Ron Weasley managed to avoid Harry and Hermione for exactly three weeks after they moved out of the Burrow.
Not two weeks and six days. Not twenty days.
Three full weeks.
Hermione knew because Harry started counting after the first week, mostly out of disbelief that someone could sustain a grudge with such dedication. Honestly, it would have been impressive if it were not so painfully awkward.
Ron had perfected avoidance into an art form.
If Harry and Hermione arrived at the Burrow, Ron suddenly remembered something urgent upstairs. If they entered the kitchen, Ron exited through the back door. If they sat in the garden, Ron mysteriously needed to "check on the chickens," despite the fact the Burrow did not own chickens.
George swore Ron once climbed out of a bathroom window just to avoid sharing breakfast with them. "Bit dramatic, innit?" George muttered after watching Ron sprint across the garden like a fugitive.
"He saw Harry buttering toast and panicked."
Harry looked genuinely wounded.
And Sundays were somehow the worst. Sunday brunch at the Burrow had always been sacred. Huge breakfasts. Too much tea. Arguments over toast. George trying to charm sausages into inappropriate shapes.
But suddenly Ron volunteered to work every single Sunday at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Every. Single. One.
"Oh no," George said dryly the second Ron announced it the first time. "You're working?"
Ron crossed his arms stubbornly. "Yes."
"On a Sunday?"
"Yes."
"Voluntarily?" Ron glared at him.
George looked at Harry. "He's huffing."
And Merlin, Ron could huff. Nobody in Britain huffed with the same level of commitment as Ronald Bilius Weasley. He huffed while sitting. He huffed while eating. He huffed so aggressively once that Percy asked if he was developing a respiratory condition.
Honestly, if huffing became an official Wizengamot sport, Ron would have won the gold medal, broken the world record, and still complained the trophy was unfair.
Ginny, however, was different. She had been upset initially, yes. But not angry in the same way Ron was. Ginny's hurt came more from the suddenness of it all. The fear of things changing again when everything already felt broken enough.
But unlike Ron, Ginny listened.
The day after Harry and Hermione moved out, Hermione sat her down in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place and explained properly.
Not the polite version. The truth. That they were exhausted. That they needed space to breathe. That helping everyone else survive after the battle had left them no time to survive it themselves.
And once Hermione explained it that way, Ginny understood immediately.
Because the truth was...
Harry and Hermione had practically held the Weasleys together after the battle. While everyone else drowned in grief, Harry and Hermione kept the Burrow functioning. They cooked meals when Molly could not get out of bed. They cleaned. Did laundry. Fed the animals. Fed the family.
Harry rebuilt half the Burrow with Charlie and Bill while Hermione organised workers, charms, and supplies like some terrifyingly efficient military commander.
They brewed calming draughts for Molly. Sleeping potions for George. Tea for Arthur at two in the morning when he sat awake staring silently at nothing. And when nobody in the family could bring themselves to organise Fred's memorial—
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The Hollow Beneath Hogwarts
FantasyThe Hollow Beneath Hogwarts When the war ended, Hogwarts was supposed to be a place of healing. Instead, it became a place haunted by grief. Sloane Sage arrives at Hogwarts carrying scars no one can see. After losing her family in the war, she dedic...
