Chapter Text
"Heaven help a fool who falls in love."
The Lumineers
Ron wasn’t quite sure how he’d come to be standing in the Ministry of Magic, outside the door to the courtroom where his ex-girlfriend and best friend were defending Draco Malfoy. He especially didn’t know how all of that had resulted in him pouring his heart out to Blaise Zabini.
Maybe pouring his heart out wasn’t quite accurate—but he had certainly said more than he’d intended to. It was something about this Zabini kid—the way he raised his eyebrows at everything Ron said, making him want to go back and explain himself a hundred times. Part of him blamed it on him being flustered—he’d never even intended on coming to the trial, let alone being denied entry. The whole ordeal was entirely embarrassing—and it was witnessed by a Slytherin, no less.
“And what are you doing here?” Blaise asked, as though he already knew the answer. It annoyed Ron—especially since he didn’t exactly know what he was doing there. He hadn’t intended on coming at all. In fact, he’d very resolutely told Harry that the night before when he’d tried to convince him. His whole family had been giving him disapproving looks all morning for not going and he’d retreated to George’s room, thinking he at least wouldn’t know about the whole Hermione-Malfoy situation. He’d been wrong.
Ron had carefully stepped inside and hovered near the edge of George’s bed trying to tell if he was awake. He knew if Ginny was there, she would know what to do and how to wake him, but Ron couldn’t think of anything. He was just deciding to leave when George rolled over and looked at him, blinking slowly.
“Hey,” Ron said, feeling stupid.
George just looked at him and Ron glanced around nervously. He noticed the blinds shut tightly and crossed over to open them.
“Leave it.”
Ron turned back around to look at George—his voice always surprised him these days, lacking the cheerfulness he had once associated only with George.
“Don’t you want a bit of light? Or fresh air?”
George rolled his eyes. “This is better.”
“Okay,” Ron said uncertainly, stepping back from the curtains. He looked around for somewhere to sit, but the only place was Fred’s bed and he was determined not to look at that. “You want some tea?”
“Not really.”
“Breakfast?”
“I’ll get something later.”
“Will you?” Ron asked, his eyes catching on George’s gaunt cheeks.
“Ginny’ll bring something if I don’t.”
“Ginny’s out today,” Ron said shortly.
George looked at Ron for a moment, his brow furrowed as though he was trying to sort through his memories. “Oh,” he said, a look of realisation dawning on his face. “It’s the trial today, right?”
There went Ron’s plan of hiding out from reality with George.
“Yeah.”
“They’re all there?”
“Yeah.”
“Hermione?”
Ron winced. “Yep.”
“It’s bullshit.”
Ron raised his eyebrows, surprised. He hadn’t expected George to know about any of it—let alone agree with him.
George rolled his eyes. “C’mon, it’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not thinking about it.”
“Yeah and I’m not thinking about Fred.”
Ron froze, his mouth slightly open.
“Relax, Ron—I can say his name.”
Ron nodded—he didn’t want to admit how hard it had been for him to say it aloud for months. “Fine—yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”
“You going?”
Ron shrugged. “I’m not really of any use there.”
“So it’s really over with Hermione?”
“Guess so.”
“Well you can do better than someone who cheats on you with Malfoy.”
“She didn’t cheat on me,” Ron said, hating how defensive he sounded—why did he still care so much about defending her?
“Whatever—leaving you for him.”
“She didn’t leave me for him—or maybe she did. I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“You probably should have.”
“Probably.”
“Why don’t you go and ask her?”
“What, walk into his trial and say ‘Hey Hermione, while you’re recounting your secret relationship with Malfoy, do you want to confirm if you’re leaving me for him or if it really ended in fifth year?’”
“Yeah—give the Prophet something good to write about.”
“They’re not allowed into the trials—Kingsley’s keeping it all private.”
“Fine—do it to piss off Malfoy.”
“More like entertain him.”
“It’ll entertain me at least—c’mon Ron, I need a good laugh.”
Ron glanced around the room, littered with various Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products. “Surely there’s something to entertain you here.”
“All this shit is broken—we left it to figure out someday when we had more time,” George said, his voice flat again. “Guess not.”
Ron peered into a box and pulled out an odd looking bell—as soon as he touched it, a loud clanging noise started. Ron dropped it, covering his ears and George yelped, jumping up.
“Fucking hell, Ron! It’s going to go forever now.”
“Sorry!” Ron said, reaching for his wand.
“No! Silencing spells only make it louder.”
Ron paused, then shrugged. “Muffliato,” he whispered.
The clanging grew muffled, then fell silent. George stared at him, mouth agape.
“How’d you do that?”
“Dunno—some spell Harry found. Figured it wasn’t a silencing spell so it might work.”
“That’s brilliant!” George said, staring between the bell and Ron. Ron blinked, surprised at George’s enthusiasm. “Guess we overlooked your talents.”
Ron winced at the use of ‘we’ but tried to grin at George—he hadn’t seen him this animated since before the war. “I knew you did—should’ve asked for my help earlier.”
George nodded, looking at the bell thoughtfully and mouthing the spell Ron had cast. Ron’s mind drifted back to the trial—despite his protests about going, part of him felt guilty for not being there. Harry, Ginny and Hermione had gone—it couldn’t be pleasant for any of them to be there. He knew he ought to be supporting them, but he couldn’t bear to hear Hermione talking about her relationship with Malfoy. Even if it had happened before he dated, he hated thinking about her lying to him for all those years—dating Malfoy and still not telling him.
Whatever way he thought about it, however, he still felt like he should have been there—at least for Harry. He knew they’d make him recount that awful night at Malfoy Manor and Ron should be there for him while he went through that, but he was too much of a coward. He supposed he could always go and slip out when Hermione testified—he wouldn’t have to hear all the gory details then.
Ron glanced down at his watch—the trial hadn’t started yet. If he left now he could perhaps arrive in time. He supposed this was a decision better made rushed—there was no time to overthink.
“I’m going out for a bit, I’ll be back soon,” Ron said. “Eat something, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah,” George said, now holding up the bell. “Punch Malfoy for me.”
Ron grinned. “Sure.”
Unfortunately, his last minute decision making was not taken into account by the Wizengamot. He arrived to find the doors stubbornly sealed shut. He supposed he could wait until a recess, but he was feeling more and more stupid standing outside that door. He leant against the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to decide what to do. He scuffed his shoe against the floor, hoping someone would leave so that he could slip in.
And then Blaise Zabini appeared.
“You’re going to ruin your shoes.”
Ron looked quickly for who had spoken. His eyes fell on his former classmate, who was watching him with an amused look on his face. “What?”
“Your shoes—you’ll ruin them doing that.”
“They’re not exactly precious,” Ron said, glancing down at his already beat up trainers.
“I suppose not—but we must take care of what we have.”
Ron narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said—don’t destroy your shoes.”
“They’re my shoes, I can destroy them if I want.”
Zabini nodded as though this was a very interesting point. “I guess no one is stopping you.”
“I thought you were.”
“No—just observing.”
“Right—well can you observe something else?”
“Probably,” Zabini said, but he made no effort to move.
Ron raised his eyebrows at him. “You’re just going to stay there?”
“I could observe something else—it doesn’t mean I want to.”
“Whatever,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “What’re you doing here anyway?”
“Same as you, I assume—I’m here for Draco’s trial.”
“Oh—were you late, too?” Ron asked, wondering why he was still having this conversation.
“I’m never late,” Zabini said disdainfully. “But unfortunately I’m not a war hero, so I was not invited inside.”
Ron furrowed his brow—now that he mentioned it, Ron couldn’t remember what Zabini had done in the war. He supposed he was another Slytherin who chose not to fight.
“Yes—free attendance to trials is one of the many advantages of fighting in a war,” Ron said sarcastically.
Zabini looked thoughtful for a moment, but seemed to decide not to say whatever he was thinking. Ron was grateful and took the lull as his opportunity to leave—this conversation just proved what a mistake coming to the trial had been.
“You’re not staying?” Zabini asked as Ron pushed himself off the wall.
“No—I don’t really enjoy waiting in corridors.”
“Oh, I do,” Zabini said, seeming oddly enthusiastic.
“Okay—well, great,” Ron said, shrugging and turning around.
“I’m sure you could find someone to let you in,” Zabini said, as Ron stepped away.
“I know that,” Ron said sharply—something about this Zabini kid made him feel so daft. “I’ve decided I don’t want to go.”
“Really? You seemed to be quite angry at the wall for not letting you in.”
“I wasn’t mad at the wall.”
“Then who are you mad at?”
Ron ignored Zabini and scuffed his shoe against the floor. When he looked up, Blaise had his eyebrows raised. “What?”
“You really mustn’t like those shoes—I can’t blame you either.”
Ron glanced at his old trainers and felt his face flush. “Piss off.”
“I’d rather not.”
Ron scowled at him. “What do you want?”
“Right now, I want to go inside the courtroom, but since I can’t have that, I’ll settle for your—well, I wouldn’t say delightful—company.”
“Why do you want to go in?”
“I care about my friend.”
Ron waited, but Zabini didn’t elaborate. He was surprised to realise that he was actually curious—he wanted Zabini to continue. This thought shocked him into realising exactly what situation he’d gotten himself into—one he didn’t really know how he’d gotten into. That was when he had broken into his thoughts, asking him what he was doing there and Ron tried to consider the sequence of events that had led to him being in this hallway with Blaise Zabini. He was still staring at him expectantly and Ron shrugged.
“My brother told me to punch Malfoy—or demand answers from Hermione.”
“Oh my, did I ever choose the right trial to stand outside of.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to do either of those things. I actually came to try to be supportive. Guess that was useless.”
Blaise looked at him curiously. “I disagree.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“You didn’t ask me to leave.”
“I think I did, actually.”
“I ignored that—my point is, you could leave, but you haven’t. Your friends will appreciate that.”
“Except I am leaving.”
“Really?”
“I’ve made enough of a fool of myself for one day.”
Blaise nodded, his expression frustratingly unreadable.
“Right—well, I’m going now,” Ron said.
“Goodbye,” Blaise said. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Ronald.”
Ron shuddered. “Merlin—call me Ron or Weasley or anything but that.”
“Okay, Anything But Ronald—I’ll see you later.”
“I’m not sure you will—goodbye, Zabini,” Ron said, pushing himself off the wall.
“Merlin—anything but Zabini!” he called out as Ron walked away.
---
Ron threw the Quaffle above his head and caught it before it hit his stomach. He didn’t know how long he’d been lying on his bed, throwing the ball and catching it again, but he couldn’t really motivate himself to do anything else. He was ready for Ginny when she approached him cautiously.
“Ron, I know you don’t want to—”
“Of course I want to see you off, Gin!” Ron protested, catching the ball and bundling it over his chest. “I just don’t love the idea of bumping into other people.”
Ginny leant against Ron’s doorframe, watching him carefully. “You don’t have to speak to her, you know.”
“Yeah, but that’ll make everything awkward. I don’t want you and Harry in the middle.”
“We can deal with a little awkwardness.”
Ron threw the ball up again, his jittery hands getting the better of him. “You shouldn’t have to. It’ll just be easier if I’m not there.”
“You know it won’t be,” she said, sighing loudly.
“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” Ron said, tossing the ball so high it hit the ceiling and bounced down at him.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“That’s worse—last time I spoke to her I was a total idiot. I can’t ignore her now,” Ron said, throwing the ball more carefully this time
“What, do you want to make up?” Ginny asked, surprised.
“I don’t know,” Ron said slowly, focusing on the ball. “I don’t think we can just get back together after everything, but she was my friend for seven years. It’s just weird not speaking.”
“So tell her that.”
“What?” Ron asked, distracted as he threw the ball up again. Ginny sighed and stretched her hand forward to catch the ball as it fell toward him again. “What was that for?” Ron asked, spinning around to look at her.
“Talk to me, not the Quaffle,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.
Ron scowled at her, but didn’t try to take the Quaffle back—he knew better than to cross Ginny when she gave him a look like that.
“Tell Hermione she’s still your friend,” Ginny said, not letting Ron stray from the subject.
“Is she?”
“If you want her to be,” Ginny said, shrugging as though it was that simple.
“What if she doesn’t want that?” Ron asked, trying to sound casual but hearing the nerves in his own voice.
“Like you said—you guys were friends for seven years. I’m sure she doesn't want to throw that away either,” Ginny said, her face softening.
“What if she’s with him?” Ron asked, looking down.
“She won’t be—they’re not together.”
Ron raised his eyebrows at Ginny. “But she defended him.”
“It’s complicated—you know that.”
“Yeah, so me not being there will make it less complicated,” Ron said, decisively.
“Will it?” Ginny asked, unconvinced.
“It’s one less thing to deal with,” Ron said, shrugging.
Ginny shook her head. “You’ll have to deal with it eventually—you can’t avoid her forever.”
Ron sighed. “I know—it doesn’t mean I have to speak to her today, though.”
“It doesn’t—but I’d like for you to come.”
Ron sighed—Ginny knew that he couldn’t say no to that. “Fine.”
“Good—George’ll appreciate the company.”
“George is going?”
“Yep.”
“You’ve been working hard to get us all to come, haven’t you?”
“Maybe,” Ginny said, grinning. “You’ll all thank me later.”
“I don’t like you like this,” Ron said grumpily.
Ginny stuck her tongue out at him and turned to walk down the stairs. “We’re leaving in ten!” she called back to him.
Ron sighed and followed after her.
---
Ron stood back with George and watched the crowd of returning Hogwarts students—it was strange to see the students boarding the train, knowing he would not be returning with them. He didn’t particularly feel like he could go back to Hogwarts, but he couldn’t help feeling nostalgic for a moment. The world may have fallen to shit, but before that he had made some good memories.
As though the thought had summoned it, a familiar laugh rang through the air and Ron felt his head whip around, looking for the source. He locked eyes with Hermione, who fell silent and dropped her eyes. Ron felt a wave of guilt wash over him—whatever confused feelings he had towards Hermione now, he didn’t like that he was stopping her laughter. Ginny’s words came back to him and before he knew what he was doing, he’d pushed his way through the crowd to Hermione. She had begun to walk back to her parents, so Ron reached for her arm to grab her attention. Hermione jumped, startled, and her hand plunged into her pocket as she whirled around.
Ron dropped his hand and stepped back. “Sorry—sorry!”
Hermione stared, wide-eyed, then blinked and seemed to relax. “It’s fine.”
Ron nodded—he knew all too well how difficult it was to shake the feeling of needing to be guard. Hermione looked at him expectantly and Ron dropped his eyes, suddenly nervous. “I just wanted to talk before you went back to school,” he said quickly—it would probably come out better if he didn’t overthink before speaking. “I’m sorry about how I reacted when you told me—you know. I guess it just caught me off guard.”
Hermione looked surprised for a moment, but shrugged it off. “It’s okay—you had every right to be angry. I should have told you before.”
“Maybe—doesn’t matter,” Ron said, not particularly wanting to argue about what they could have done differently. “Look, I just wanted to say that I can’t stand fighting with you. I don’t get what you could have seen with Malfoy or why you lied about it but I don’t want to fight about it.”
“Neither do I,” Hermione said and Ron almost believed her.
“I know Harry hates it when we’re not talking and he says he’s doing okay, but I don’t know if he is,” Ron said, glancing around to check they couldn’t be overheard. “I don’t want to add another stress for him so, friends?”
Hermione smiled and only someone who knew her as well as Ron did would have been able to tell it was forced. “Yeah—friends.”
This was enough for Ron—an attempt at friendship was better than what they had now.
“Um—well, I should probably go say goodbye to Ginny,” Ron said, looking away. “Have a good term.”
“Thanks,” Hermione said and they stood awkwardly for a moment before Ron hugged her quickly and turned back to where Ginny was standing with his family. He saw her watching them curiously and knew she would have a hundred questions for him. Not wanting to think about the answers to them yet, Ron stopped beside George, who was still hanging back from the crowd.
Ron returned to watching the crowd and suddenly felt a pair of eyes on him. He scanned the crowd suspiciously and his eyes fell on Blaise, standing alone. He nodded when Ron caught his eye and Ron nodded back, bemused—he had almost forgotten the conversation he’d had with Blaise outside the courtroom. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of any of it, but it seemed that Blaise hadn’t forgotten—his acknowledgement of Ron was almost friendly. Ron doubted that meant they were friends, however—Blaise didn’t seem to be the type to readily make friends and Ron certainly hadn’t agreed to befriending a Slytherin. He turned away and noticed George looking between him and Blaise curiously.
“You know him?”
“Not really,” Ron said, shrugging. “I bumped into him the other day and we spoke.”
“Where did you bump into him?”
Ron felt his face redden. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Ah,” George said, seeming to understand. “No wonder you’re so awkward.”
“I’m not awkward!”
George looked as though he was going to disagree, but seemed to decide against it. Ron almost wished he would—he longed for the days when his brothers would joke around and tease each other. It felt strange for their conversations to lack that these days. George didn’t seem to notice this, however, and moved to stand with their family. Ron followed, knowing his parents would want them all standing together to see Ginny off.
George’s remarks had made him curious about why exactly Blaise had acknowledged him and Ron glanced back over at him. He regretted it almost instantly—Blaise was no longer standing alone, but talking with Draco Malfoy. Ron knew there was a chance he would see Malfoy at the station, but he hadn’t wanted to think about it—it was easier to hate him than to consider he might not be evil. Ron turned away quickly. He knew the more he saw this new Draco—the one who apparently fought for their side and dated Hermione—the harder it would be to hate him.
The train whistled and the last of the Hogwarts students rushed forward. Ginny was leaning out a window to wave to the family and Ron could just see Hermione laughing behind her. He wanted to be angry—he wanted to just be furious at Hermione and Draco and every person who had caused him pain—but he couldn’t manage it. Hermione looked happy and, despite his own feelings, Ron wanted that for her. He only hoped one day he’d find it, too.
---
Ron flopped himself onto a chair in the kitchen, not wanting to go back to his room and shut himself away but not quite feeling like doing anything else either. George had disappeared as soon as they arrived home, saying something about going for a walk. If Ginny was here, she’d have made sure someone went with him, but Ron needed a moment alone—if George wasn’t back soon he’d go looking.
He didn’t know what had made him decide to apologise to Hermione—maybe it was what Ginny had said, maybe it was the guilt that had been gnawing at him the past few days, maybe it was Harry’s face every time their argument was brought up. Whatever it was, Ron had thought that apologising would make him feel better—he thought it would at least get rid of some of what he’d been feeling or somehow make things go back to normal. Now that he’d actually done it, however, he felt no different—he was still just as confused and hurt and he still had no idea how to act around her. He’d made an effort to suggest friendship, but he couldn’t imagine how they were supposed to reach that point again.
Ron jolted as he heard the door open behind him and saw his mother walking into the kitchen. She looked tired, although this was a look Ron had grown used to—she shifted her expression when she noticed Ron, attempting a smile. He wished she wouldn’t do that—it was as though she was trying to remain strong for the rest of the family, but he knew the attempt only exhausted her further.
“Do you want some tea?” Ron asked—he didn’t want her to disappear to her room again, knowing she’d just get caught up in worries about Ginny being off at Hogwarts and away from the family.
She smiled gratefully at him. “That would be lovely.”
Ron pulled out two teacups and flicked his wand to put the kettle on. A moment later, they were sitting with two cups of steaming tea. His mother looked over at him curiously and Ron waited, anticipating the question she was about to ask.
“I saw you talking to Hermione at the station,” she began cautiously.
Ron nodded, not particularly wanting to discuss his conversation with Hermione, especially when he was still trying to understand it himself. “Uh—yeah, we spoke a little.”
“I miss having her around, you know,” his Mum said and Ron could feel her watching his reaction.
Ron nodded, not quite able to find the energy to lie. “I know—I do, too.”
She looked at him curiously. “Did you tell her that?”
Ron shrugged. “Sort of.” He caught sight of her expression and quickly corrected himself. “I mean I told her I missed our friendship.”
“Oh—only friendship?” she asked, unconvinced.
“Yes,” Ron said resolutely.
“But she’s so sweet Ron, I’m sure she misses you too—you were such a good fit.”
Ron shook his head. “Not as good as I thought.”
“Of course you were—you were always friends and it was always obvious she was special.”
“She was—but I wasn’t,” Ron said, casting his eyes down so he wouldn’t have to see his Mum’s pity.
His Mum shook her head dismissively. “Of course you were—whatever argument you had, I’m sure the two of you can work through it. You can both be too stubborn.”
Ron sighed loudly—he knew it wasn’t his Mum’s fault she didn’t understand, but he was tired of being told he needed to do something to fix it. “It’s not about being stubborn—she lied to me.”
She paused at this, looking thoughtful. “Are you sure—”
“Yes—she told me.”
“She said she lied to you?”
“Not in those words but she admitted to having hidden—she didn’t tell me something she really should have.”
“What was it?” his Mum asked, concerned. “What did she hide from you?”
“I don’t want to talk about this, Mum.”
“But if you want to get back together—”
“I don’t and she doesn’t either,” Ron said, hearing the growing harshness in his voice and hating it.
“Are you sure?” his Mum probed.
Ron took a breath to steady himself before he spoke. “Yes—she has someone else.”
His Mum looked horribly scandalised. “What? I’m sure she didn’t—are you saying she…?”
“She didn’t cheat on me,” Ron said dully. “She just lied about having dated someone before me.”
His Mum clucked her tongue. “Oh, Ron—you can’t get angry at her for having a past.”
Ron shook his head, knowing he wasn’t explaining himself properly but not quite able to force himself to say the truth. “It’s not that she has a past—it's who she dated.”
“Who did she date?”
“It doesn’t matter, it won’t make a difference.”
“I just want to help,” His Mum said softly.
Ron paused, giving himself a moment to calm down before speaking—he didn’t want to dismiss his mother. The topic angered him, but she was only trying to help. She didn’t need her son to push her away.
“She dated Malfoy and she never told me—not until she decided to testify at his trial.”
His Mum froze, then worked quickly to rearrange her expression. “Oh my.”
“Yeah—I couldn’t pretend I was okay with that. I didn’t even try to.”
“Did she break up with you when she found out he was innocent?” she asked and Ron detected a hint of anger in her question.
“No—I broke up with her when she told me the truth,” Ron said, somehow finding himself wanting to defend Hermione, despite everything.
“So she didn’t go back to him?”
Ron shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You should have asked her.”
Ron sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t want to hear her say she was choosing him over me.”
“But what if she wanted to choose you?” his Mum persisted.
“She already made that choice—back when she dated him the first time. He won and I didn’t even know there was a competition.”
His Mum was apparently still unconvinced. “People change—she may want you now.”
“She doesn’t,” Ron said firmly.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough—it can never be the same between us. We can’t go back to what we were so the most I can try for is to be friends again.”
“I just—I want you to be happy,” his Mum said sadly.
“I will be,” Ron said, trying to sound reassuring, “but I don’t think it’ll be with Hermione.”
She nodded understandingly and Ron was relieved to see she was apparently dropping the subject. After a moment, she spoke, looking at him sternly. “You better be telling the truth about wanting to be friends—your girlfriend or not, she is family. I don’t want her to feel unwelcome.”
Ron laughed. “C’mon, Mum—you know Ginny would never allow that.”
“I suppose not,” she said, looking suddenly distant.
“Ginny will be fine—you don’t need to worry about her.”
“I’ll always worry about my children,” she said, her voice shaky.
Ron reached for his mother’s hand, clasping it in his own. She gave him a watery smile and turned to look out the window. In the distance they could see the red flash of George’s hair as he wandered down the lane. Ron made a note to make more of an effort to check on him—he’d let Ginny and Percy take that role, too caught up in his own problems to know how to help. Now that Percy was needing to work more and Ginny was back at school, he knew George would need him. He wondered if he’d even want to go out flying later—he could finally have someone other than the ghoul to throw the Quaffle with. And if George didn’t want to, maybe they could just talk—he didn’t know how to help George like everyone else did, but he felt it was about time he really tried.