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Ronald Weasley is three years old when Bill Weasley is sorted in Gryffindor. He is only a toddler, but all of a sudden his family surrounds themselves in red and gold. Their scarves and Christmas sweaters are embroidered with lions and griffons.

Loyalty is Ron Weasley’s core, and by the time he is grown it’s all his own, but who does he learn it from?

When Ron Weasley is seven years old, all three of his older brothers have been sorted into Gryffindor. At this point, it’s a conscious allegiance. His brothers are lions, and so he will be too. Arthur Weasley tells each of his children that he will love them no matter their House, and Ron is the only one who takes offense.

Not being Gryffindor would be a betrayal to his legacy– and besides, his mum already has the red and gold wool.

Ron is nine years old, and a man named Lucius Malfoy insults his father in The Daily Prophet. This is the first time that Ronald Weasley hears the term 'blood traitor.’ He hates it– ‘traitor’ means ‘betrayal,’ and Ron Weasley has never betrayed his blood. His blood is red and gold, his blood is rubber ducks and Christmas sweaters. His blood is warding and dragon scales. When he gets older, it’s Floo regulations and joke shop products. It’s Quidditch. His blood is library books and mysteries, maps and invisibility cloaks. By the time Ron Weasley is of age, his blood is made of all these things.

When he is nine years old, his blood is only some of this, but Ron Weasley is still not a traitor to any of it. He hates Lucius Malfoy for what he says about his dad. Arthur Weasley is the smartest man he knows. Arthur Weasley can change the Wizarding World. He is progress and determination and drive. Lucius Malfoy defames his father’s reputation and his livelihood, and Ron hates him.

He learns of the blood feud between their families, and he knows he will never not hate Lucius Malfoy. Someone with his blood, generations ago, was wronged by a Malfoy. Ron Weasley will not forget that.

When Ron Weasley first sees Antonin Dolohov’s mugshot in The Daily Prophet, he is fifteen. Dolohov has just escaped from Azkaban alongside nine other murderers, and the Ministry still insists that everything is fine. He is filled with a seething rage; that man killed his uncles. Fabian and Gideon Prewett were killed by that man’s hand. Dean reaches across the breakfast table and pats down the sparks that are jumping at Ron’s fingertips; he’s had practice with Seamus, who catches flame twice a week. Hermione looks surprised by his loss of control, but Harry knows, as he always has.

Ron is loyalty, but he is also fire. His core can burn with hatred that it’s so hard to let go of. To do so would be a betrayal. Weasleys do not tend to forgive.

When Ron Weasley is ten, his brother Bill gets an apprenticeship at Gringotts.

“I’m going to be stationed in Egypt!” Bill tells them, and Molly Weasley is angry because her son is leaving home.

Ron will miss Bill, and he tells him so, but he would fight to let him leave.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?”

Bill says yes, and ten-year-old Ron Weasley stands firm against his mother. His older brother is eighteen, and is standing at his side, and Ron swears that Bill will be in Egypt by the week’s end. He is right.

Ron Weasley is ten, and he starts reading about the pyramids and tombs. He reads them out loud to Ginny, and she loves the cats and sphinxes.

“Will Bill meet a sphinx?” She asks.

Ron Weasley has researched this, because his oldest brother loves it and his sister does, too.

“Probably,” he says. “Sphinxes are guardians. They’ll be guarding old tombs.”

When Charlie Weasley graduates Hogwarts, he runs away to Romania. Ron is eleven, and he writes his brother a letter that Errol carries across Europe.

You should have told me sooner! Ron writes. I’ll have to read so much about Romania this summer! Next time you do something that’ll set Mum off, give me an advanced warning. She asked what was good about Romania, and the only thing I could say was vampires. Well, now she’s found my book about Transylvania, and I really don’t think I’ve helped your case. Sorry. I’ve gotten my hands on some other books now, though, so next time she asks I’ll mention the painted monasteries.

This is not at all the kind of letter Charlie Weasley had expected to get from his family, and he stares at the words in awe. He hangs it above his camp bed, and his coworkers make fun of him, but Charlie is unrepentant.

Ron Weasley is eleven, and he has spent his summer reading about dragons and Romania. He spent the year before that reading about warding and curse-breaking and Egypt, and he spent his life before that learning Muggle electricity at his father’s side and secret fudge recipes in his mother’s kitchen.

He meets Harry Potter on the Hogwarts Express, and he grumbles about being one of seven and feeling overlooked. When Ron Weasley was six, he threw his lot in with the Chudley Cannons, because there was nothing special about them and Ron understood. He loves his family, and would not hesitate to die for them, but sometimes eleven year olds want to feel seen.

Harry Potter sees him, unquestionably, and after only a week, when Harry Potter dives on his broom to catch a Remembrall, Ron Weasley is already prepared to face an angry Minerva McGonagall for his friend. This kind of undying loyalty is what Ron Weasley is. It does not keep him from feeling unloved or overlooked, but it is unshakable. Even when Ron Weasley hates one of his own, he still would not hesitate to die for them.

Ron is eighteen at the Battle of Hogwarts, and he sees his older brother for the first time in over a year, familiar red hair darting between enemy spellfire. “I hate you, Percy!” He screams, and deflects a nasty curse that was heading in his brother’s direction.

Ron is fourteen, and he is jealous and lonely and guilty. He tells Hagrid that Charlie is bringing in dragons for the Tournament, and he knows that the information will make its way to Harry.

Ron is seventeen, and he’s more tired than he’s ever been. Every dark thought he’s ever had is festering within him, and the surge of hatred he feels when looking at his two best friends makes him also hate himself. He leaves, and he immediately regrets it.

That evening, Ron is only eleven, and Malfoy challenges Harry to a Wizard’s duel. Ron volunteers himself as Harry’s second, because now it is his friend and his family that he is defending.

But Harry is scared, and Ron can see it: “What if I wave my wand and nothing happens?”

He falls back on what he always does when Ginny is upset. “Throw it away and punch him on the nose.”

This strategy is called humor, and it makes Harry smile, so Ron counts it a victory.

Harry Potter becomes the youngest Seeker in a century. Ron doesn’t need to research this one much, because the rest of his family likes Quidditch, too.

When there is a troll in the dungeon, Ron thinks of how he is a Gryffindor, and knows that he will try to save Hermione Granger. It’s the chivalrous thing to do, and it's the brave thing to do, and Ron’s loyalty is to these Gryffindor values– but more than that, it’s the right thing to do, and so he does it.

Well, they do save Hermione, and then she turns around and saves them, and then they are friends.

Harry’s first Quidditch match almost kills him, and Ron is genuinely about to punch Snape in the face.

They begin to research Nicolas Flamel, and Hermione comments with shock about his researching habits.

“You’re good at this, Ron– why don’t you study your classes like this?”

Ron doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t study his classes because there’s no reason to. Why should he? What does he owe? Who is it for?

It does not occur to an eleven-year old Ron that there are some things he should want for only himself. This thought does not consciously occur to him for a long time.

Ron is fourteen, standing up on a broken leg to place himself between his best friend and a mass murderer. Something flashes in Sirius Black’s eyes that is almost sorrowful, but Ron actually doesn’t give a damn. This man got Harry’s parents killed, and he will have to strike down Ronald Weasley before hurting either of his friends.

Days later, he’s back on the Hogwarts Express, knowing more now than he did before. A tiny puffball of an owl crash-lands on his lap, and he wonders who it belongs to. It turns out– this owl belongs to him, because apparently Sirius Black feels sorry for what happened to his rat. This thought is so odd that he doesn’t quite know what to do with it– he’s been complaining about losing Scabbers all year, but that was done on Harry’s behalf.

He knows that Harry hates being grounded and trapped, and the loss of his broom was the loss of something greater. He’s thrilled when Harry unwraps the Firebolt, but not just because of the model. It’s also because Harry now has an escape again; he has his freedom back. And then Hermione, in her caution, takes it from him. Ron Weasley knows Harry Potter like he knows very few people in the world, and he knows that chaining Harry down is the worst way to protect him. Harry forgives too fast and forgets too soon, as always, but Ron is betrayed for him. Weasleys do not forgive, as has been mentioned, and so even when he’s not quite sure why anymore he grabs on to the nearest excuse and flings it in Hermione’s face.

So honestly– it wasn’t really ever about Scabbers. It wasn’t really ever about himself. And now, this owl, this tiny dust-bunny creature, this is his. The thought is so strange that it unsettles him, and he passes the duty of naming the owl onto Ginny. The only thing Ron has that’s entirely his own is his wand, which is really just an extension of himself. He doesn’t know what to do with something that’s only his.

The owl becomes his, and also Ginny’s.

But right now he’s only eleven, he doesn’t have an owl yet, and the holidays are coming. Ron writes to his mother about Harry, sends it off in the talons of a bird who is not his own.

His relatives hate him, he writes. He’s my friend. He gets sad when people talk about Christmas. He does not write, He sees me, and he’s me and mine, but somehow that is what Molly Weasley reads all the same.

Harry wakes up on Christmas morning to an emerald green sweater and a box of fudge, and Ron glows at the smile on Harry’s face.

Later in the year, Charlie receives a frantic letter from his younger brother about how the gamekeeper’s hiding a baby dragon. He’s been working at the reserve for barely ten months, and he’s about to go and ask his coworkers to help him break a very important law.

Ultimately, he doesn't even need to think about it. The Weasleys are all loyal in this way. Charlie’s coworkers are bewildered, but he still does not back down. He has no reservations. He would do this for any of his family, but the letter still hanging above his bed from last summer makes him particularly vicious about it.

Days later, he hears from Ron again.

Charlie, you’re a lifesaver! We lost a bunch of points, and our House hates us, but at least Hagrid’s hut didn’t burn down. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for the handoff, but Harry and Hermione say that there was no time to speak or see faces anyway. I was in the Hospital Wing getting treated for a ‘mysterious bite’– I’m fine by the way, so don’t worry. Hopefully you can make Nobert feel at home in Romania. Hagrid’s crying buckets, and we’re trying to convince him that it was for the best. We got caught because Malfoy’s a git, just like his sniveling father, and because Neville Longbottom is noble but has no idea what he’s talking about. Thanks again, and tell your friends that they’re super cool for helping you commit a felony.

Charlie shows the letter to his coworkers, and he thinks they start to understand.

Eventually, Ron’s first year ends in a dramatic fashion. They think Snape is going to steal the Stone for You-Know-Who, and Harry wants to stop him. Hermione is afraid of getting expelled, but Ron is afraid that Harry will get himself killed.

“You’re mad!” He says, and he’s thinking about the stories Bill and Charlie used to tell about the war. Charlie used to pretend to stargaze so he could catch the Dark Mark in the sky and know if someone had died, and Bill was an eight-year-old boy who told his Dad he loved him every time he left his sight.

His mother says ‘You-Know-Who’ in a shaky voice, and Ron didn’t learn the name ‘Voldemort’ until he was nine. He thinks about how he doesn’t remember his mum’s brothers, and he thinks about the many times this year that Harry’s already died. But Harry is not stupid, and he knows the implications of things if not the specifics.

“SO WHAT?” Harry shouts. “Don’t you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort’s coming back!”

The very reasons that Ron won’t let Harry go are the same reasons why Harry must. Hermione is Muggle-born, and these things are new to her, but Ron has always known that magic is more than turning buttons into beatles. Still, Harry Potter is his best friend more than he is the Boy-Who-Lived. At eleven, Ron knows that this is not their job. But Harry continues to argue, and Ron debates with himself.

He thinks of learning about warding and the laws of dragon breeding in Britain. He thinks about learning the function of a resistor in a circuit board, and learning how to purl stitch. He thinks of hours spent in the library looking for Nicolas Flamel, he thinks of troll bogies and three-headed dogs and eternal life and gold.

He thinks of the last war. His uncles were killed in that war. Lucius Malfoy fought in that war. He thinks all of these things, and they convince him of his decision, but he doesn’t really need to think about any of it. He sees the look in Harry’s eyes and knows that he’s going to let him go after the Stone. Of course he will– it would be betrayal not to. Ron is made of loyalty. This is who Harry is, and Ron cannot deny him it.

They agree, because there’s not a world in which they don’t.

“All– all three of us?” Harry asks, and Ron wants to throttle him.

“Oh, come off it,” he growls. “You don’t think we’d let you go alone?”

Harry says that they’ll be expelled along with him, and it barely registers to Ron– he would get expelled a thousand times for his family and friends, and he’ll do it so that Harry doesn’t have to be alone.

But he’s worried about Hermione. She’s always had trouble defying authority. And Ron knows that the Wizarding world is her and Harry’s escape. She says ‘expulsion’ and thinks of losing everything. She doesn’t yet know that there are worse ways to lose.

In actuality, Hermione surprises him. Harry points out that they’ll be expelled, and she says: “Not if I can help it.” Her eyes are fierce. “Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam. They’re not throwing me out after that.” He’s never been so proud.

Ron Weasley is sixteen, and that glint in Hermione’s eyes is familiar now. This is how she looked when she searched furiously for a way to keep a Hippogriff alive, this is how she looked when she slapped Draco Malfoy across the face. This is how she looked when she started S.P.E.W., when she blackmailed Rita Skeeter with life in Azkaban, when she resisted Umbridge by learning what they didn’t want her to. This is how she looks when they’re flying away from Gringotts on a dragon, and Ron knows that she considers this revenge for what Bellatrix Lestrange did to her at Malfoy Manor– but, oh, that hasn’t happened yet. Ron is only sixteen, and he sees that glint in Hermione’s eyes, and she’s glaring at Harry’s new textbook.

Harry and Hermione are, respectively, the immovable object and the unstoppable force, and he honestly has no clue who’s going to win here. Seamus catches his eyes from across the common room as he’s leaning out of the path of Hermione’s ire. She and Harry are arguing across him, about Horcruxes and Draco Malfoy and a Half-Blood Prince. Seamus salutes him, and Ron gives a wry nod. This is the depth of Ron’s loyalty, that he’ll sit here and listen to them argue themselves in circles.

Ron is only eleven again, and the Headmaster is saying that Ron has played the best game of chess that Hogwarts has seen in many years. McGonagall eyes him with surprise, and Percy is boasting about him down the table. The twins are cheering with the rest of Gryffindor, and Harry pats his head. Ron thinks of the moment before he made the call to sacrifice himself, and he thinks of looking up into the cold, white, marble face of the queen.

He would do it again, he knows. He would do it even without all that he’s gained from it, and despite all that it’s taken from him.

He now has nightmares about chess games and the life-size marble pieces. He likes chess, but after his first-year, he learns it like he has learned nothing else before. He will never again allow himself to be outmaneuvered, not at the cost of his family and friends. Next time, he might not be able to afford self-sacrifice.

That summer, Charlie and Bill come back home for two weeks. It’s the first time Ron’s seen either of them since they left home. Charlie makes an offhand comment about keeping a dragon in the shed, and Molly Weasley goes pale and runs outside to check.

Ron rolls his eyes and yells: “C’mon, Mum, he’s obviously joking. We discussed this one, remember? Dragon breeding was outlawed in the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709.”

There is silence, and when Ron looks up, everyone is staring at him. He flushes.

“You discussed that one?” Bill repeats, and Ron averts his eyes.

“Did you learn that because of your dragon misadventure?” Charlie questions, confused.

“No,” Ron mumbles. “I learned that last summer. You were in bloody Romania, and I had no warning, and Mum was going mental. I could’ve helped more if you’d given me a warning, you know. But I did what I could. She kept going on about how you were going to bring back a bunch of Hungarian Horntails, and the Burrow was going to burn down. But I told her– dragon breeding was outlawed in the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical creatures is super strict about that.”

“There're Common Welsh Greens living in Wales, and Hebridean Blacks living in Scotland, and the Ministry already has to do a lot of memory modification on the Muggles to maintain the Statute of Secrecy. Dragon breeding would be ten times worse. They think the Great Fire of London in 1666 was started by a Common Welsh Green that someone was keeping in their basement.”

There is still dead silence, and Ron still does not look up. “Well, the point is, it would be stupid to try to raise a dragon here. And Charlie’s not an idiot. So.”

“Why did you learn all that?” Charlie asks, and he sounds flabbergasted. Ron finally looks up, and he is glaring death at Charlie.

“Because you’re my bloody brother,” he spits, “and you’d run off to Romania without telling us or saying goodbye or stopping at home, and I was doing my best to learn what I could to make sure Mum didn’t drag you back kicking and screaming.”

“I did the same for Bill when he went to Egypt, you should at least remember that. I had nightmares all that summer about canopic jars and Egyptian curses. I wanted to be able to know which dragon bit you in half when you were mailed back to us in a box, and I wanted to be able to know which pharaoh Bill had pissed off when he came home with no tongue and his legs missing.”

“I never told Mum about that stuff, though. I only told her about the stuff that wouldn’t make her kidnap you and lock you into your rooms. Like, she almost sent Bill enough food to feed a brigade when he left, and so I told her about Egyptian food so she wouldn’t think he was starving.”

Ron points at Bill’s lanky form. “I told her that you were probably loving the feteer meshaltet because it’s like meat pie, and so she learned how to make it. Be ready for that, I imagine we’ll be eating a lot of it this week, ‘cause it’s the first bloody time you’ve been home since you left. I told her about how many Muggles visit Egypt every year and how it must be super safe. I try not to make her think about you actually being in the tombs, though, because the Muggles definitely don’t go in there.”

Bill is staring, and Charlie swivels his gaze between him and Ron. His youngest brother growls in frustration.

“Charlie, why are you so shocked? You knew when I did damage control for you, I sent you a letter about it! You’d run away so suddenly that I had no time to read anything, the only thing I could tell Mum about Romania was that it had vampires, and then she went around for a week thinking you were going to get your blood sucked. I had to actually find a map of Romania to show her how far the dragon reserves are from Transylvania, and I’m pretty sure she still sent you a box of garlic that month.”

Charlie does remember that, and he remembers being very confused about it. Now he’s smacking himself for missing the connection. He does, after all, still have the letter that Ron’s referencing hung above his bed.

Everyone is pale now, staring at Ron, and this seems to make him angrier.

“What? Do you think I don’t care about you all or something? Did you think I wouldn’t learn about the things you all enjoy? I’m not– I’m not a traitor to our family!” Ron spits these words in anger, because ‘traitor’ is the best word he knows to describe everything he hates, and because Draco Malfoy has been taunting him with it all year.

“I learn about your interests because they’re important! I learn about things that are relevant to you! I did the same for Harry when he was nearly thrown off his bloody broom in Quidditch! I learned more about how to hex a broom last November than I ever did about making a match into a needle. And then we found out about Nicolas Flamel, and we practically lived in the library. I can name every significant academic advancement from the last one hundred years, even the ones done by Snape! I’m not stupid! And I’m definitely not disloyal!”

He’s glaring, and Charlie raises his hands in a placating gesture. “We didn’t mean to offend you, Ron. We know you’re loyal to the family, and to us. I was just– shocked. And happy. I didn’t think any of you really cared about my passions.”

“Nor I,” Bill says. “At least, not to that extent.”

Ron flushes bright red. “Oh,” he mutters.

“Do you learn about our passions?” Percy asks curiously, and the twins lean in to hear.

“Shut up,” Ron grumbles. “Your passions aren’t even that difficult to learn, Percy, it’s no big deal. It’s just like a game of chess.”

“What’s Percy’s passion?” Bill asks, glancing between the two of them.

“Government,” Ron sighs. “I’ve found up to three hundred and seventy-two different career paths for him to become the Minister, and everytime I find a new relevant statute, the number goes up. I’ll be able to pare some down of the routes when his OWL results come in, but that’ll just eliminate the dodgier options, because we all know he’s got straight O’s. You’re a bloody swot, Perce. That’s just strategy, though, it’s not that hard. But I do know way more about the Department of Magical Transportation than I ever wanted to.”

“Why that department?” Asks Charlie, and Ron gives him a strange look.

“It’s Percy’s preferred career path, so most of the strategies I’ve determined are centered around it. He only talks about it all the bloody time. Best case scenario, it takes him seven years to become the Department Head, and the fastest he can become Minister is two years after that. Personally, though, I wouldn’t go for the Minister position. Politics are about influence, and the Minister only controls the executive branch. The Wizengamot has more power, so I’d aim for Chief Warlock if I was at all interested in this stuff.”

“What about us?” Fred and George ask in unison.

Ron rolls his eyes. “You suck, that’s what. First of all, I had to spend forever figuring out how you even do the things that you do, because you’re so bloody secretive about it. And then when I knew, I had to learn it. I already had to learn rudimentary runes because Bill loves warding so much, but George’s specialty is spell-crafting. I practically needed to be fluent. At least Fred’s specialty is only potions, which doesn’t make you learn another language, but I’ve got no clue how you got good at it when Snape is our professor.”

George’s eyes are shining. “So you did learn runes, then?”

“Yeah. Mind you, I don’t think I’ll be taking it in third year. Seems a big hassle.”

“Well, you’ll have already gotten the basics,” Bill says, but Ron makes a face.

“That’s incredible, Ron,” Arthur says, impressed. “I don’t think any of us had any idea that you liked to familiarize yourself with our interests.”

Ron looks utterly dumbfounded at this. “How could you possibly not know? I had you teach me the names and functions of every piece of that circuit board you found last summer in that muggle clock.”

Arthur looks surprised at this. “Well… most of you don’t listen when I go on about that stuff.”

Ron snorts. “Well, we definitely know more than any other pureblood. And I definitely know more than Charlie.” Charlie flicks him.

“What about me?” Ginny asks, leaning over in her chair. “And Mum?”

“Mum taught me how to knit. And how to cook, which took way longer. Ginny… honestly, you mostly like Quidditch, I think, but so do the rest of you. So do I. Your interests will change once you get to Hogwarts, I think.”

“She also likes Harry Potter,” Fred teases, and Ron rolls his eyes.

“Yes, well, I take great pleasure in telling you that not one of those adventure books are real, Gin.”

She flushes red, but is still looking at him insistently. “And you mentioned Harry? And his interests?”

Ron shifts uncomfortably here, because he doesn’t know what he wants to say or who it will help. But he’s certainly not about to lie, and Ginny asked. So:

“Well, he’s me and mine,” he says. “And– I reckon he was since I sat down next to him on the train. He’s just a person, right? Just a kid, like I am. And he hasn’t ever fought a banshee or ridden a Nundu. He vanquished a Dark Lord, but he doesn’t remember that. He’s never fought a manticore, or a chimera, but he’s done much better things, and much nobler things. He’s kind of a noble idiot.”

Ron’s still not looking at anyone, but he continues on. “He lived with Muggles for ten years, and he’s never said it, but I know they weren’t good to him. They aren’t good to him, and I’ve been worried out of my mind for the past two weeks, because I think he’ll either snap and do something stupid or be self sacrificing and suffer through things that he shouldn’t. And I don’t actually know which I’d prefer, but I do know that he’ll think those are his only two options, because it took him a while to get used to the idea of friends, and I’d give you a thousand Galleons that I don’t have if he’ll write me or Hermione for help if he needs it.”

He finally looks up. “I do know about his passions, though. His passions are having fun, and helping people, and solving mysteries, and causing a bit of mischief. His passion is Quidditch. He likes talking to Hagrid, and he likes petting Fang. He likes talking to the portraits, and I think that’s because he never knew portraits could talk. He hates it when people stare at him or ask to see his scar, and he hates being famous for being an orphan.”

Ron sighs, warily watching Ginny’s curious expression. “And… he’s the Boy-Who-Lived, I s’pose. He lives up to the title, which is really the crazy thing. I don’t think he even realizes it, but he does. The whole thing about sending Hagrid’s illegal dragon to Charlie– that was his idea. And he risked expulsion to get Neville’s Remembrall back from Malfoy. And he went behind McGonagall to stop You-Know-Who from coming back. And he wants a family, ‘cause I don’t reckon he’s ever had one before.”

Ron falls silent, examining the wood grain of the table. “So,” he says, almost to himself. “We’re his family. Me and ‘Mione, and Dean and Seamus and Neville.” He looks back up at his brothers and sister and father. “And that’s me and mine. And so are all of you.”

There’s a very raw sort of silence. The moment feels pivotal, like there’s something significant about it, but no one can quite tell what exactly it is. Ron turns away, and then the moment shatters.

“So, can we get Harry here later in the summer?” They move on, and make plans to kidnap an adolescent Harry Potter from his uncle’s home, but Ron’s family does not forget. They tuck his words away into the backs of their minds, examine them in times of need on rainy days.

Fred will find himself watching Harry Potter in the halls of Hogwarts, thinking of Ron’s ferocity as he says, “Me and mine.” By third year, Harry is a part of the Weasley family, and it’s not as difficult handing off the Map as he’d feared. By third year, Harry has a greater need, but also, Fred Weasley always helps his loved ones.

Charlie thinks of the words ‘damage control,’ he spends late and lonely nights in Romania staring into an open flame. Especially as the war worsens, and he’s stuck across the continent– he thinks of Ron describing the painted images of the Romanian Churches of Moldavia to their mother, all to keep her from fixating on the dragon-handling.

“Do you actually find this interesting?” Charlie had once asked, and Ron had said: “I find you interesting. I find this relevant. And I’ve heard that the exterior walls of the Arbore Monastery are beautiful.” This is not really an answer, but at the same time, maybe it is. If it weren’t for Charlie, Ron might not find it interesting, but Charlie is his brother, and so he does.

Bill sometimes savors his memories of Ron's casual manner as he lies in the dark next to his wife at age twenty-five. He imagines his littlest brother snagged by Snatchers, and he thinks of the words ‘feteer meshaltet’ rolling off of Ron’s twelve-year old tongue. When he’s feeling really down, he actually gets his mother to make feteer, and puts his feet in the sand of the shore near Shell Cottage and imagines that he’s standing in Cairo with his thirteen-year-old brother beside him.

After Fred’s death, George thinks about how he has more than one brother. “I practically needed to be fluent,” his younger brother had once said, casually mentioning how he’d learned a language to keep up with George’s passions, and he reminds himself that Fred was not the only one who knew him or loved him. He can’t quite talk to his mother yet, but he makes out some messages to Ron in runes, and thereby conveys that he’ll stay at the Burrow until June. Runes are something that Fred couldn’t do. They remind George that he’s his own person, but also that he was one half of a whole.

As the war worsens, Percy retreats deeper into the Ministry. If he looks around himself, he’ll be hit with a tidal wave of guilt, and so he very firmly doesn’t do that. When he’s offered an advisor position in the Department of Magical Transportation, he thinks of Ron’s matter-of-fact expression: “It’s Percy’s preferred career path.” This time the guilt feels less like drowning and more like burning alive.

He blinks the pain away, recognizes that he’s being asked to trap Muggle-borns in their homes. He takes the offer, and ends up with his dream job, and does everything he can to sabotage it. This is not what he’d imagined life to be when he was fifteen years old, and these are not the choices he thought he’d have to make. In the end, though, it’s always an easy decision. Percy is Percy, and that means he’s always climbing for higher heights, but he’s also Percy Weasley, which is always so much more.

Years later, when Ginny makes Chaser on the Holyhead Harpies, she climbs over the back of the chair that Ron has claimed in the sitting room of the Burrow. “So, did you ever figure out if I liked something other than Quidditch?” She teases.

“And Harry Potter,” George calls, and it’s been long enough that he doesn’t flinch at reusing one of Fred’s jokes.

Ginny sighs in a put-upon manner. “I was ten! And I’m gay!”

Ron rolls his eyes, but he says: “Defence. Transfiguration. You’re good at Conjuring, and cloth manipulation spells. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you hemmed your own blazer for Dean and Seamus’ wedding.” She flushes, but her eyes are sparkling, and he leans in to whisper in her ear. “You also like Luna Lovegood,” he says, and she shrieks and shoves him away, bright red.

But that’s the future, and now– now, Ron still has five brothers, and Harry Potter is looking through the bars on his window to see Fred and George and Ron in a flying Ford Anglia.

The whole family had made a plan, and Molly had asked Dumbledore, but he had said no. They had planned to pick Harry up in the car, but in the plan, the car was on the street instead of in the air and a legal adult was driving.

Now, though– the Weasley matriarch has too much trust in Dumbledore to defy him, and it’s been a week and a half since Ron has heard from Harry, and so he goes to the twins and says: “Let’s go get him.”

And the plan had been to drive on the roads when everything was above-board and Arthur would have been at the wheel, but Fred and George are fourteen, and they’re also wizards, and the open-air has more room for error. So the car is flying.

They get to Privet Drive, and they see the bars on the window, and Harry’s pale face. Fred and George remember Ron saying, “They aren’t good to him,” and these boys who have grown up surrounded by love and laughter finally start to realize what that means.

The bars come off the window with a wrenching screech, and they pull Harry into the car while dropping his uncle into a bush. Ron looks down and thinks vicious thoughts, some of which are along the lines of: You deserve that, and most of which are along the lines of: How dare you hurt my own.

“Are you okay?” George asks worriedly, because he can’t possibly imagine how Harry must be feeling.

“Never better!” Harry beams, and the strange thing is that he looks like he means it. “This is brilliant!”

Fred grins. “Technically, no one knows we’re doing this,” he says, and George rolls his eyes.

“We had a plan to get you out,” Ron says, gripping Harry’s arm so tightly that it must be bruising. “We weren’t going to leave you there. We were going to come get you. But Dumbledore said we couldn’t, and so we had to go behind Mum’s back.”

Harry laughs, light and impossibly free.

Two months ago, Ron had followed Harry Potter into the forbidden third-floor corridor, and he’d done it without question. When Ron is thirteen, he’ll follow Harry and the spiders into the Forbidden Forest, and it will give him nightmares. When Ron is fifteen, he is the most vehement defender of Harry Potter’s claims, and he almost maims Dolores Umbridge for using a blood quill on his friend. Ron is sixteen, and he follows the Boy-Who-Lied into the Department of Mysteries. He’s seventeen, and he and his friends go on the run.

But tonight, Ron is twelve, and it’s his turn to lead Harry. He leads him away from his relatives and towards the warmth of a home. They get to the Burrow and land in the yard, and there’s a light on in the kitchen. Harry looks up at the towering home, at the wooden and rickety additions that stick out and the shambled and shingled roof.

“It’s not much–” Ron begins hurriedly, but Harry is smiling again, impossibly wide.

“It’s brilliant,” he says, and Fred and George and Ron’s faces glow.

It’s silent as they approach the door, leaving the Ford Anglia on the lawn behind them. Suddenly, a dark form comes charging at them from around the side of the house, colliding with George and making Harry jump a foot in the air.

Harry blinks, and he realizes that it’s Percy– and he’s hugging George, not assaulting him. He releases his brother and then reels in Fred, leaving George blinking in surprise.

“Er– Perce?” George asks, and Percy pulls both Harry and Ron into his hold. Harry lets out an embarrassing squeak, but Ron huffs into Percy’s chest.

“We’re fine,” he mumbles, and Percy clicks his tongue.

“Are you? All of you? And Harry, how have you been surviving?”

Harry blinks in silent shock as Percy pulls away from him and inspects him.

“At the risk of sounding like Mum–”

“Too late,” Fred mutters–

“You are abhorrently thin.” He spins to face the twins. “Mum is furious, something about not leaving a note and probably breaking the Statute of Secrecy.”

“We used the cloaking feature,” George protests, and Percy cuffs him around the back of the head.

“That’s for not taking me with you,” he says.

Fred rolls his eyes. “Sorry, your Highness.”

Percy raises an eyebrow. “I headed off Mum for as long as I could, but the second you go inside she’ll be all over you. If you had told me before you left, I at least would’ve forged a note for you. Seriously, the next time you go around breaking the law for the sake of a general good, remember that I can help.”

Harry is really very shocked by the words coming out of Percy’s mouth. Although his interactions with Percy at Hogwarts have been admittedly few, he’d always thought of the older boy as a stickler for the rules. He was a prefect, after all, and was very focused on his school work, and loved to chastise the twins for their jokes. Harry’s feeling rather blindsided.

Fred catches his eye and winks, leaning in with a grin. “I know what you’re thinking, Harry, but Percy the prefect is all an act. The real Percy is worse than we are!”

Percy puffs up indignantly, which is something that Harry finally recognizes. “I am not! I am exactly the same person here as I am at school, thanks. It’s just that sometimes rules are flexible. And maybe best overlooked. Mind you,” he says hurriedly, because Fred and George’s faces are contorting into evil grins, “Saving a family friend from a bad situation is not at all on the same caliber as pelting Professor Quirrell’s turban with snowballs, or–”

Ron and Harry immediately spin to face each other, wide eyed. They’re quiet for a second, two, and then they both double over in laughter. Harry’s not smiled like this for long enough that his cheeks are hurting.

Percy and the twins are staring at them, bewildered, and Harry straightens with a wheeze. “Remind us to tell you about what happened at the end of last year,” he wheezes. “Not– not now, but sometime. In the future.”

Ron nods, still snickering, but they manage to get themselves under control after another moment.

Percy shakes his head. “Right. Come on, then. I’m taking Harry in through the back so he can go up and get some sleep, and the rest of you are going straight in to Mum–”

“What! You’re throwing us to the wolves–”

“The longer you avoid her, George, the worse it’ll be.”

George pouts, but he’s not pulling it off very well when the corners of his mouth are twitching. Harry can’t tell if it’s because he’s genuinely amused or because getting called by his right and singular name always seems to make him happy.

“I can go in with them. It’s me they went to all the trouble for.” All four Weasley immediately turn to protest or reassure him otherwise, but Harry will not be moved. “I want to meet your Mum, anyway. It’s fine. I’m not just going to sneak in through the back, and it’s not like I’m about to collapse of exhaustion.”

Ron eyes him skeptically, and Harry narrows his eyes into a glare. He grabs his friend’s arm and begins to pull him along towards the door to the Burrow. Ron yelps and squirms out of his grasp before cuffing him round the back of the head.

“I can walk,” he complains.

“Impressive,” Harry says. “All by yourself?”

“Ok, Merlin, I get it!”

There are a lot of things that Ron Weasley will face for those who are his own, and he actually can’t think of something that he wouldn’t, but he still winces as stands against the ire of Molly Weasley. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last– he would face his mother's wrath again and again for his siblings and his friends.

He’s still rubbing his ringing ears when his mother approaches Harry, speaking to him kindly and asking if he wants to sleep. He sees Harry’s shining eyes and smiles. He’s bone-tired, and Mum will stay mad for the day, but it’s worth it.

Ron Weasley is loyalty, down to his core, and he’s loyal to his own.

That night, he’s only twelve, and he and Harry stare up at his bedroom ceiling and listen to the shuffling of the ghoul in the attic.

“Ron,” Harry says. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“‘C-course,’ he yawns, putting his face into his pillow. “Sure hope you like it, ‘cause there’s no escaping now.”

Ron is asleep the next moment, but Harry Potter is not. Harry Potter is smiling into the darkness, a tight ball of emotion in his chest. It’s maybe a good thing that Ron’s asleep, because he doesn’t know what he’d say.

Ron Weasley is loyalty, and Harry is so glad that he is.