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He’s fifteen years old when everything changes for real.
He is Ron Weasley and his best friend and probably one of the great loves of his life is going crazy, and he doesn’t know what to do to help and he probably can’t do anything to help, really, because Harry won’t let him.
Harry shouts that they don’t understand, they can never understand, and whereas Ron is fully prepared to let it go like he always is (because that’s what he does, that’s what he’s always done, he accepts it and moves on), Hermione does not let it go. She patiently pleads with him to explain, then, to make the both of them understand so they can help, and Harry does not explain and they’re left with nothing. Like they always are.
Loving Harry isn’t easy. It’s never been easy. But Ron does it anyways, because he’s loved him since he was eleven years old and Harry was his first real best friend. Loving Hermione isn’t easy, either, to be fair, but in a completely different not-easy way than loving Harry is.
He knows that it’s probably not easy for them to love him, too. He’s difficult to love, because he’s insensitive at times and hot-headed and Hermione’s right like she always is, he has the emotional range of a teaspoon. He’s also used to being pushed to the side and forgotten about and he’s accepting of that fact, because that’s just how it’s always been. He’s always assumed he would be forgotten about in the grand scheme of things with his two best friends, too, because that’s how it always is, and even four years later he’s still pleasantly surprised when he’s not. Hermione scolds him for it, when he seems shocked that she chooses to spend time with him even when Harry’s off brooding.
So he tries to make himself easy to love, because he wants to make things easier for his two best friends. Harry continues to shut him out, so it makes sense that he doesn’t know about the fact that Ron punches Seamus in the face in the dormitory when he’s talking shit about Harry’s sanity. Harry is oblivious to the glares Ron sends people over his head when they look at him funny, and he begins to get a bit of a reputation as that one Prefect you really, really don’t want to mess with.
The Weasleys are notorious in many ways, always standing out (and not just because of the height and the hair), and Ron is absolutely no different. Bill was the Head Boy, loud and imposing and using his power wisely. Charlie was the star Quidditch player, popular and proud. Percy was the smart one, well-known if not impossibly kind. Fred and George, of course, are Fred and George, the funny ones, the ones everyone knows of and wants to know. Ginny is the golden child, probably the most powerful out of all of them.
Everyone in the Weasley family has a reputation. Ron’s reputation is Harry Potter’s best friend, and he likes it that way. Harry Potter’s best friend turns into Harry Potter’s defender, and he gets used to having bruised knuckles and black eyes and sometimes when he’s patrolling the halls and he runs into kids who you know talk shit about Harry behind his back or to his face, he finds himself docking more points than necessary, and then they get mad and he’ll throw a punch and they’ll throw a punch back and he wins every fight he gets into. He’s Ron fucking Weasley. Harry Potter’s best friend. When it comes to him, of course Ron’s going to win every fight he gets into.
He always goes to Hermione after the fights. The stairs to the girls’ dormitory seems to have realized by now that he doesn’t have ill intentions, and lets him pass without turning into a slide. He sits on the edge of Hermione’s bed as she magically patches him up and gives him disapproving looks, even though she would be doing the exact same thing. He still remembers that punch she threw at Malfoy third year.
Sometimes Ron goes up and Hermione’s asleep, and he feels bad waking her up, but Lavender's awake and she’s good at the healing spells, too, so he lets Lavender wake up Parvati and he gossips with the two girls for hours, and he’s pleased with himself for making friends that aren’t Harry and Hermione, even if he rarely talks to them outside of those sleepless nights.
The teachers don’t find out about the fights, because the people he fights are too scared to go to them. They know what’ll happen if they do, because right behind him is Hermione Granger, and if they get Ron in trouble who the hell knows what she’ll do. The Gryffindor Prefects aren’t the most perfect authority figures in the world, and it’s probably a little bit of an abuse of power, but neither of them care because it’s Harry, and they love Harry, they’d both do anything for Harry.
Sometimes Harry has nightmares, and Ron’s a light sleeper, contrary to popular belief. Or maybe he’s just sensitive to the thrashing that Harry tends to do in his sleep, the mutters of no and don’t kill him, but he always tries to shake Harry awake before he can wake up Neville and Dean and Seamus and then subtly slip back into his own bed so Harry doesn’t know it was him.
And then comes the day that he can’t wake Harry up, Harry’s screaming something dreadful so he goes and gets Hermione and Ginny and Fred and George and McGonagall and they manage to get him up and then they’re in Dumbledore’s office and being told that his dad’s just been attacked by a snake and Harry’s yelling and they’re back in Grimmauld Place.
It’s weird, seeing his dad like that. Vulnerable. Ron had always figured his parents were untouchable, but now he’s realizing that this is a war and nothing is untouchable.
Harry blames himself, because Harry blames himself for everything. Ron tries talking to him and he doesn’t quite think the message gets through, so he goes to Sirius.
“What do you expect me to do?” Sirius asks, a bit harshly. Ron’s always thought Sirius didn’t like him a little bit, but that’s alright, because a little part of him doesn’t like Sirius, either, and he doesn’t quite know why.
“Tell him it’s not his bloody fault,” he mutters. “He’ll listen to you. He always listens to you.”
There’s something akin to pity in Sirius’s face, like he understands how Ron feels. Ron snarls at him a bit and leaves the room and goes to find Hermione and Ginny.
He realizes that night that the reason he doesn’t like Sirius is because Sirius hasn’t been there for Harry. Because Sirius went after Pettigrew instead of staying and taking care of what little part of James and Lily was left. Ron tries to think of what would happen if Harry or Hermione had a kid and then got killed, if he would try and raise the kid or if he’d go after the murderer and get himself locked up in the process. He doesn’t know the answer. He’s fifteen, for Merlin’s sake. He’s still a kid himself.
So was Sirius, he supposes, when everything happened. He makes an effort to be nicer to Sirius. At least to make Harry happy.
Not much makes Harry happy these days. Ron misses his smile. His laugh. He knows Hermione misses it, too, because in the dark hours of the night they find each other in the common room and whisper to each other about everything that’s happening. He keeps getting in fights with people who talk shit about Harry. It’s almost addicting, at this point. Eventually, Hermione begs him to knock it off, and he does. Mostly.
Dumbledore’s Army continues. Harry tells them about kissing Cho, and Ron pushes down the jealousy boiling in his gut. He can see Hermione struggling to keep her face neutral, to act excited for Harry. He can also see how relieved she is when Harry tells them about how terrible their Hogsmeade date went.
The Quibbler is published. The scars on Harry’s hand start to stand out more. Ron can’t take it.
“I’m afraid I can’t do anything, Weasley,” McGonagall tells him, because every adult in their life fails them at some point or another. “The Ministry quietly endorses everything that hag does. Including torture.” Part of Ron is happy that McGonagall will call Umbridge a hag in front of him. Like she isn’t holding back anymore. Like she trusts him. She sighs and makes him a cup of tea.
“Miss Granger tells me you’ve been defending Potter’s honor,” she says eventually, and Ron nearly freezes. But McGonagall just looks proud. “Don’t lose Gryffindor any points, Weasley. And don’t do anything that’ll catch Umbridge’s attention.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies thickly, and he finishes his tea and leaves without another word.
During his career meeting, Umbridge is sitting just behind McGonagall. McGonagall asks if he has anything particular in mind.
“Dunno,” he shrugs, looking everywhere but Umbridge, because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop himself from lunging at her if he even glances her way. “Probably whatever Harry does, I guess.”
“You need to stop basing your life around Potter, Mister Weasley,” McGonagall sighs. He tries not to let it sting. “What are you interested in?”
Ron shrugs again. Umbridge is scribbling on a clipboard in the corner. “Never been interested in much,” he admits. “Quidditch, maybe, but I’m a rubbish player. Not much of a career there. Er- business?” He likes the things Fred and George do. If all else fails, he can help them.
“Have you considered a career at the Ministry, Weasley?” McGonagall asks. Umbridge leaps at the chance to say something. McGonagall cuts her off before she can even speak. “I am not asking you, Dolores. I am asking Mister Weasley.”
Umbridge sits back down. Ron coughs, trying to hide a laugh.
“Not particularly,” he admits. “I guess I could do something there. Take after my dad.”
“No offense, Mister Weasley, but you are meant for greater things that that,” McGonagall tells him. “Give it some thought. And do try to pass your OWLs.”
He nods and leaves the office. Umbridge seems particularly foul later in the day.
“What’s got her all up in arms?” Hermione mutters to him later. Ron shrugs. You need to stop basing your life around Potter is echoing in his head.
Harry continues having nightmares, and Ron continues waking him up. They continue life as normal- or as normal as it can be, at least. Seamus stays back after a DA meeting to apologize to Harry about his treatment of him earlier in the year.
“‘S fine, Seamus,” Harry says with a half-smile. “No hard feelings.”
“Yeah,” Seamus snorts, grinning, though no one misses the look he sends Ron. “No hard feelings.”
“Why’d he look at you like that?” Harry asks, when it’s just them and Hermione left in the Room of Requirement.
“Like what?” Ron asks, playing dumb. Hermione stifles a laugh.
“You knew he’d find out at some point, Ron,” she says, clearly amused. Harry does not look pleased at being kept in the dark. Some evil part of Ron wants to keep the secret, to let Harry know how it feels to be shut out for once. He stamps it down as best as he can.
“Punched Seamus in the face,” Ron admits eventually. “Broke his jaw. Pomfrey had a field day.”
Harry looks aghast. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“He was talking shit about you again,” Ron shrugs. It must be the way he says it, because Hermione is cackling, her head thrown back, and Harry breaks into a smile.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says. Ron reaches an arm out and snakes it around Harry’s shoulders, then holds his other arm out for Hermione. Still laughing, she joins their little group huddle as he drags them together.
“‘Course I did, you’re my best mate,” Ron tells him, and Harry just shakes his head as he, too, laughs.
Good things come to an end. They always do. They’re found out, SNEAK bold across the forehead of Cho’s friend that Ron never bothered to learn the name of. Harry and Fred and Ron lose their brooms. Fred and George leave school. Ron couldn’t be more proud of them, and he knows his new dress robes are from Harry’s money, the same money they’re using to open their shop, but he never says anything about it.
They win the Quidditch Cup. He’s never felt better as the Gryffindors hoist him onto their shoulders, and he’s never felt worse as he realizes Harry and Hermione aren’t in the crowd. They explain to him, afterward, and he’s still hurt but he doesn’t say anything because he wants to be easy to love and he can’t do that if he’s mad at them.
Umbridge catches them trying to get to Sirius. Umbridge goes into the forest with Harry and Hermione. Ron throws the first punch, and he also throws the last one that knocks Malfoy out. It feels damn good, too.
He and Ginny and Neville and Luna meet Harry and Hermione at the edge of the woods. They look shaken, but not hurt, which has Ron nodding proudly.
“You’ve got a black eye,” Hermione comments with a frown.
“You should’ve seen it,” Neville says, beaming. “We took all six of them down. Ginny was amazing, and Luna-”
He keeps going. Harry looks proud. They make it to London and absolutely everything goes wrong and one minute Ron’s there and he’s fighting, shouting as loud as he can as he waves his wand and the next thing he knows everything is fuzzy and there’s a brain wrapping around him and Harry’s face looking terrified and then there’s nothing.
His mother and Hermione explain everything to him, how the rest of the fight went and Sirius is dead and Harry is okay, he’s with Dumbledore now but he’s okay. Luna’s in the bed next to him and Ginny and Neville are hovering and Hermione hugs Ron so tightly it hurts, his whole body is sore and covered in scars and he puts that off in favor of waiting for Harry.
It takes a while. Harry looks angry beyond belief, but mostly just tired. His face breaks into a relieved expression when he sees that the five of them are okay, and collapses into Ron’s arms when he opens them. Hermione drops down and Luna scoots over from her bed and Ginny and Neville are there too and for a moment- just a moment- everything is okay.
Summer comes. He’s sixteen years old, and everything changes again.
He is Ron Weasley and his best friend and probably one of the great loves of his life is staying in his house, just down the stairs in Ginny’s room. He gets to see Hermione every day and her parents don’t mind that she spends all her time with the Weasleys and he can see that it hurts her, a little bit, that they aren’t more protective over her, so Ron does his best to show her that she’s part of the family. That she’s loved.
They spend long nights on the couch tangled together, neither of them really doing anything, listening to the radio and watching Order members come and go. No one ever says anything about how close they are, but they get a few looks. They both ignore it.
Some nights Hermione comes up to Ron’s room and they sit on opposite ends of his bed in silence. Some nights he sneaks down to Ginny’s and sleeps on the floor, just to remember that they’re both still alive. The scars from the brain room don’t fade, and neither do the nightmares about his sister and best friends dying.
Harry comes, eventually, and for a moment they get to pretend everything is wonderful. He seems a bit surprised when Hermione lays her head in Ron’s lap on the Weasley couch, and then when she sits up and glares at Harry until he joins them and she can tangle her legs with his.
“Is this normal?” Harry whispers to Ron.
“Yep,” Ron says with a grin, throwing an arm over the back of the couch and subtly letting it drop to Harry’s shoulders.
They get their OWL results and Ron’s pleased with his, Exceeds Expectations on nearly everything. He’s not jealous of Harry’s Outstanding on DADA, they were all expecting it, and of course Hermione’s got O’s on nearly everything. He’s just thrilled that he’s advanced to the NEWT level on every course that matters.
“I never apologized to you,” Harry says quietly one night, a few days before they go back to school. “For last year.”
“What’s there to apologize for?” Ron shrugs.
“I was a dick,” Harry says plainly. Ron shrugs again.
“You were going through it, mate,” he says. “Still are, probably.”
“Doesn’t give me the right to take it out on you, though,” Harry says. “So. Sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” Ron declares, because he knows what Harry is like and Harry isn’t going to drop the subject until Ron explicitly says those two words. Harry nods and seems to relax more in his presence.
Sixth year is… different. Something is off, about all of them. He knows that Hermione can feel it too. Harry shuts them out less, tells them everything that Dumbledore tells him. Snape is awful. Ron keeps his spot on the Quidditch team. He suspects Hermione has something to do with it, based on the look on Cormac’s face, but none of them like Cormac so he doesn’t say anything.
He’s a little jealous of the whole Slug Club thing, but he doesn’t say anything about that, either. On nights Hermione and Harry and Ginny are gone, he and Neville and Luna start chess tournaments and practice for classes and study together. It feels wonderful, having friends. Sometimes Lavender and Parvati and Seamus and Dean will join them, and part of Ron thinks Dean and Ginny would start dating if he hadn’t known Seamus and Dean had been together since third year, albeit in secret.
Lavender kisses him one night, and he kisses her back. Then he tells her that he can’t do this.
“I know,” she says simply. “I was just-” And she glances across the common room at Parvati, who’s talking with Ginny, and Ron nods.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I get it.”
He kisses a bloke, some random Ravenclaw, and it feels just as nice as kissing Lavender, although not as nice as he thinks it would if it were Harry or Hermione. He keeps both of these kisses a secret, something to mull on.
He dreams about the brain room nearly every night. Not necessarily nightmares, just… dreams. Remembering. Everything that happened. He wonders what it would be like to be an Unspeakable, and then he pushes that thought out of his mind. He has other things to worry about. Like the fact that he still can’t do a single nonverbal spell.
He goes to McGonagall one night while every sixth year in the common room is practicing nonverbally, sits down and tells her his problem.
“So you want me to what, Mister Weasley?” McGonagall says, one eyebrow raised. “Tutor you?”
Ron shrugs.
“I’ll tell you what,” she says. “Think about this. Have you ever done magic before without speaking? Think hard.”
And he does, and he realizes he has. The slug charm he tried to cast on Malfoy second year was nonverbal, even if it backfired because of his shit wand. His eyes widen, and McGonagall smiles.
“You’re just not confident, Weasley,” she tells him. “You think you’re second to Granger or Potter, and you don’t realize you’re perfectly capable of magic yourself. You were excellent on your OWL for this class, and I know you were in your other classes as well. You just need to believe in yourself. Here-”
She waves her wand and one of the desks behind him turns into a large mannequin, like the ones in the Room of Requirement the previous year.
“Expelliarmus,” she tells him. “Fairly simply. Try it.”
So Ron stares down the mannequin and pretends it’s a Death Eater and channels all of his emotions into his wand and he waves it without thinking and blasts the entire thing back until it hits the wall and falls to the floor.
“Well,” McGonagall says slowly. “That was Stupefy. But you’ve got the idea.”
Ron beams.
He starts practicing more nonverbal magic. Sometimes, when he’s alone, he tries wandless magic. Little things that he’s seen his mother do on occasion. It nearly always works. He feels… powerful. Like he’s his own person. Like he’s not judging himself based on what Harry and Hermione can do.
He sucks at Apparating, though. He supposes that’s just how it is.
The year moves on. He nearly gets himself killed again, with the poisoned firewhiskey on his birthday, of all things. It’s only Harry’s quick thinking that saves him, and when he wakes up the first thing he sees is Hermione and Harry staring over him, looking terrified.
“‘M not dead yet,” he grumbles. “Why do you lot look like you’re at a funeral?” Hermione bursts into tears and Harry shakes his head. “Thanks,” he says earnestly to Harry.
“Don’t mention it,” Harry replies, sounding a bit choked up.
They leave him with his family and continue to visit and he makes it back to the common room eventually. He keeps dreaming about the brain room. He doubts it’ll ever stop.
Some nights, Hermione sneaks up to the boys’ dormitory and shakes Ron awake. They sit in his bed like they did over the summer, silently. Sometimes Harry joins them. Most of the time they let Harry sleep, Merlin knows he needs it.
Things get too real too fast. They find a replacement Seeker for Harry and they win the Quidditch Cup and Ron sees Ginny run at Harry in the common room party after and for one awful, terrifying moment he thinks Harry is going to kiss his little sister but he doesn’t, Ginny just throws her arms around his neck and he spins her around and a moment later he’s running over to Ron and hugging him just as tightly.
Harry goes with Dumbledore alone. Harry leaves them the lucky potion and they split it up amongst the five of them because they all know, just know, they’re going to need it, and it’s the only reason that any of the five of them make it through the night.
Ron throws more nonverbal spells than he’s ever thrown at once. He gets disarmed at one point and his wand goes flying down the hall, and as his gaze follows it he sees Hermione nearly falling under Fenrir Greyback and he lashes out so hard that the werewolf is sent slamming into the wall. Hermione stares at him with wide eyes, realizes he doesn’t have a wand and throws him hers. He turns and shoots off another stupefying spell at the nearest Death Eater and she calls his name and they switch wands and turn and shoot at the same time, back to back, like they’re meant to be fighting together.
They see Harry run after Snape. They see Dumbledore’s body. Ron is filled with fury, that Dumbledore would dare have the audacity to leave this all on Harry’s shoulders, because of course Harry isn’t going to let anyone else do this. Nevermind the fact that they’re barely seventeen. Harry hasn’t even reached that point.
But if Harry’s doing it, so are Ron and Hermione.
He’s seventeen years old when everything changes all over again. For one long year, everything is absolutely terrible. They start in Grimmauld Place and the three of them sleep on the floor in the same room, all tangled limbs and waking up screaming. Then they’re camping, night after night in a different place, putting up every protective charm they know. The locket nearly drives them apart. For one miserable night, Ron leaves, because he can’t take it anymore. He’s back early the next morning, before Harry and Hermione pack up and leave, apologizing profusely. They seem to understand.
It’s Harry who wanders off and nearly gets himself drowned, and Ron dives into the freezing water to save him. Harry opens the locket and it hisses awful things at him, about how Harry and Hermione prefer each other to him and he’s always been his mother’s least loved and then some warped Harry and Hermione are kissing each other and he almost hesitates, but he slams the sword down and the locket screams.
Ron drops down, crouching and covering his hands with his ears, the sword discarded. There’s a moment and then Harry is next to him, hand soft on his back, and Hermione is running because of course she heard it and she sees the state Ron’s in. None of them sleep in separate beds that night.
The Snatchers find them. They’re taken to Malfoy Manor. And Hermione is screaming, screaming, screaming, and Ron is screaming right back, and eventually everything goes quiet and then they’re fighting and then they’re gone and Dobby is dead. Ron carries Hermione to Bill and Fleur’s from the beach. Once he’s certain she’s asleep, he helps Harry dig the grave.
Hermione is awake by the time they get back inside. She collapses into his arms and sobs, and he holds her as tightly as he dares. He knows she won’t break, because she’s Hermione Granger. But even Hermione Granger needs a moment to herself. Harry sits on the other side of the bed and rubs her back soothingly.
The war continues. They get Griphook’s help to rob Gringotts. They get the cup and escape on a dragon and flying through the air is the freest Ron has ever felt.
Things move too fast. They’re in Hogsmeade. Dumbledore’s brother is helping them. There’s Neville, and there’s Ginny, and there’s Luna again, and Ginny and Luna are holding hands and Neville is beaming at them and everyone is cheering, everyone is there, and he knows that this is it.
He and Hermione go down to the Chamber while Harry’s looking for the diadem. He manages to speak enough Parseltongue to open it, and they grab as many basilisk teeth as they can carry and destroy the cup and go running for Harry.
For a moment, Ron thinks Hermione is going to kiss him when he mentions the house elves. She doesn’t, though, just beams. Harry looks between them, eyes narrowed, and Ron sends him a grin that he hopes is reassuring.
They destroy the diadem and nearly get themselves killed in the process. They join the fight and nearly get themselves killed in the process. Percy redeems himself. Fred still dies.
Ron can barely bear to look at the body, one hand in Hermione’s grip, one hand in Harry’s. And Harry-
Harry, like the dumbass he is and always has been, goes to the forest without saying goodbye.
The worst feeling in the world is Hermione’s grip on his arm as they see Harry’s body. And they’re both screaming, screaming at the top of their lungs, and then Neville takes the head off the snake and Harry’s gone and they’re fighting again and his mother’s just killed Bellatrix Lestrange and then there he is, facing off against Voldemort, talking about love, and Ron knows with all the certainty of a thousand suns that when Harry talks about love he’s talking about Ron and Hermione.
Voldemort dies like any mortal man would.
Later, much later, the three of them slip off to the Gryffindor common room. They fall asleep on the floor, piled on top of each other, and when they wake up Ginny and Neville and Luna are all sitting nearby.
“We’ve been protecting you, don’t worry,” Luna says, and they smile at her and the six of them make their way out to start helping to clean up the castle.
Fred’s death stings for a long time. All of the deaths sting for a long time. Their friends and family members are dead and the pain of that isn’t going to go away. Hogwarts reopens in September, having an eighth year for the first time. All three of them go, of course- nearly everyone that made it out of the war alive goes.
They pretend they’re not haunted by nightmares. They pretend they’re really living. It’s Hermione that suggests they start seeing therapists, because magical ones have just started to crop up, Muggleborns that go to Muggle universities and study psychology and want to help wizards with trauma. Ron scoffs at the idea, but Hermione books him an appointment anyways. He goes over the winter break and talks and talks and talks and he keeps going to appointments. He knows Harry and Hermione do, too.
They pass their NEWTs with flying colors. Neville accepts a position as the Herbology professor nearly the second they get their results. Harry claims he wants to be an Auror, and then McGonagall offers him the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Hermione and Ron encourage him to take it, and he does.
Hermione goes into the Ministry, wanting to change things. Ron is in charge of using Harry’s money to find the three of them a flat in London. They end up in Hogsmeade instead, which none of them really mind, and after a few months of Hermione Flooing to the Ministry and Ron Apparting to Diagon Alley to help George with the shop and Harry traversing up to the castle, Ron goes out on a limb and applies for a position at the Ministry.
In the Department of Mysteries.
In the brain room, to be exact.
And he gets it.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Harry asks when Ron tells him and Hermione the news at dinner.
“Yeah,” Ron says honestly. “I’m really, really sure.”
He finds that he loves his job as an Unspeakable. He and Hermione Floo to and from the Ministry together every day, and eventually all three of them start living in the room given to Harry at Hogwarts. If students see him and Hermione roaming the halls with Professor Potter on weekends, none of them say anything about it, even though the stares get a bit awkward after a while.
They gave up on sleeping in separate beds a long time ago. Even though they’re still seeing therapists, they still wake up with nightmares. That’s just the way it goes, Ron supposes.
Things get better. Slowly but surely, they get better.
And loving… starts to come easy. Slowly but surely, all three of them find it easy to love each other. Because they’ve been through so much. Because they’re getting better. They sit down and talk about it one night, about how they’re all trying to make themselves easy to love, and they realize they don’t have to force anything anymore. The three of them love each other, simple as that. Isn’t that enough?
It is. It is enough. It’s always been enough.