#ron weasley reader insert

           “Two hundred thirty-six to one fifty-four! It was a massacre – the Kenmare Kestrels were hiding their faces walking back to the locker rooms.” He said, enthusiastically.

           “Sorry, what did you say?” Ginny asked, shaking her head. “Were you talking about putting the project together on Monday or Tuesday?”

           You gave an exasperated sigh under your breath.

           “I was actually thinking that we were going to start the project together and then split up to finish it,” You said. “Not that you could hear that over the Chudley Cannons game day updates.”

           Hearing “Chudley Cannons” caught Ron’s attention and he scowled, taking a sip of warm coffee and glaring underneath his pale eyelashes.

           “You don’t have to sit here, you know. God forbid I talk to my friends at breakfast about the game last Friday.” He said, too afraid to make eye contact with you while he said it.

           You gave a small laugh at his brave timidness, remembering that while he had the tenacity of the rest of his brothers, he was much shyer and subdued. He could scowl, though, and by the way he was frowning at his sausage and eggs, you would have thought that the Chudley Cannons missed the winning catch at the end of the game. Or whatever.

           You made eye contact with Ginny, who was biting her bottom lip in efforts to protect her barely older brother’s dignity, her brown eyes active with enthusiasm. You rolled your eyes and she scrunched her nose, fighting back laughs harder than ever.

           “I’ll just catch you tomorrow, Ginny. We don’t have to spoil the weekend with Herbology projects anyway.” You said, making brief, shameful eye contact with Ron before walking away. It was so amusing to rile Ron up about sports, or throw a quick wise-crack at his favorite team. His brothers did it so often that you would have figured he was immune to it by now.

           Monday morning always felt the heaviest. Barely dragging yourself out of bed before it was too late, you threw on the most comfortable uniform wear you had, and walked down to catch the last ten minutes of breakfast before Charms.

           The Great Hall was much too loud, much too early. It was easy enough to spot Ginny’s long braid among the red-haired patch of Gryffindor students. She was belly-laughing at a story Fred was detailing about testing one of their newest products. George looked encouraged at his sister’s amusement, and bit the corner of his mouth, eyes glancing around the table to assess the enjoyment. As much fun as it looked, you knew that you had to allow the five-minute interruption, as the project was due at the end of the week, and you were already starting late as it was.

           “Hey Ginny, good morning.” You said, throwing one leg over the table bench to sit perpendicular to Ginny, your back facing Seamus Finnegan.

           “Hey what’s up?” Ginny said, still quenching her laughter. She had a serious moment. “Oh, that’s right – the project. Yes, we better start soon because my mum will lose her mind if she found out that I waited this late to start, but it seems a little cruel to assign a project at the end of midwinter break.”

           “I’m free all tonight after 3:30. And my last class is a lab, which might wrap up early.” You reported.

           “Sounds great to me.” Ginny said. “Just come on over to the Gryffindor Common Room whenever and we will start. If you can’t remember the password, just knock and I’ll get you.”

           You bid her farewell in a hurry to make it across the castle in time to grab a comfortable seat. The day went in bursts – short in some segments like, lunch break and Transfiguration, and exceedingly long in others, like History of Magic and Flitwick’s lecture in Charms. Grabbing a caffeinated drink from the station outside of the kitchen, you made your way to the Gryffindor Common Room, hoping that this project was simpler than you thought. Spotting the Fat Lady, you gave a brief wave, and after listening to her latest gossip on the East Tower portraits, she let you through to a room licked warm by fire with candle smog wafting out the open windows. Several heads turned as you walked in, others just looked up. You gave a similar wave to Ginny.

           Making your way across the room, you made eye contact with Ron on the couch, whose face turned from excitement to disappointment as he recognized your distinct eyes. He pouted like a child.

           “Oh great, perfect timing.” He said. “Don’t you know that it’s the semi-finals tonight?”

           “The semi-finals?” You asked, turning around.

           “Yeah, only the Thirteen League semi-finals, which I have had marked on my calendar since the announcement eight months ago.” He replied, clearly peeved. “So don’t expect me to be quiet or anything. This is something that I have looked forward to for a long time.”

           You nodded, tempted to smile at his endearing devotion to his team. He was wearing a misshapen orange jersey, with baggy, drooping sleeves, and the hint of his Gryffindor polo peeking around the collar. The jersey looked ancient, or at least vintage, and you were sure that he was proud to have “grown” into it.

           “No worries.” You said, putting your hands up. “I was mostly joking the other day. Just in a bad mood because this project is stressing me out. You can have your game as loud as you want.”

           “Thank You.” Ron said, indignantly, head quirked to the side. Hermione smirked and rolled her eyes.

           The project was not simpler than you thought, or at least, your half wasn’t. Researching the chemical compounds of ancient root and tuber vegetables under optimal growth conditions was already a stretch when it came to your idea of a good time, but the tiny, handwritten scrawl in all of the old textbooks you gleaned your information from was so spindly that your tired eyes had trouble differentiating sentences. Looking up, you saw that the Common Room was empty. You knew Ginny went to bed an hour or so ago when she said she would skip her last class for study time in the library, though you hadn’t realized that everyone else thought similarly.

           Sighing, you closed your book. Trying to muster the energy to pull yourself towards your dormitory, you noticed the rumpled back of an orange jersey still on the couch. You stared at the back of his head for a while, maybe too long, because as your gaze drifted to the reflection in the fireplace mantle, you instantly locked eyes with the only other person in the room. Making eye contact in a reflection was always weird, Ron thought, but getting caught staring was always worse. He cleared his throat too quickly.

           “So, you’re finished then?” He said, trying to foster a swift transition into conversation.

           “I guess,” You said, getting up and grabbing your textbook. “Finished for the night at least. Did your team win?”

           “Game isn’t over yet.” He said, motioning towards the tiny muggle television that Arthur had set him up with. You could see that the scores were close to each other, which you figured meant the game was just getting good. “We are in the last quarter, though.”

           “Oh.” You said, forcing a smile and nodding. He turned back to the screen. You were caught by the half-smile he gave you before turning, thinking about how weirdly tense it made you feel, when he turned back around to find you staring. Another half-smile. He had the cutest dimples.

           “If you want to, you’re welcome to watch the end with me. Everybody else wimped out and went to sleep.” He said, chuckling to himself about catching you right back.

           “I don’t know much about Quidditch.” You said, shrugging shamefully.

           “No, no-“ Ron cut you off, reassuringly. “I’ll teach you.”

           Ending the night you found yourself enveloped in the game more than you thought you would. Ron, eagerly explaining all of the rules and strategies to you, and you realized that he was an excellent teacher. Patient with your questions, but informative, building off of concepts you already understood. Towards the last five minutes of the game, you found yourself with a toothy smile, eyes crinkled in enjoyment as you looked between Ron and the game, watching him to see if he saw that last play.

           “That was a damn good catch.” You admitted, chuckling.

           “Randolph Keitch is a wicked Keeper,” Ron agreed, nodding and smiling. He was looking at you from a sideways glance, but you could tell he had grown closer in proximity than at the beginning of the match. “He always gives a great performance on the pitch.”

           With seconds to the end of the game, you found your stomach in knots. How could a bunch of idiots throwing a ball around on broomstick make you feel this invested? With every encyclopedically informed talk Ron gave, you felt yourself leaning in physically and emotionally. To the game, the night… and the game.

           But the quaffle was in motion. With a Wing Play third degree rotation, classic Cannons strategy as Ron had explained to you moments ago, the quaffle was soaring through the air until barely swiping through the left-most hoop. The Cannons won the game!

           Ron, indifferent to waking his fellow Gryffindors, shouted with delight and impulsively scooped you up in a celebratory squeeze, chuckling deeply into your ear. You were surprised by the motion but not disappointed by it, and you could feel the warmth of his jersey, hoping that his smell stayed in your memory when you were back in your dorm. As he released, he stared you deeply in the eyes, flushing slightly.

           “I’m sorry for being cross with you at breakfast.” He said, breathlessly.

           “Oh, it’s okay, I was the one that snapped at you.” You replied, shrugging.

           “Well,” Ron said, closing his mouth and casting his gaze downwards.

           “Well.” You thought to yourself, breathing in quickly.

           “I uh-“ He paused for an arrogantly long time between his sentence, you thought. “I actually taped a lot of the old games on this machine my dad taught me how to use.”

           Not that you’d recognize, but it was a typical VHS recorder.

           “Oh nice.” You said, softly.

           “Well, if you ever wanted to come by again and watch some of the old games,” He said, eyes bright with hope. “I really like rewatching them, so…”

           “So…” You said, mimicking his annoying pause. “Game day marathon this Saturday?”

           He laughed with relief, a bit too boisterously for the still air. He flushed again, with embarrassment.

           “Game day marathon this Saturday.” He said, laughing.

           You turned to leave the Common Room, the tiniest smile on your lips lest you let anyone find out you have feelings for what happened today, until your vision went black and you were enveloped in the smell that you had committed to memory. Putting fabric off your head, you pulled the object away from yourself to inspect it. The familiar outrageous orange, with a large “77” in white lettering on the back. You turned to see Ron, looking quite fit in a black undershirt.

The band hired by Molly Weasley upon the recommendation of an old friend played in the corner of the marquee. The Weasley family and their friends all crowded there; happy to watch the eldest Weasley child, Bill, marry the love of his life, Fleur.

It had been a wonderful ceremony; very few left the service with dry eyes.

You found it hard to keep your emotions in check through it all; wanting so desperately to turn to the youngest Weasley son beside you and ask if he felt the same way as you – if he loved you just as much as you have loved him since Fifth Year.

You think back to this morning; when you had arrived at the Burrow in time to watch the marquee be raised. Your eyes had landed on Ron, and they hadn’t left him. Your eyes ran over his body; drinking in the sight of him in a suit – sleeves rolled up due to the already warm day. Not wanting to be caught, you turned away and rid your mind of the thoughts running through it at warp speed.

With a laugh at the memory, you drag Ron onto the dancefloor. Awkwardness radiates from him, but he dutifully places his hand on your waist and takes your hand in his as your other hand places itself on his shoulder. You laugh together as you try to follow the beat of the song; the dance lessons given by McGonagall doing nothing for either of your left feet. You step on his toes repeatedly, but he doesn’t complain once; he just changes tact – instead of trying to attempt the waltz, he simply changes the hold of his arms and decides to have fun instead.

Spinning around the dancefloor; you can’t help but let yourself imagine. You can’t help but let yourself think of the future you so desperately desired with the very redhead holding you so gently in his arms.

You know what they say about weddings.

-----

Fred leans down to Harry’s ear, pointing towards Ron and you on the dancefloor, “When do you think they’ll pull their finger out?”

Harry laughs, “Worried about the bet, Fred?”

Fred snorts, “Hardly.”

Harry watches his best friend twirl you around on the dancefloor before pulling you back in as you laugh. Harry swivels to face Fred, “You know what they say about weddings.”

--------

You throw off your heels; groaning at the feel of your blood rushing back to your feet. At this height, Ron can easily throw an arm over your shoulder, “Better?”

You nod, “Much.”

Following Ron upstairs, you stifle yawn after yawn. The reception had been one of the best nights of your life; dancing, drinking, laughing – it was a truly happy night. You had danced with Ron for a lot of night; dragging him to the dancefloor for one dance but then staying with him for three more. He eventually left to get drinks whilst you danced with Hermione, Ginny, and Luna – a wide smile across your face.

You hadn’t missed the looks exchanged by the girls when Ron came back to steal your attention. You also hadn’t missed the conversation between Ron’s family and your friends as they watched you continue to the dance with the red-haired man.

You shake your head as you remember that moment; you were aware of the bet they had going. Hermione unable to keep a secret from you had blabbed it to you less than a month after it was made. She felt awful for keeping it from you, but you assured her you didn’t mind too much – curious as to who had what date.

“You don’t mind sharing my room with me?” Ron checks.

You shake your head, smiling at him sleepily, “I don’t mind.”

Ron relaxes somewhat, but he still remains tense, “There’s only one bed.”

You roll your eyes, “How many nights did I sneak into the hospital to stay with you after you hurt your leg?”

Ron blushes, “You’re right. I’ll let you get changed first… just knock when you’re done.”

In that moment, he looks so helpless that you lift yourself onto your tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. The last thing you see before closing his bedroom door is Ron pressing a hand to his cheek with a wide smile.

You knock lightly on the door when you’re done changing. Ron enters the room with a light blush dusting his cheeks; his eyes running over body quickly. He turns to his dresser, pulling out his pyjamas.

“I’ll wait outside for you to finish changing.”

Ron shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it; just turn around.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” He laughs.

You turn to face the singular window; the moon is high in the sky and the sky is so clear that you can see the stars. Looking into the garden, you see Bill and Fleur still dancing – alone, no longer surrounded by family and friends. They have no idea they have an audience; they just remain in each other’s arms, finally happy to have a private moment between them. You shift your gaze when Bill dips his heads to kiss his wife.

You think to yourself; there’s just something about weddings.

Ron coughs; bringing you out of your reverie. Turning around, you find him dressed in some old sweatpants and an old shirt. Your heart softens at the sight of him; his hands flex at his side – his nervous tick

His bed is just big enough for two; you lie side by side on your back, hands laid out by your sides. It would take less than a millimetre of space; less than a second of time to reach out and take his hand in yours, to tangle your fingers together.

But you don’t. You lie next to him; mind racing just as fast as your heart – any sense of tiredness hanging over you chased away the moment you laid down next to the boy you’ve loved since Fifth Year.

“Did you have fun today?” Ron asks in the dark; filling the silence.

“I did. It was nice to see everyone before we go back to school. Harry and Ginny looked particularly close.”

Ron frowns, “My sister and my best friend.”

You giggle, turning onto your side, “Don’t act like you don’t approve.”

Ron sighs with a smile,  “You’ve caught me out,” He furrows his brows, “Did you see them all whispering when we were dancing?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, “Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”

Ron snorts, reaching for your hand in the dark, “I know. Harry told me about it tonight.”

You sit up in bed; not letting go of his hand, “How long has it been going on? Hermione told me about it but she never said when it started.”

“Since last year. Harry only brought it up because if we get together by Saturday, he wins the bet.”

You laugh, “I can’t believe them.”

“Absolute gits,” Ron laughs.

You play with your fingers, dropping his hand to do so, “What do you think of the bet?”

Ron sits up, “Why?”

“It doesn’t annoy you?” You question; risking a peek at his face in the limited light of the moon.

“Not particularly. It’s a harmless bet.”

You nod your head; trying not to think too much of it.

“Why? What do you think of the bet?”

You sigh heavily; wondering how best to phrase what you’ve wanted to say to him all day, deciding that the truth is the best way to go. “I think I’m in love with you,” You state; bluntly, honestly.

Ron’s mouth drops open and you start talking without giving him a chance to say anything, “You don’t need to feel the same; really, you don’t,” You grab a pillow, “I’ll go sleep on the couch, I’ll see you in the morning.”

You make to leave but Ron’s hand grips your wrist, “Sit back down. At least give me a chance to reply.”

You sit back down on the bed slowly; your hand still grips the pillow in case you need to sleep downstairs. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Ron asks.

Shrugging your shoulders, you say, “I’m not sure. I wanted to, I really did but then you were with Lavender and I didn’t feel like talking to you a lot and then, and then, and then, I guess I didn’t want to ruin the friendship.”

“I wondered why you pulled away through Lavender; I barely saw you.”

You sigh; crushing the pillow to your chest, “It hurt too much to look at you.”

Ron shuffles on the bed, “If I had known-”

“You’d have what?” You interrupt, “You’d have broken up with her?”

Ron shakes his head, “I’d have never dated her.”

“What?”

“I’d have never dated her,” He repeats, “I’d have asked you out.”

“Oh,” You state.

“Yeah,” Ron mumbles, looking down.

“We’ve mucked this up haven’t we?”

“Nah, we haven’t,” Ron laughs, “We just delayed their bet.”

You giggle, “The bet. Who do we want to win?”

“Who’s the closest to tonight?”

You think for a moment; remembering the piece of paper that Hermione explained was the bet. “I think you were right earlier,” You say, “Harry is the closest by Saturday.”

“What do you think? Shall we let Harry win?”

You smile softly, leaning closer to Ron, “I think I’m okay with Harry winning.”

“Thank Merlin,” Ron whispers before pulling you in for a kiss.

His hand caresses your cheek, and he smiles into the kiss. You soon begin to laugh at the absurdity of it all; having to pull away from the redhead and assure him that it isn’t him you’re laughing at. Your jealousy over Lavender never spurred you to confess your feelings, neither did the Department of Mysteries, but a bet and a wedding has you falling into Ron’s arms.

Well, you know what they say about weddings.

***********

Your first outing in nearly a month and you had regretted ever even leaving the house. The cold November rain made you feel as if your very core was frozen — a very rude awakening at this late hour of the morning.

You slammed your door shut behind you as if keeping out the rain demons, leaning back against it and sighing out in relief that you were finally in a dry environment.

You shrugged off your sticky rain jacket, not even bothering to dry it off so that the drops wouldn’t puddle onto the hardwood floors. You hung it up, tossing your rainboots to the side as well. You dropped the full grocery bag to the floor, planning on putting the stuff away once you had regained your energy.

The house was quite, which was no surprise. Ron was fast asleep when you left that morning. He probably hadn’t even noticed you were out, really. He’d probably lose his mind once he found out, but he couldn’t have stopped you while sleeping so it wasn’t your fault.

You tiptoed over to your room, spotting the familiar head of ginger hair still sound asleep, a smaller mop of ginger hair resting against his chest. Your heart swelled at the sight and you left the room, letting the two of them catch up on much deserved sleep.

After your son was born, about a month ago, Ron went into full defence mode. He didn’t let you leave the house, too worried that something would happen to you. Maybe it was paranoia from the war many years ago, or maybe just because his inner protective dad side was coming through, but you loved him for it anyways.

He loved your newborn unconditionally. The two of them were inseparable and Ron didn’t seem to complain one bit. You’d often find them snoozing on the couch in the late afternoons or watching telly together — Ron loved to watch your son’s face light up at the silly cartoons.

Being as quiet as humanly possible, you snuck into the kitchen and opened the fridge, beginning to put away the food you had just bought and taking some stuff out to make him some breakfast. For a month now, Ron had been doing all the house work — cooking, chores, laundry — you thought it was about time you worked up the energy and did something for him.

You took a few eggs out of the fridge, along with the bacon that you had just bought, and began making him the first meal of the day while hoping the smell wouldn’t wake him or the baby up. The pouring rain continued on outside, which was no longer a pain considering you were becoming drier by the second.

After you had beautifully arranged a little tray, pouring him a cup of tea as well, you began slowly walking back into the bedroom. You stared at them for a little while, a bright smile on your face at how cute they were together. But, alas, you didn’t want the breakfast to grow cold.

You walked to his side of the bed, placing the tray down on the window sill and kneeling next to the bed, placing a quick kiss on Ron’s nose.

He scrunched up his face, “Mmm.. mornin’, darling.”

You smiled down at him, lifting your hand to run it gently through his hair. The morning sunlight was streaming through the windows, illuminating his bright hair and the freckles that were scattered faintly across his cheeks.

“Morning,” you smiled, “Made you breakfast.”

“Ah, I thought I smelled something,” he chuckled quietly, lifting both of his hands to place them on the sleeping baby still dozed off on his chest, “I can’t bring myself to wake him.”

You stood up and placed your hands around your son, “I’ll take him.” You lifted him off of Ron’s chest and cradled him in your arms, his big brown eyes waking up to look at you, “Hey, Ollie.”

Ron had fallen in love with the name Oliver — and luckily, you had too. When your son was born, there was no doubt in your mind that the name Oliver would suit him perfectly.

He fussed slightly, letting out a small cry before readjusting himself and resting his tiny head against your chest. Ron grinned at the two of you, standing up to grab the tray and sitting back down in bed.

“Come join me,” he pat your spot on the bed, lifting the covers a bit so you could come join him. You happily obliged, carefully sitting down without causing distress to your sleeping son.

“Thank you for this,” he motioned to the food, “Still love spoiling you more, though.”

“You always spoil me,” you replied with a grin, “Don’t know what I did to deserve it.”

He gave you a look of mock shock, “Don’t know what you did? Blimey, woman. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Don’t be pretending you’re not.”

Resting your head against his shoulder and letting out a laugh, you nodded, “Fine, as long as you also know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Both of you are.” You gazed down at your son, his eyes shut and his mouth hanging open. He had so many of his father’s features and you couldn’t help but beam with pride. If he had his father’s personality as well — his drive, his passion, dedication, loyalty — you’d be the proudest mum there ever was.

Ron stuck out his hand, holding a piece of bacon. You gladly accepted it with your teeth, enjoying the savoury flavour and suddenly wondering why you hadn’t made breakfast for yourself.

“Where’d you get the eggs? Could have sworn we were out,” Ron looked at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“We were,” you nodded, “I went to the grocery store this morning.”

He stared blankly at you, “You didn’t — Y/N, I told you not to go out there. You just had a baby, you need to rest up. Besides, I can hear the heavy rain hitting the roof. It’s miserable outside.”

You gave him a soft smile, “I know, Ron. But I was getting bored all cooped up. You’ve been doing everything, I wanted to do something for you.”

“And I appreciate it, darling, don’t get me wrong,” his eyes softened and he looked between you and Ollie, “I just worry about you. All the time.”

“I know, love,” you leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “If it makes you feel better, I did bring my wand.”

He pursed his lips and nodded his head, “Makes me feel a little better. But still. Next time, if you want to leave, we’ll go together, yeah?”

“Yes, Ron, we’ll go together,” you said slowly, like a child repeating orders from their parents. He seemed to accept your answer, though, for he went back to eating his breakfast, feeding you as well considering your stomach had begun to grumble loudly.

After you guys finished eating, you stood up and placed the still-sleeping baby in his crib, trying your best not to wake him as he looked incredibly peaceful. You smiled down at him before leaving the room and following Ron to the kitchen.

With a flick of his wand, the dishes were clean and began to float back to the cabinets where they belonged. You had barely had the chance to stand by his side before the cleaning had been done.

“Well, now we’ve got a whole morning of nothing to do,” he grinned, spinning around and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush to his warm body.

You lifted your hands and tamed his hair, “Wanna cuddle on the couch?”

“Of course. ‘S like you read my mind,” he smirked, pressing a kiss to your forehead and leading you to the couch, the two of you flipping down with you landing on top of him.

“Accio blanket,” you mumbled, the blanket from the other couch zooming over and enveloping the two of you in comfortable warmth.

Now comfortable and warm, you nuzzled your head into Ron’s chest, who had just turned on the telly to watch something about an upcoming football match — you were barely paying attention as you started zoning off in Ron’s arms.

“Go back to sleep, love,” he kissed the top of your head, rubbing his hand through your hair, “I’ll wake you up if there’s anything.”

“Mkay,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around his torso, “Love you.”

And you were losing your mind.

The evening of the wedding had gone by so smoothly. Bill and Fleur looked gorgeous, the summer breeze was just right, and you had danced the night away with Ron, not a care in the world. When Death Eaters had swarmed the place, you stood guard and prepared to attack, and that’s when you saw Harry, Ron and Hermione Apparate away.

It was soul crushing, no pun intended. You only wanted to know he was safe. It was too dangerous to send Owls back and forth. You were totally and completely in the dark.

“You’ve been sitting on the couch in the same clothes for nearly three days,” Bill’s voice startled you as he placed himself down on the opposite end of the couch, tousled hair hanging over his face.

“I’ve been looking out the window for any signs of danger,” you muttered, eyes still staring out the large window overlooking the endless fields. It was kind of true, if anything were to happen nearby you’d see it. But it was also because you couldn’t find anything distracting enough to do.

Bill sighed, his worried eyes on you, “Y/N, this isn’t healthy. I get you’re worried. Ron’s my little brother — I am too. But they’ve been gone nearly two months, we definitely would have heard something if something went wrong.”

Two months already. Two months since the wedding, the last time you saw the love of your life, as well as the last time you had seen your brother. The bundle of worry in your stomach had not died down since that day. In all honestly, you had barely slept since that day.

“You know the Dark Lord is after Harry. He’s the one with the impending doom hanging over his head,” you muttered, the uneasiness growing even more as you thought about your brother and what he was going through.

“Remind me again why Harry’s the ‘wanted one’ and not you?” Bill asked, eyebrows furrowed.

You sighed, and for the thousandth time, explained the story of the night your parents died, “Because, Bill, I wasn’t in the room. I was at my mom’s friends house. Harry was sick and she didn’t want me getting it so I was at her friend Lucy’s house and missed my parents getting murdered. Harry’s the one who survived Voldemort, I barely even exist to him. Which I’m not complaining about, don’t get me wrong.”

Bill nodded grimly, looking out the window to meet the same gaze as you, “They’re alright. Y/N. They’ve survived a hell of a lot during their time at Hogwarts. This is just another day at their hell hole of an office.”

You were well aware that Ron and Harry had been through a lot at Hogwarts. You were a year older than Harry, and so the rumours and stories always found a way to you quite quickly. Yes, word travelled fast at Hogwarts. However, after the Triwizard Tournament you didn’t really let Harry leave your sight, so you eventually found a way to be a part of the stories as well.

“I guess,” you sighed, well aware of how dramatic it sounded, “I just want a scrap of news. Anything. Just something.”

“I know, we all do,” he replied gently, placing a hand on your shoulder before standing up, “I’ve best be going, but I will write to you if I hear or see anything. This I can promise you.”

“Right, yeah, I promise I’ll write too,” you smiled faintly, turning away from him to look outside the window once more.

Bill left silently, disappearing into the fireplace by use of Floo, and you were once again left alone with the sorrow thoughts swimming through your mind.

You had tried so hard to persuade Molly and Arthur to let you take off and search for them, maybe even go to Hogwarts to scope out and help, but they had told you that for your own good, staying put would be the ideal way to proceed with things.

So you did.

— —

Six months.

It had been six bloody months and there was still no sign of anything. You had heard of rumours through the Ministry that things at Hogwarts weren’t going to well with Snape as Headmaster, but that was pretty much all you knew about the outside world.

You had heard nothing.

In six months.

For all you knew, Harry and Ron — the two most important men in your life — could be dead. And you’d have no idea.

You couldn’t help but zone out at the thought, nearly spilling your tea all over Molly Weasley as you walked into the kitchen.

“Oh, sorry Mrs Weasley,” you apologized, flushing slightly as you sat opposite her at the empty table.

“No worries, dear,” she grinned, looking outside, “Glad the winter months are coming in. The garden gnomes have been a pain this summer.”

You nodded absentmindedly, “Yeah, they were a pain.”

She looked at you, eyes showing her concern, “They’re alright, dear. Don’t worry so much, you’ll get wrinkles at such a young age.”

You giggled, taking a sip of your tea and smiling a real smile in what felt like the first time since the wedding. Molly Weasley has been such an important person to you over these brutal six months. Her positive energy and caring nature had helped you power through.

Over the last two months, she’d been occupying you with basic tasks and keeping your mind busy, which you were forever grateful for.

“Oh, is that Bill’s owl?” Molly’s eyes snapped to the window, and so did yours. Before she could say another word, you rushed out of your seat, opened the window, and snatched the letter off of the scrawny owl’s leg, your heart beating violently against your rib cage.

Mum, Dad, Y/N,

Things have been good here with Fleur. Married life is quite as strange as they say.

But, that is not the point of this letter. I wish to tell you that last evening Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Luna Lovegood arrived at our home. They had just come from Malfoy Manor, where they show clear signs of torture. We don’t know where they were before or where they’re going next but they will be staying for a short time, healing and mending.

Just thought I would let you all know they are safe, and that Y/N can sleep at night knowing that Ron and Harry are ok. They both send their love to her, and to you, Mum and Dad, as well.

Love, Bill

You dropped the letter, bolting towards the staircase with your heart leaping. Ron was safe, he was with Bill. There was no way anyone could hold you back from going to see him.

“Y/N! Where are you running off to?” Molly came rushing around the corner, her arms waving as she tried to collect you, “You’re not going out there. It’s way too dangerous.”

“Forgive me, Mrs Weasley, but I don’t care what you think,” you snapped, feeling guilty at the way her face dropped, “Harry’s my brother, and Ron’s the love of my life. I am not sitting here doing nothing. I’m going to get dressed and I’m going over using Floo.”

Before she could respond, you rushed up the never ending staircase and into your room, forcefully slamming the door shut behind you. You were finally going to see Ron again.

You changed into a tshirt and jeans and rushed back downstairs, finding yourself standing in front of the fireplace before you even knew it.

“No! Dear, don’t go,” Molly stood up from the couch, walking over to you, “Bill is saying it’s dangerous, he doesn’t want any of us to go.”

“I can’t,” you spoke softly, “I won’t stay. I just have to see him.” She seemed to want to press the subject even further, but as she heard the determination in your voice, she sighed, dropped her hands, and pointed to the tiny pot with the Floo powder in it.

“Fine, fine. Don’t tell Bill I let you go,” she pat you on the shoulder, “Be back by dinner and no adventures.”

“Yes, Mrs Weasley,” you grinned, stepping into the fireplace and careful not to lose your balance on the thick lumps of burnt logs and coal. You reached into the pot, grabbing a handful of Floo powder and held out your hand.

“Shell Cottage!” your voice was loud and clear, and within seconds, you felt the familiar tug and pull of the Floo powder, your body whisking away in a mess of green flames.

— —

Shell Cottge was awfully cute and quaint. Situated on a lonely beach, the only sound you ever really heard here were birds and the rumbling waves of high tide.

As you stumbled out of the fireplace into said cottage, careful not to crash into the bookshelf, you heard loud footsteps rushing in your direction to check for danger.

“Y/N?” Bill’s face fell as his sight landed on you, slightly ashy and discombobulated, “Godric, I told you to stay at my mum’s.”

“You told me Ron and Harry were here,” you crossed your arms after wiping your soot covered hands on your jeans, “I wasn’t going to sit on the couch and let you have all the fun.”

Bill looked worse than usual. His facial scars were fading, but his tousled hair was scraggly and greasy, and his eyes sunken in and tired.

“You have to go,” Bill sighed, running a hand down his face, looking back down the hallway he can’t from, then back to you, “You can’t be here.”

“Yes I can,” you stood up straighter as if to prove a point, “HARRY!”

A distant voice called out, “Bill? Is my sister here?”

You smirked proudly as Bill rolled his eyes, motioning for you to follow him. He led you into the dining room, where Ron, Harry, Hermione and Luna stood. They were all scratched, bruised and bloodied, and standing around an old pit of parchment on the table.

As your eyes landed on Ron, your heart skipped a beat. Six months of waiting and here he was, in the flesh.

“Ronald Weasley,” you walked slowly over to him until you were standing mere inches apart, “You look like hell.” You ran a rand through his matted hair, eyes landing on his damaged shoulder and the cut on his lip.

“Thanks,” he breathed our slowly, “I’ve only destroyed a horcrux. No big deal.”

You looked up and met his eyes once more, breath caught in your throat. He looked good. Damaged, sure, but good.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in for a tight hug, ignoring the prying eyes of everyone else in the room. He leaned his head into the crook of your neck, letting out a deep sigh as if the weight of the world were resting upon his shoulders. You brought a hand up to his neck, rubbing the damaged skin soothingly.

“You had me worried sick,” you whispered, relunctanrly pulling away so you could look at him once more, “Six months. And no news.”

“We couldn’t—,”

“I’m not blaming you, Ron. I know you couldn’t risk it,” you smiled, running your fingers over the cut on his cheek, “I was just having a really rough time.”

He chuckled, twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers, “I missed you. After the wedding I didn’t know who made it out and who didn’t. I sat listening to the radio every day waiting to hear bad news.”

You couldn’t imagine how rough these six months had been for him either. Away from everyone after the tragic events from the wedding with no idea who survived and who didn’t.

“I’m sure you’re aware by now but everyone in your family is safe. George is back to normal and still making ear jokes — naturally — and Ginny still asks about my brother every day,” you grinned, turning around to face Harry, “It’s good to see you too, Harry.”

You pulled him in for a hug, ignoring the blood from his hands that were staining your shirt as he hugged you back tightly. He was quite thrilled to see you too, you were his big sister after all.

“You sure? You seemed to only notice Ron,” he joked, causing you to chuckle as you pulled away from the comforting hug. You were overjoyed to see Harry, of course, but missing your brother and missing your boyfriend were two very different things.

“Hi, Hermione,” you smiled at her giving her a big hug as well.

Seeing them all in the room brought a sense of relief flooding throughout your body, a sense of comfort. As if the past six months of worrying had finally come to an end now that you could see them in person and know they were all safe and well.

Ron pulled you into his side once more and you leaned your head on his shoulder, reeling in the feeling of being close to him again.

“What have you been up to for six months, then? Did you replace me?” he grinned.

“Yeah, totally. I’ve had an affair with the couch,” you pressed a light kiss to his cheek, “Jokes aside, nothing. My six months haven’t nearly been as thrilling and outgoing as yours, I bet.”

“You got that right,” Harry sighed, “Polyjuice potion, dragons, horcruxes, goblins, swords, snatchers... it’s been a time.”

“Goodness,” you stared at him wide eyed, “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

So they caught you up on everything. From breaking into the Ministry of Magic and stealing a locket off of Umbridge, to flying out of Gringotts on a dragon, to being tortured and locked up at Malfoy Manor, you had your jaw dropped the entire time. You couldn’t believe how insane their time had been.

“We had a very different time,” you finally spoke up after the three of them recalled their aventure word for word. Ron was next to you on the couch, your head on his shoulder and his fingers rubbing circles on your thigh.

“I bet,” Hermione grinned, “There really was nothing like flying on a dragon. And I don’t even like flying.”

You smiled at her, “Can’t imagine there’s much like it. Hagrid would be proud.”

And finally, after six months, you got to be with Ron again. You got to touch him, kiss him, hug him, and keep an eye on him.

“Love you,” he muttered in your ear, a lazy smile on his face.

“Love you too,” you muttered right back, kissing his shoulder lightly.

Ron considers it for a moment. Nothing would change for the kids, really, but the two of you wouldn’t have to be together like this anymore. “How would we decide who got to live in the house?”

“Maybe we could switch weeks. Like one of us lives with the kids for a week. The other lives in the shed with no responsibly for what happens to them?”

“That could work.”

The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, letting the realization of what you are doing sink in. Finally, Ron speaks up. “We’re getting a divorce!”

You smile widely. “We’re getting a divorce!” And, for the first time in a long time, you feel happy. Truly happy.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Tom, but you never should have married him. The two of you drove each other insane with how you lived together, how you talked about each other, how you looked at other people. It felt like you were always trying to make the other angry.

But now, signing the divorce papers, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. 

The two of you left the courthouse with huge smiles on your face before getting in separate cars and driving home.

When you get home, your kids and Ron's parents are waiting for you. You told them that you had news and you were waiting to tell them until it was certain.

Ron's parents were convinced you were having another child, already making bets on if you were having a boy or girl, while your children were telling their youngest brother that he was going to have to move away.

“Ready to tell them?” Ron asks, ready to open the door.

“Wait!” You rush back to your car and pull out a poster board that explains your plan, complete with pictures of the newly renovated shed and a calendar that indicates which parent will be in the house when.

Ron laughs at you, shaking his head. “I’m so glad we’re divorced.”

You give him a playful glare before walking into the house. You are quickly stormed.

“How far are you?”

“Do you have names yet?”

“Please don’t sell me. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“We were only teasing.”

You pry your youngest, Jason, off you. “What? No, we’re not selling you. We’re not selling anyone, and we’re definitely not adding someone else to the family.”

“Then why did you leave?” your oldest, Amanda, asks. Then, noticing your poster continues, “What’s that?”

“Your mum got a bit too enthusiastic and made an overly complicated chart,” Ron explains.

Your middle son, Finn, takes the post from you, as everyone gathers around him to look at it.

“We’re divorced!” you and Ron announce in unison. 

Ron's parents stare at you, a million questions running through their heads. Before they can ask any of them, though, Jason starts crying.

“This is because of me!”

You and Ron immediately bend down to comfort him. Jason leans into your touch, crying into your chest. “No, sweetheart. This isn’t because of you. Or any of you. Mommy and daddy were just unhappy with each other, but we love you so so much.” You look up at your other kids, making sure that they know they are not at fault. Those kids were the best things to come out of your marriage. “Not much is going to change. We-” you gesture between you and Ron “-aren’t going to live together, but if you need one of us, we’ll just be in the shed. Promise.”

You watch as everyone in the room processes what you told them. One by one, they come to accept it.