice on someone else. nel crossed her arms across herself, shivering from the cold. “ well, that’s probably for the best. NOT MUCH IN A FRIENDLY MOOD. “ not that much of anyone was, really. “ yeah, “ she admitted quietly, “ it’s suffocating in there. “ too many people looking at her with pitying eyes. it made nellie feel like nothing more than a dead boy’s asshole little sister.

“Well, I’m the second youngest of seven so I think, mathematically, I got you beat.” Granted, Ron had significantly less luck getting what he wanted and he was not sure if compelling would ever be a word used to describe him, particularly by any of his siblings. But on paper, it made sense to him that with three more older siblings than Nellie, he would have to be even more...compelling. Maybe. With a sigh, he sat down near - but not quite next to - Nellie. He didn’t know her, not personally, not well. He knew who she was. He knew what she lost. “Every year, I tell myself it won’t be that bad. And every year, I’m wrong. Don’t know why I bother coming.”

Chaos descends on the castle ground as the crowd realizes, almost all at once, the symbol formed by the darkening clouds in the sky. Ron has goosebumps. It has been years since he has seen the wretched sight of the Dark Mark, the insignia of the fallen Tom Riddle and his heinous supporters. He hates what he sees but cannot look away. He is frozen, head tilted up towards the sky. Only the force of the crowd bumping into him brings his attention back to Earth. People are just blurs as they brush past, trying to escape, trying to find loved ones. One face becomes clear in the crowd. Ron moves towards them, grabbing their arm. “You should leave. Now.”

rons presence beside her was a welcomed one - really, ANYONE’S would have been ( she just needed her attention pulled away otherwise she would’ve kept mulling over the scene ), but she’s especially glad it’s him. “it seems most who were not there lack such an ability.” maybe she is envious of that, to some extent. coming back is much easier for them - hogwarts is simply the school where they met. it was never a war ground for them. the grimace that washes over rons features is met with a quick snort ( it’s MEANT to be a laugh but … ) “you have no taste, ron,” she retorts, finally managing a smile. “it’s trial and error - you’ll get it, hopefully. if not, i mean, you could force it onto your palette. that’s how i was with TEA - i thought it tasted like dirty water then one day… it clicked. but yes,” she nods, taking the glass from his hands. “i’ll take the rest.”

"Ignorance is bliss.” Ron scanned nearby tables for alternative drinks, something that did not inspire nausea. He was coming up short - champagne glasses as far as the eye could see. He turned his attention back to his cousin, shaking his head at the smile on her face as she willingly accepts the glass of...bile? That was the best way he could think to describe it. Sour bile. “I have no taste? I’m genuinely concerned for your taste buds right now. If you finish that drink, I might flag down Madam Pomfrey.” He couldn’t help but have a laugh bubble out of him as he teased his cousin for her questionable drink choices. As soon as he heard himself laugh, his cheeks flushed red and his threw a hand over his mouth, as if he was stopping any more laughter from escaping. It felt...wrong. To laugh here, now, at a time when they were supposed to be mourning. He dropped his hand, his voice much quieter than before. “Now I’m the one who doesn’t know how to behave.”

    Something about how Ron was looking at her caused Millie’s defenses to come up once more. He just knew her from her time on the inquisitorial squad and how was she to tell him that certain things had to be done to keep appearances? She figured that’d be a waste of air or breath. She remembered their last run in well but she was unsure if he did as well. Millie pressed her lips down in a thin line, “I’m not sure. You tell me, Ron.”  

He pressed his lips together, giving Millicent an once-over as he considered her words. He sighed before speaking up. “Don’t see a reason why it should.”  He only had one thing to go off here: her role in the inquisitorial squad. Testing the waters, he added, “Umbridge was a piece of work. Brought out the worst in everyone,” and waited with a baited breath to see her response. 

she just wants it to disappear. she isn’t thinking about it LOGICALLY, because there isn’t any logic to apply to her in that moment. it wasn’t about the graffiti itself, really, but it was impossible to get a clear read on her thoughts - she’s just fired up, and right then, she’s focusing it all on the stone. of course she could fix it speedily with a wave of her wand. but she shouldn’t have had to fix it at all.

“STOP IT, ronald-” she tries to shake him off even as he’s succeeding in pulling her partly away, “stop. it’s- it’s not just a stone-” she FURIOUSLY wiggles her way from beneath his grip and turns to face him, her cheeks a vivid red, by now. she shoves him a little, accidentally - so desperate to get out from under his hands that she just sort of does it, and…- and as angry as she is, right now, it sobers her a little. it… steadies her, at least, allows her to take a deep, shaky breath and fix him with a wide eyed gaze. “i’m not leaving it. you…- care, too, RIGHT? don’t you get it?”

He’s surprised (though he shouldn’t be) by Ginny’s strength as she breaks free from his grasp. He opens his mouth to speak but no can words form before she pushes him back. The push takes him off guard, stumbling back a few steps as anger flares within him. “Bloody hell, Gin.”  He wants to shout over her, wants to tell her to get a grip. But it can’t. He shouldn’t. He has no right. He lets her finish. And then he tries to speak his piece. 

“It is just stone. It is his name etched in stone but it is not him.” Ron looks over Ginny’s head at the memorial, lets his eyes fall on the name of his fallen friend.  “I care...but not about this.” He holds his arms out, gesturing to the whole of the memorial. This is not for Ron. It is for someone, who needs to trace names and leave flowers and find a place to grieve. But it is not for Ron. This means nothing to him. He looks back towards Ginny. “People are...arrogant. Disrespectful. Dipshits. Harry knew that. He was used to that. He’d brush it off. He’d laugh even, maybe. He would not want you getting upset over nothing. It’s nothing...it’s nothing...” He couldn’t be sure when in his spiel his voice had cracked. He would like to think it was towards the end...call him an optimist. He cursed under his breath and brushed away the tears running down his cheek. It was pointless - new ones would replace them soon enough. 

Molly Weasley had always been overly protective of her children. She’d always been overbearing. The moment that she’d lost one of her children, though, it increased tenfold. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing another child, so she hovered more. She became more protective, if it were possible. “I love you, babe,” Molly murmured to Ron as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’re right.” Somehow they’d made it this far. They’d make it through the day. It’d just hurt like hell. It always did. “Come on. Let’s grab a drink. I’m sure there’s some pumpkin pasties around here somewhere too.” 

Ron bent over slightly, lowering his face just in time for his mother to press a kiss to his forehead. He smiled as the familiar comfort washed over him. “I love you too, mum. So much.” Despite his towering height, the bags growing under his eye, the faint five o’clock shadow, Ron did not feel twenty-four. He felt four. A small, four year old with a scraped knee who needed his mummy to kiss it better. Unfortunately, the pain he felt was more than a scraped knee. But a forehead kiss and a drink might help. “Pumpkin pasties?” Ron visibly perked up at the mention. “Now you’re talking. Lead the way, mum.”

   She knew that he was well aware of who she was the moment that he spoke. Of all people to run into, a part of her wished that it wasn’t him. She already had to deal with trying to at least be civil with Hermione during work hours. Millie wracked through her thoughts to figure out what exactly made her not very fond of the other and in that moment, she was coming up blank. Was it their stupid house rivalry that caused such ill feelings? Thinking back, it all seemed silly to her now that they stood face to face as young adults. “I was debating it.” She finally answered, “Not sure if it’s wise to be here.” 

In the first few years after the war, anytime Ron ran into former classmates he assessed them based only on what he had heard or assumed about them. Particularly in regards to their actions and attitudes during his six years at Hogwarts and that one last, precious, year with Harry. Had they supported him? Had they rallied against him? Mocked him, doubted him? But that line of thought became taxing. It was easier, he had found, to ask himself what he really knew about someone. Millicent was a Slytherin. Part of Umbridge’s pesky crew, which he did not care for...that was all he knew. She was a stranger, who he had just happened to grow up along side. “What’s not wise about it? Would your presence be upsetting to mourners?” 

what kind of country is it, nellie thought, where a girl can’t just sit in the mud in the middle of a quidditch pitch and cry unbothered ? she had no broom in sight. she hadn’t even really planned to come out here, just suddenly found herself walking to it, SINGLEMINDED THOUGHTS FILLING HER HEAD. “ merlin’s beard, “ nellie exhaled, wiping at her eyes, turning to look at him with a half-hearted glare. “ can’t you just get in laps sometime else ? i’m busy here. “

"I could say the same to you. Or would you throw back the old ‘I was here first’ argument, cause I have to say - growing up with six siblings, that doesn’t phase me much.” This was not the interaction Ron needed or wanted. The ideal interaction would be none at all. A few years back, he’d let the anger build. But he was no longer an angsty teen. He was an adult. He knew to take several deep breaths and count back from ten. He was mature, or at least he tried to be. “I’m not trying to swap secrets and make friendship bracelets. I just need some space...from all that,” he said as he gestured broadly to towards the castle.