ronald bilius weasley

father. husband. part-owner of weasley's wizard wheezes.

[leonagw]

WHO: Susan & Open. WHERE: Edinburgh Quidditch Stadium, Edinburgh, Scotland. WHEN: 30th October, 2020.

Though this was a fact she tended to keep to herself ( mostly for fear of being savaged by angry crowds ), Susan had never been the biggest fan of Quidditch growing up. Perhaps her father hadn’t explained it quite right, or she’d been too young to really follow the intricacies of the game, but as a young girl, she’d found herself far more drawn to the muggle games that her mother told her about – like soccer and rugby – than she did to Quidditch. Of course, she might as well have been telling people she liked kicking puppies ( which she most assuredly did not ) when she told people this fact, so she kept it to herself.

Susan hadn’t really begun to appreciate Quidditch until she’d reached her Hogwarts years. It was such a big deal to go down to the matches and support your team, she felt a little left out if she didn’t play along and cheer and boo when she was supposed to – but the more matches she attended, the less she found she was going with the motions, and the more she felt herself shifting into a passionate fan. Gryffindor had, naturally, been her team while she was in school, but upon graduation she’d begun following Puddlemere United with the same sort of passion – luckily for her, they were among the best teams in the league ( the best, if you asked her ).

Susan tried to attend games when she could, but often found herself watching them back later when work became too much for her to drag herself away from it. This match was something special, though, and just about everyone she knew would be in attendance. Even if she didn’t need to be here for work, Susan had no doubt she would have bought herself a ticket. She’s making her way up to the Minister’s box, clad in a Puddlemere United beanie and scarf, wrapped tightly around her neck – she’d look just like any other fan if not for her eyes peeking over the top of the scarf and the Ministry identification tag hanging around her neck – when she spots someone familiar walking in the opposite direction, giving them a smile ( though it’s difficult to see beneath the aforementioned scarf ), and stopping just ahead of them. “Bet you can’t guess who I’m supporting today.” She laughs, “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

[rcnaldbiliusw]

Madness. Chaos. It was the only way to describe the atmosphere in Edinburgh’s stadium, the only way to properly convey just how much energy buzzed through the place’s walls and crackled like electricity in the air above it. Ron was no stranger to chaos, but this...this felt different. It might have had something to do with how much he personally had riding on this day - it was the first time since the Junior Premier League’s inception that he was promoting it publicly, at least in person, and as much as he believed in the organization he still couldn’t fight the bundle of nerves in his stomach. There was also the whole political unrest thing, which he’d worried over for the past week, lying awake at night. Hermione wasn't going to back down; she wouldn't let the fragile political climate keep her from showing up to things that mattered, and the exhibition match was no exception. But, Ron would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous, and as he made his way away from the Minister's box and back toward his booth near the stadium entrance, he studied the security measures with a more than critical eye. Suddenly, though, someone spoke to him, and he had to stop short. "Susan!" he greeted with a smile, looking her over with false confusion. "No, who? I've got family on both sides myself, so I'm supposed to be impartial, but…" He rummaged inside the pocket of his cloak and pulled out the corner of a green and gold pennant, just far enough for Susan to see. "Ginny's blood. Don't tell Angelina."

[rcnaldbiliusw]

georgewheezley‌:

The congratulations George was expecting didn’t come. Instead Ron was peering into the cauldron as if he’d quite possibly missed George’s brilliant explanation of his new plan and was looking for answers in there instead.“Of course I didn’t, Mum,” George said, throwing up his hands emphatically. Ron could, to be honest, sound unnervingly like their mother when he started in on a lecture about safety; hopefully George could head it off this time before it begun. It was the most boring part of owning a jokeshop.  

His head shook dramatically. “Give me a little credit. It was entirely her fault anyway. Do you reckon it’s possible Malfoy just did some kind of Duplication Spell to create a wife as snobby as himself?” He chuckled at the thought. “I mean, I’ve always thought Scorpius looked unnervingly like him, though I won’t run the theory by Mrs. Malfoy. She’s - let’s say - very sensitive.” George still wasn’t entirely sure what had set the witch off, but he scowled at remembering the parting threat she’d sent his way. He knew exactly who to blame if Freddie started having trouble at Hogwarts. “Anyway, no one had an untested product, alright? I’m just fairly sure the new product will be on the banned list at Hogwarts already, so it’ll sell better if I rework it in a few months time. Am I in trouble?” George asked, after blustering through an explanation in which, true to form, he took no blame for himself, not hiding his humor. Although he did respect Ron as his business partner, it was hard not to look at him at times like this and see the little brother George had always enjoyed mocking - especially when Ron suddenly tried to turn authority figure. It had been amusing when he’d been a prefect and it was still amusing now.  

Despite his brother’s jab, Ron’s relief was palpable. He deflated, the severity melting from his face to make way for confusion. “Astoria? What’s she got to do with anything?” George was dancing around the details on purpose; if it was a serious problem, Ron hoped he would have been more forthcoming, but the idea of anything dangerous entering Hogwarts because of them still had his heart thumping. He swallowed, willing it to slow. Many of the products they sold weren’t completely safe, but George’s reassurance about the matter at hand made his nerves quiet - a miracle, if ever there was one. 

“No, you’re not ‘in trouble,’ I just...Be a bit more specific next time.” 

Ron tried to rewind, raking a hand through his hair. What had George said about dementors? Ah. The second his gaze landed on the nondescript hoodie in his brother’s grasp, it all started trickling back to him; and, the more it did, the more entranced he became.

“So it makes you invisible to dementors? How’d you manage that? That doesn’t sound like any old gag to me, George, that’s...d’you know how mad the Ministry would go over something like that? It’d be huge!”     

[dominiqweasly]

WHO: Dominique & Open WHERE: Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes WHEN: October 25th, 2020. 9:30am

If you had told Dominique a year ago that she would be working at her uncles’ joke shop, selling such items as Demon Dung and Sticky Trainers, there’s a fairly high chance she wouldn’t have believed you. Of course, if you’d tried to tell her she would be doing just about anything a year ago, she probably wouldn’t have believed you. The shop was fairly quiet, though this was far from unusual for a Sunday morning. Their standard clientele were likely still in bed, or in their dormitories at school. Their busiest times by far were the school holidays, and, thankfully, Dominique didn’t have to worry about that just at the moment.

She uses the downtime as an opportunity to restock the shelves – which, granted, she will probably just do with magic after ten or so minutes doing it by hand. She’s alone at the moment, George and Ron having ducked out to do… something. She really should have been listening when they told her what it was. It didn’t matter, though, she figured they’d be back soon, and until they were, she was more than capable of manning the fort by herself. Though she couldn’t lie and say that she found the same sense of enjoyment and fulfilment that her uncles had from running this place, she was determined to work hard, and had managed to learn the ropes of this place in a matter of weeks ( it certainly helped that she’d been here a number of times in her childhood ). They’d thrown her a lifeline when she was floundering, the least she could do was make sure they didn’t regret it.

Besides, as far as jobs went, this certainly wasn’t the worst one. Or at least, she didn’t think it was. She didn’t really have anything to compare it to. She could take lunch whenever she liked, she always had friendly faces to chat to, and she even got to take home free products if they had extra – though she didn’t really have much use for them. She didn’t plan to stay here forever, of course. This was simply a way station on the way to wherever it was she was destined to end up – all she had to do was figure that out. And try to keep her mind off the fact that she had absolutely no idea, and would probably carry the feeling that something was missing with her for the rest of her life.

Dominique frowns down at a box of some sort of device she’s never seen before. It must be something new they’re rolling out – though she has no idea what it is, or where it’s supposed to go. She huffs in annoyance, not wanting to just leave the box now that she’s opened it, but seeing no other choice, when she hears the bell above the entrance signalling that someone’s arrived. “Uncle George?” She calls out, figuring it must be him back from whatever errand he was running, “Do you know where these are supposed to go?” She asks, finally stepping out from behind the shelf to greet the newcomer face to face.

[rcnaldbiliusw]

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he stumped back into the shop. Years had passed, but Ron Weasley was still not a morning person. As an Auror he'd grown used to early mornings and late nights, but that didn't mean he liked them, and there was a part of him that had hoped working at the joke shop with George would grant him a bit of reprieve. It turned out early mornings were just a part of adulthood, and at forty years old he'd finally come to terms with it...somewhat. 

"Wrong uncle," he grumbled, glancing blearily at Dominique as she stepped into view. If she could manage an early morning, so could he, and such a thought forced a bit more life into him. Drawing closer, he squinted at the box in her hand.

"George would tell you to put it wherever you want, and if I'm being honest I haven't a clue where it actually goes, so...I dunno, follow your heart, I guess." He offered her an apologetic shrug.

"At least you can tell your friends your uncles encourage creativity, eh?"

[vanitym]

Location: Hogsmeade Proper Date: October 24th, 2020 Status: Open

Though not beholden to waiting for a Hogsmeade weekend, Neville finds that there is a bit of peace and accountability to adhering to the schedule set upon those that he lives with. One of the people, he likes to consider himself, though he knows that in the eyes of the students and staff, at his core he is not with them, no matter how many office hours he holds or candies he doles out from his desk– the practice often makes him think of Dumbledore with a nostalgic smile. But he likes knowing that it’s easy enough to keep in line with everyone else, take rotations with his staff, be a man humbled by his position rather than bolstered by it. In this way, he tries very hard to not be offended when children scatter one way or the other when they notice that their Headmaster is among them. 

He tightens his scarf– a multicolored one of red, blue, green and gold, as it wouldn’t do to have any favorites, now would it?– as he takes his time strolling down the road. He watches with interest as the children run in and out of the stores, hold hands, guzzle sweets, even fight among themselves. It tastes sweet in his mouth, like a withering sugar quill. Was it not so long ago that he was with them, tirelessly holding onto his friends and his place in the pack, as fragile as it seemed at the time? 

Taking a step forward, he hears the crunch before he sees it– Shit. He looks down, the snowdrop now twisted in a sickening angle. Neville is on one knee before he knows it, the flower in his hand and his wand out, “Sorry about that, dear.” He recalls a strengthening spell and pulls it forward, casting it on the flower and looking pleased when it’s bedraggled appearance diminishes marginally. “That’s a good girl.” Tilting it back against the other buds he takes a moment to appreciate it– though perhaps a moment too long when he realizes that there is someone above him, tumbling forward, tripping over his legs that had been haphazardly behind him. 

“Merlin, are you alright?” 

[rcnaldbiliusw]

It wasn't common for adults to frequent Hogsmeade on student weekends, especially those who weren't Hogwarts staff. As much as Ron liked to think he was cooler than most adults - just "one of the kids," as it were - the odd looks he garnered from scarf-clad teenagers told him otherwise as he meandered down High Street. Honeydukes was his destination, but his easy stride indicated that he wasn't in a hurry to get there. He didn't have any obligations - weekend or not, Hermione was at the Ministry, and everyone else seemed to have better things to do than shoot the breeze with the likes of him (he was being dramatic - they were busy, which was to be expected considering they had their own lives to deal with). Considering he was slotted to patrol the Hogwarts grounds that evening, a trip to Hogsmeade had sounded as good an idea as any; and, if he could pick up a few sweets and embarrass some of his school-aged family members in the process...well, that just made it all the better. 

The crowd started to thicken up ahead, but even from his high vantage point the cause eluded Ron. It didn't matter that much - he moved sideways over the cobblestones, set on hugging the front of the nearest shop so as to avoid the growing throng of students. As he did so, he glanced back over their heads, but it turned out to be an unwise move.

"Ah, bloody hell!" he yelped, tripping. Every nerve ending in his body suddenly tingled, adrenaline coursing through him; he flung out a hand, stablilizing himself against a shop wall, and he paused a moment before looking under his outstretched arm.

“Neville! What are you doing down there? Proposing to a flower?”

[rcnaldbiliusw]

veelavictoire-weasley‌:

Victoire laughed, nodding her agreement. It was quite clear by the lavish surroundings of this manor that Morag could certainly afford an open bar, but she was amused nonetheless that her uncle hadn’t realized that. “It would be a little tacky to make your guests pay for drinks, if you ask me.” And if that were the case, Victoire would certainly have commented on it in the article she would write covering the night.

She followed Ron over to the bar. “I’ll just have a glass of wine,” she said with a smile. “I’m on the clock, so can’t get too wild over here.” As if she would – especially not at a party that was for her aunts and uncles and their classmates. 

“So, how’s the reunion been for you, Uncle Ron? Any juicy details I could include in my write up?” 

At Victoire's reply he nodded to the bartender, who produced their drinks before Ron could blink. Digging into his pockets he produced a few Sickles and slid them across the bar, to which the wizard behind it gave a curt, appreciative nod as he pocketed them himself. 

"Always tip your waitstaff," Ron said with a grin, passing Victoire her glass of wine. He scoffed at her question then, taking a deep gulp of butterbeer before answering. 

"It's been fine, I s'pose. Haven't seen much of your uncles and aunts yet, but it's still early. And even if I did have any juicy tidbits, d'you really think I'd share them with a vulture like you?" He laughed and took another sip, pointing the head of the bottle toward the dance floor as he swallowed. 

"That's where you'll find your stories, or at the very least some poor sods who had too much punch."

[rcnaldbiliusw]

faultlinesgranger‌:

She didn’t mean to ruin things, but it often felt as though she was doing so, anyway. ❝ Sorry; I’m not trying to be mopey. ❞ She tried out a smile and found it fit her face just fine, especially now that she was home and it wasn’t for anyone but Ron, who would love her even if she broke down and cried. She wouldn’t, of course. She’d cried in front of him enough that it didn’t make her self-conscious, exactly, but it would worry him, and she felt guilty enough over the worry as it it was. That little crease between his brows was directly caused by her, and she knew it well. ❝ I’m excited, even. ❞ The moment the decision was made, she breathed easier. It was the agony over making one that took her out.

She ate while he talked, small, bird-like bites that mostly got her vegetables. She liked to save the best for last, even if it was a little cold at that point. ❝ He should be taking all the help he can get, ❞ Hermione pointed out. Parents instinctively want to help their children, and if Neville took advantage of that, he would have a guard force 24/7 and professors actually in their classrooms rather than worrying about the Forbidden Forest. ❝ Quite well, and so dashingly, ❞ she flirted, setting her bowl aside even though it was still half-full. Hunger no longer felt as prevalent as her desire to take the few steps necessary to wrap her arms around him and just sink, for a moment. It wasn’t that he was the only person who could hold her steady; it was that he was the one that wanted to, every time.

❝ I hate this, ❞ she said into his shirt, muffled and quiet before she turned her head. With her cheek over his heart she could feel it beating, steady and calm, and allow herself to calm a little bit too. ❝ The kids, scared, and I have to owl five people just to clear my schedule in the hopes of checking in on them. ❞ Hermione let her eyes close, let the warmth of the kitchen envelop her. ❝ I know they say Hogwarts is the safest place in the world, even now, but we stopped believing that a long time ago, didn’t we? ❞ She looks up and smooths the wrinkles she left in his shirt almost absently.  

Seventeen years - seventeen years they’d been married, and Ron still went red at Hermione’s compliments. “Stop it.” The tips of his ears burned crimson and he looked at the floor, unable to stop the chuckle his embarrassment shook loose. He wasn’t going to complain further, though, and Hermione didn’t force him to; unlike before, she was giving him a chance to hold her properly, and he did so without a second thought. Nose and mouth pressed to the top of her head, he closed his eyes.

“Mmm.” It was halfway between a sigh and a sound of agreement, breathed into Hermione’s hair. He knew exactly what she meant, but when she pulled back and looked up at him he was forced to give a proper answer. “Yeah. But...you’re allowed to be ‘mopey,’ y’know - about all of this. I know you’re the Minister and everything, but you’re a mum too. It might be harder for you to protect them in person, but...” He shrugged. “That’s what I’m for. That’s why there’s two of us.”  

[rcnaldbiliusw]

magicterrence‌:

Terry stifles a chuckle as Ron almost chokes on his butterbeer. How mature of him. “Goldstein and I placed our bets earlier in the year. He backed Harry, but I put my money on Cedric.” Of course, they didn’t bet with money, Ravenclaws were smarter than that. They bet with homework. If Anthony won, Terry would do his Potions assignments and if Terry was the victor, Goldstein was to do his Herbology homework. Terry has always been rather shit at keep plants alive, much to his mother’s displeasure. “None taken. You Gryffindors always had your fair share of drama to keep up with. ” Terry takes another small bite and swallows, “Fourth year.” Terry hums, “I decided I wanted to study Magical Law that year. I asked a beautiful Beaubaxton to the Yule Ball, and as a teenage boy that was pretty much the highlight of my year. Though I do forget what her name was.” 

“Smart man, you are,” he chuckled, tipping his head and drink ever so slightly in Terry’s direction. It was sweet of Anthony Goldstein to have faith in Harry’s romantic abilities, but even Ron wouldn’t have bet on his mate - not at that time and not in that department, at least. He was grinning as he took another sip of butterbeer, and by the time he swallowed his shoulders were trembling with quiet laughter. 

“A Beauxbaton girl? And you forgot her name? Good on you, mate, but...it mustn’t have been that much of a highlight then, eh?” 

He personally wished that year would have gone differently for himself, and if it had gone his way he couldn’t imagine forgetting the name of his date (mostly because she was his wife now and all, but he digressed). Still, he wasn’t going to rib Terry too hard - it didn’t sound like he’d made an absolute fool of himself, at least.

[patronused]

Who: George and @rcnaldbiliusw​ Where: Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, inventing backroom

Working with Ron had changed their relationship, at least a little. They met fairly regularly to discuss products and other business-related decisions, so George couldn’t entirely avoid feeling like he had to explain his actions to Ron at times. He stopped pacing around the cauldron set up in the middle of the room - he’d been watching it emanate sparks and noises for a while now - when he decided it was past time he admitted to Ron he’d made something of an error in judgement. 

“So. Bit of a problem with the new product for Skiving Snackboxes. I reckon Hogwarts will have - er - advance notice, which might affect how well they sell.” George had inadvertantly given details to Astoria Malfoy. He winced now over the memory, then soldiered on with more enthusiasm, “But I’m already working on a replacement from our Defence Against the Dark Arts line. Drumroll, please, Ronnie … I’m calling it the DemenBORE’s Hood(ie) for now. Put it on, put up the hoodie, and the stupid blind bastards won’t be able to pick up on your emotions and track you. Guaranteed to keep them away. Good, eh?” 

“First finished prototype’s going to Freddie, just in case,” George added, matter-of-fact. It had been all the rumors going around about Dementors at Hogwarts that had inspired it, and he had to admit even he’d been shaken by it, whatever Neville said about fog. This was Hogwarts. When had it ever just been fog? “After that, though … I’m predicting it’ll be a big seller,” he said, satisfaction in his own brilliance evident.  

[rcnaldbiliusw]

Ron was equal parts excited and apprehensive whenever George summoned him to the back room. Inventing was his brother’s forte, but Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was just as much his as it was George’s; it wasn’t a realization that happened overnight, but over the years Ron felt he’d earned the right to be at least a little critical of what they put on their shelves. No sooner had he shouldered open the door than sparks caught his eye - brilliant - but George’s words made his skepticism morph quickly into concern. “Wait, what d’you mean there’s a problem?” he asked, closing the distance between himself and the cauldron so as to look cautiously over its side. He didn’t know what he was looking for, though, so he turned his narrowed gaze back to his brother. “Are you telling me you sold an untested product to a kid? Bloody hell, George...” 

Ron dragged his hands over his face, exasperated, and he could do nothing but stare blankly as George boasted about his newest invention. He likely would have been impressed if he wasn’t imagining some horrible accident involving a child and faulty sweets, and as it was he gave a half-shrug at George’s conclusion. “Yeah, great, brilliant, but can we talk about the snackboxes for a second?”

[rcnaldbiliusw]

faultlinesgranger‌:

A well of fondness rose in her chest at his muttered words. ❝ That’s how you make your own techniques, ❞ she offered. The more he eyeballed it, the more he’d find out what worked for him. It was a cozy thought she wanted to slip into, like a warm coat or a roaring fire.

❝ Sunday, ❞ she replied with a touch of bemusement. ❝ One of those days I used to have off when I was in Creature Regulation. Almost forgot its’ name by now, I’ll confess, but you know I’d never forget a word. ❞ She wasn’t surprised at his surprise, but it sent a pang through her anyway. Hermione hoped he knew that if she could, she would take every day off he had and make it hers too, if only to talk to him and maybe argue with him, but mostly, to hear his voice.

Her mouth dropped open at his audacity before she grinned. ❝ Certainly not, ❞ she agreed, though privately she thought George might indeed be his boss on a very basic and technical level. In practice, if he ever did attempt to boss Ron, she would certainly be amused to watch them implode. She didn’t want to end the flirtation, but she did have other news, news she was loathe to bring up. ❝ I had a letter from Hugo, by the way. ❞ She sticks the spoon in her mouth a moment, though she mostly just gets broth. ❝ He said there’s a weird fog in the Forbidden Forest lately. Have you heard anything of it? ❞    

When it came to his wife, Ron's poker face was mediocre at best. He didn't miss the hint of sadness in her voice as she mused about the concept of having days off, about how foreign it all was, and the corners of his mouth sank downward into a frown. The worst part about all of this was that he didn't know how to help. He could tell her to take days off until he was blue in the face, but his bringing it up did not mean it would or could happen. He was almost grateful when she mentioned Hogwarts, because at least that was a situation he could do something about. 

Nodding, he crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. "Yeah, I wrote to Neville already," he answered, brow furrowed as he focused much too intently on the tile underfoot. "He might only want professors to patrol the grounds, or even proper Aurors, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to offer my help. Anyway," he continued, "it sounds like dementors are to blame, and I've dealt with a few of those, haven't I?"

[rcnaldbiliusw]

angelinaweasley‌:

Ron, 

She’s more than capable of taking the heat. She wouldn’t have said what she said if she didn’t.

The Greengrasses are not filthy rich as far as I know… I guess if I had put some more thought into it I would have figured out the money is from Draco’s side of the family. If she really wants to help, it’s not our job to, huh, what’s the term I’m looking for… gatekeep. But no amount of money can help fix a broken reputation. If that Malfoy’s have showed us anything, it’s that. 

In the same way, if you know, the public takes this as badly as possible, it could hurt the public’s perception of us too. I’m usually not one to care, but we’re at the point in our lives that if the press hurts us, it also impacts our entire family. I think if people care about the cause they should be able to donate, no doubt about that, but to be that open leaves some risks that we need to consider. 

Anyway, those are my thoughts. I think the best policy is to be transparent with Astoria on why we’re hesitant and hope she understands. And if not, then is it really such a huge loss? 

-Angelina

Angelina,

'Gatekeeping,' that's the word! (Might add that one to my Hangman arsenal.) You're totally right, though…

Sometimes I wish we could have disappeared after the war. No press, no tourists clogging up the fields around the Burrow...It's hard when you're tied up with Harry Potter, not that I regret that at all. It's just...hard to do good when the world's breathing down your neck.

Doesn't mean we shouldn't try, though. 

Anyway, you planning on seeing Astoria sometime soon? I’m only asking because that's what you made it sound like a few letters back. I might send her an owl myself too, just to touch base on things. 

I'll see you at the exhibition match, then?

Best,

Ron

[rcnaldbiliusw]

hannahgrace-abbott‌:

“Oh, Bill, that’s a great idea! I’ll reach out to him – thanks Ron!” Hannah felt a bit more spring in her step at the thought of a lead of some sort, and she was grateful to her friend for giving her that. Surely someone who was a curse-breaker would have an area of expertise that she was lacking! And Hannah knew from her limited interactions with Bill that he was kind and always willing to lend a hand, so she had no doubt that he would help her. All in all, the day was beginning to look up.

As Ron stopped her from getting him another drink, she beamed at him. “Atta boy, Ronald,” she teased, winking. “Gotta get home to that wife, eh?” A long time had passed since the days that Ron would get pissed in her bar, and she was glad to see it. He was a good man, and she loved that he tried to constantly be better for his wife and children.

Hannah frowned as he let her in on how Hermione was doing. It wasn’t a surprise to her, really, but it was upsetting to hear nevertheless. She knew how much her friend devoted herself to leading the wizarding world with a steady presence, and she wanted more for her than this. “I know,” she agreed, her voice soft. “Things feel a way they haven’t in a long time.” 

Ron managed to fight a blush, but his smile was tighter than he would have liked. It didn't quite meet his eyes, which he cast downward to study the condensation on his bottle of butterbeer. "Nah," he chuckled, but there was little genuine mirth in it, "she's working late tonight."

He sighed, drawing a hand roughly through his hair.

"But, being the leader of wizarding Britain is a full-time job - especially now."

Tossing back the rest of his butterbeer, Ron belched. He hadn't expected it to be quite so loud, so he glanced over his shoulder at no one in particular and muttered, "'Scuse me." The blush he'd suppressed before won out, and he turned back to Hannah with a sheepish grin. "Think someone'll write about that in the papers?" 

He rose to his feet then, meeting Hannah's eye.

"Thanks, Han. Take care of yourself, yeah?"

[rcnaldbiliusw]

magicterrence‌:

Not a lot of things shocked Terry, being the insufferable know-it-all he had the tendency to be. But it was usually the small things that caught him off guard, like this. “Never? Not even to overcome Umbridge-itis? My respect for you has increased tenfold.” Hogwarts and it’s students suffered at the hand of Dolores Umbridge, and her classes were just plain old torture. Even Terry couldn’t stand it, he was impressed that Ron did. 

His meal appears before him, Terry gives Lucille his thanks. Hunger pangs at his stomach as Terry bites into his sandwich. Being a workaholic had its pros and cons. Pros: promotions and progress. Cons: misjudgement of priorities – work always came first. Sometimes it was complex like suppressing emotions or neglecting relationships, other times it was as simple as forgetting to eat lunch. ‘And, no whisky doesn’t count as lunch’  He could hear his ex-wife voice say. Terry swallows and then smiles, returning to the conversation. “It’s not easy to forget. Quite the turn of events.” The Triwizard cup. Barty Crouch Jr impersonating Alastor Moody. The death of Cedric Diggory. And lastly, the return of Voldemort. Still, he decided to make light of the situation, “Remember Harry and Cho?” Terry smirks, “All the Ravenclaw common room gossip that year was Harry or Cedric – Rest his soul.”

He was mid-sip, and he promptly choked on a mouthful of butterbeer at the thought of Harry and Cho. Well, not the thought so much as the memory, and he spluttered for a moment, eyes watering, before he could answer. "I try not to." He paused to cough. "Harry didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell against Cedric, not in the romance department. I love the bloke, but blimey he and Cho were a disaster."

Honestly, all of this was rich coming from Ron. Harry's complicated love life wasn't the first thing that came to mind when he looked back on their fourth year, nor was it the second, third, or even the fourth. Even now his ears burned at the thought of the Yule Ball, and he took another hurried sip of his drink.

"Anyway," he grumbled, "what was your story that year? Can't say I paid much mind to Ravenclaw, except when it came to Quidditch. No offense, of course."

[rcnaldbiliusw]

zachariashsmith‌:

Zacharias raised his hands, though his grin didn’t falter. It was almost too easy, really, but no less satisfying. “No need to get so fired up, Weasley. But y’know what, you make a good point – I guess I haven’t changed. Can’t improve perfection and all that.“ He threw in a wink too, just to add a bit of flair to his words; never let it be said he didn’t go the extra mile.

The short answer about Granger and Co. didn’t bother him since, unsurprisingly, he wasn’t particularly dying to know what they were up to. He did have a smartass comment on the tip of his tongue, though, and a real knee-slapper at that, but then Weasley just had to go and mention his brat. Zacharias snapped his mouth shut. It was almost painful to hold back his wonderful comeback, but the very real chance that he might fuck things up for his boy helped manage it somehow.

“Aa.“ He nodded instead, shifting his attention away as he helped himself to another sandwich. Somehow, being nice to people was easier if he wasn’t looking at them. “Yeah, he’s a sixth year. So lots of NEWTs prep and shit.“ 

He finally managed to force his head up to meet Weasley’s eye once again, jaw clenched with the effort to keep his relaxed smile. “What about your,“ brats, he wanted to say, but he had no faith that Weasley would take it as the joke it was meant to be, “kids?“

Ron rolled his eyes so hard that it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. That would have been just as well, though, because it meant he’d never have to see Zacharias Smith ever again. He didn’t know exactly why the Hufflepuff got under his skin so much; there was the whole thing with Harry and Dumbledore’s Army and his piss-poor attitude and smart mouth, but the anger that stirred within him every time they were in close proximity felt similar to the one he usually reserved for Malfoy and his ilk. However, Ron was never one to dwell on the practicality of his feelings - he just felt - so when Zacharias muttered an answer to his question and shot a half-arsed one back, he snorted. 

“Said they’re fine, Smith,” he replied, not in any way fooled by the man’s smile. If Auror training had taught him anything it was how to read people, and one sideways glance told him all he needed to know. Touching on Zacharias’ son had thrown him off-guard, as it would for any father, and for half a second Ron was struck by a pang of empathy. It was short-lived. 

“Anyway, it’s been grand.” He plucked a few more tea cakes from the table, balancing them on his napkin as he made to leave. “Until next decade.”

END.

[rcnaldbiliusw]

faultlinesgranger‌:

Hermione tsk’d in his general direction. ❝ Well I could always save my kisses for Lemon, if you’d prefer… ❞ she teased, scrunching her nose and then laughing. For a moment, she missed her children very terribly; one of them would definitely have come in by now to interrupt the romance, as was their wont. Still, as she caught and cradled Ron’s hand in both her own, she couldn’t complain over much. Really, thinking about it now, at home and safe, she shouldn’t whinge so heavily about anything.

Life was grand.

She kissed a single fingertip, ignoring the bland taste of flower, and then let him go back to the dough; it really was not her strong suit, and she was curious to go back to watching him. A pang went through her that she felt silly for; of course he would have eaten, she was home so late all the time, how could he not? Yet she couldn’t really recall a time recently where they’d managed to eat together, and that makes her frown, turning at the last second so Ron won’t see it. She busies herself with making a bowl — it is still warm — and once she’s got it together, she has herself together, too. No tears threatening to fall because her schedule is impossible to follow and she misses her husband, nope, none of it.

❝ How about… ❞ she trails off, insecure all of the sudden. Is it foolish of her to carve out the time? Will it seem overly-serious, or will it make Ron overthink not waiting for her? She doesn’t want him to wait, she wants to be home on time. Unsure, she shoves the spoon in her mouth and hums in delight; it’s so comforting and warm that she feels emboldened. ❝ How about this weekend I take… Sunday off. I know weekends are busy at the shop, but maybe you can, too ? ❞ Her voice comes a little too fast and in a rush, so she pops a bit of stew in her mouth and slowly, so slowly, chews a slice of carrot. 

Ron had grown used to eating alone. With both kids away at school and Hermione working well into the night, he often had the house to himself, an odd feeling for someone who'd grown up with oodles of siblings and no personal space. It was lonely at first, but he learned how to keep himself occupied - little projects around the house, new cooking experiments - and he took pride in the space he'd created, one in which he hoped his family could find shelter from any storm.

While Hermione fixed herself a bowl of stew, Ron set his dough carefully into a nearby bread pan. He snatched up Florence's recipe and squinted at it, but he tossed it away soon enough, sliding the pan into the oven while muttering, "Guess I'll just eyeball it."

He heard Hermione's question, but it wasn't until he straightened, wiping his hands on a dish cloth, that it really registered.

"Sunday?"

He shouldn't have acted so surprised, but weekends and "days of rest" were no longer a part of Hermione’s routine. He wasn't displeased, though, and he spoke quickly in an attempt at trampling his stunned silence. "Yeah...yeah, I should be able to get off, doubt George would mind too much."

His face softened, and he ambled closer to pluck a wayward piece of celery out of her bowl.

"Besides," he said, smirking and popping the bit of celery stalk into his mouth, "he's not the boss of me."

[rcnaldbiliusw]

georgewheezley‌:

Ron had always been an easy target. George watched his reddening ears with amusement. “Sure… Hermione Granger’s idea of fun …” he said, shaking his head in pretend sorrow, as if he were giving Ron up as a lost cause. “Does she rate you above or below a good book at this point?” 

He let the question hang rhetorically in the air, George shifting his stance from a slouch against the refreshment table to an upright position. “Yeah, Morag’s. I’ve got to leave my mark on the party she didn’t invite me to, after all. Aside from the explosion. Then I’ll meet you back on the dancefloor, if you insist,” George finished, purposefully misunderstanding with only a glint of mischief in his eyes betraying his expression of solemn purpose. “You start working on our signature move, alright?” 

Despite his scarlet ears, Ron’s laugh was genuine. He certainly hoped Hermione found him as exciting as a good book, but they’d only been married seventeen years - books were for life. “Jury’s still out,” he replied, rhetorical question or not, but when George made to leave his grin splintered. 

“I said you’ve got a reputation to uphold,” he said as his brother stalked away, pointing at him with a tea cake still in hand. “I’m planning on being just as average as I always was, so speak for yourself, George!” 

END.

[rcnaldbiliusw]

angelinaweasley‌:

Ron, 

It’s funny that you act like I might know what quixotic means. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell you if my very life was on the line. Quite a failing of that Hogwarts education, if I do say so myself.

As someone who has a magical father who descends from muggles, I empathize with Hermione’s point of view. It’s also what’s safest for the kids, especially with that suspicious fog. I’ve never seen anyone look at fog and go “wow, that weird bunch of air I can’t see absolutely anything in screams safe”. Ginny did make quite the statement, but she also proved that there’s a difference between good press and good promotion. I can’t even anticipate the heat she’s about to take. Brave of her, though. I’m very proud to be in the same house as her, as well as your entire family at that, haha. 

On the topic of a booth, that’s a great idea. In fact, I’ll have our publicist whip something up. They’re great at signal boosting all things quidditch. It’s almost like it’s their job or something. I don’t see why the Department would say otherwise. It’s only a booth– who is that going to hurt besides the sensitive purebloods who have been getting their youngsters coaches since they could walk? They seem to forget that equal opportunity is very much a thing. 

Astoria Malfoy did what? Well, that’s… something. I get that she married into the Malfoy family, but I’m definitely suspicious. Something about her motives doesn’t seem clear. I have to wonder where the money came from. It’s not as if the Greengrasses are known to be overly wealthy or anything like that. There’s a high chance that the money is from the Malfoy side of the family. If that’s the case, the money has a likely possibility that it is, as you suspect, ‘blood money’. Who knows where it came from? If the source is from the Malfoy’s, the public will consider it dirty. I don’t think we could accept the donation without the JPL crumbling under the public’s critique. Plus, and I hate to be ‘that person’, but we have the funds to pay for the JPL’s expenses and it would be easy to find more donors. We’re not kids anymore– we have money. 

But you’re making the final decision, not me. I’m flattered that you think I’m savvy enough to be your partner, but it’s more like I work for you. Could you imagine being business partners with George and volunteer partners with me? It’d be too much. Still, I’ll talk to Astoria and try to get a better idea of where it’s coming from. If it’s from the Greengrass side of the family, that’d be great. If the money is from the Malfoy side though, what should I tell her? 

-Angelina

Angelina, 

Ginny married Harry, didn’t she? She can take the heat, she’s well used to it by now. I understand where you’re coming from, I just don’t expect she’ll have any regrets about speaking her mind and she’s right, she shouldn’t. 

Oh, right...I always forget that the Greengrasses aren’t filthy rich. Mum and Dad used to buy our Herbology supplies from their shop, the one on Spindrift - more affordable than the others. I suppose Astoria’s whole thing about ‘helping the less fortunate’ makes more sense now. But of course the money’s from the ‘Malfoy side,’ Ange, the Greengrasses aren’t rolling in it - that was never the question. The question was whether or not I should accept whatever she’s willing to give us. I didn’t get the impression she was trying to fund the whole thing, because you’re right, we do have enough to fund it on our own, but...  

What if she really does want to help? 

Draco would shit himself if he knew, so that’s an added bonus.

But ah, fuck. The public. I didn’t even think about that. I think if people want to donate to the JPL they should be able to, you know? But I’m not sure how choosy I can be if that’s true.   

Ron

[rcnaldbiliusw]

chohee-chang‌:

“Oh no. I wasn’t unhappy,” Cho answered hastily, not wanting to offend, even if was only Ron Weasley, who she rarely saw anymore and never really had a friendship with in the first place. The most she ever talked to him was back when she and Harry were well, whatever they were, and she didn’t exactly have the best impression of him. But she didn’t want to be that person–the crazy rude customer that became the brunt of every joke made by the employees. As Healers, she and her coworkers had their fair share of memorable patients that they still talked about years later (in the worst way possible). Eight years later, they still giggled to each other about that one bloke who got brought in to St. Mungo’s after trying to place an enlargement charm on a certain body part. “It’s just that these were a gift and well, this stuff just isn’t my cup of tea anymore. And I don’t have any kids around me that I can hand them off to,” she explained. Cho remembered years ago, when the Weasley brothers first started selling their products, she had been one of the many people who spent a good amount of galleons on them. Now, however, she simply had no time or patience to entertain herself with this junk. What kind of self-respecting adult would?

“All of it has been just sitting in my closet and I’m sure some kids out there will enjoy it more than I ever would. I promise they’re all unopened,” Cho added when she saw Ron beginning to go through the items one-by-one. She tried to hide her annoyance. She had better things to do than stand in a joke shop all day. 

Ron bobbed his head as she spoke. He might have been annoyed that she decided to return the products at nine o’clock in the morning, but he wasn’t going to fault her for returning them altogether. It wasn’t unheard of, people returning things, and her belief that someone else would enjoy them more was fair enough. Still, he wasn’t so foggy that he missed the hint of irritation in her voice, and he glanced up at her as he overturned the bag. 

“I believe you,” he said, shaking the last few boxes out, “but it’s policy. Sorry.” 

He wasn’t sorry - sorry for himself, maybe, for having to examine the gifts some idiot decided to buy for Cho Chang, someone he couldn’t imagine liking anything fun in the first place - but he squinted down at each product with feigned concentration.

“And, uh...when did you receive these?”