Chapter 3 : III
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I had missed Ron’s crazy rants about killing suspected Death Eaters. They were completely over the top and always turned his cheeks the same vibrant color as his hair. It gave the impression that he had a red balloon instead of a head, which was even more amusing than it sounds. Ginny didn’t seem to find it quite as funny as I did and let out a tremendous sigh.
“I highly doubt Malfoy came back with the intention of getting arrested by you, Ronald.”
Ron and I were over the Potter's for our weekly friday night dinner. Ginny and Hermione knew how much Harry hated talk of the war, but that fact had escaped Ron’s notice. Harry was leaning against the wall, grimacing at the glass of oak-matured mead clasped firmly in his hand. Ginny shot him a concerned look and turned back to her brother, who was currently cataloguing the different ways he could kill Malfoy and make it look like an accident.
“You are completely incapable of getting away with murder,” Ginny said resignedly, hefting a large pot of pasta from the stove and plopping it on the table,“Can’t you just drop it? I’m sure he’s changed. Shut up, sit down, and eat.”
“Changed?” Ron pulled out his chair, sat down, and began to fill his plate with a large pile of linguine. He was always hungry, even when angry, “You can’t just stop being a Death Eater. Evil once, evil for life. I bet he’s still an entitled brat, smirking at everything and-”
“He’s not,” I cut in, just loud enough to be heard. Harry and Ginny look up from their plates.
“And ‘ow wouldja know tha’?” Ron says through a mouthful of pasta. I roll my eyes. I had tried so hard to stop that, but I guess old habits die hard.
“I ran into him at Diagon Alley. He helped me with my books and we grabbed a pint at the Leaky Cauldron.” The range of expressions is rather amusing. Ginny looks confused, Ron infuriated, and Harry - well, Harry is a bit of a mystery these days, but I swear I see a glint of approval in his eyes.
“You what?” Ron spits out.
“I drank some mead with him, Ronald. It’s really not that hard to understand. Tom poured the drinks, brought them to the table and-”
“Yes, I understand the concept of getting drinks, thank you very much. But with Draco fucking Malfoy? Have you gone insane? What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?”
“She was probably thinking that the war was over five years ago and it’s time to move on.” Ginny says calmly.
“Move on?” Ron’s voice is dangerously low, “Move on? What about the people who can’t move on? They died, or are you so happy with your five bloody years and your new bloody baby that you forgot. Go to bed with a grin on your face because you forgot? Did you forget about Fred, you little bitch?”
There’s a silence that cuts painfully deep. Rons face fills almost instantly with remorse.
“Gin...” He trails off. Ginny holds her forehead with one hand. The other is clenched on the table. He turns to Harry, “Mate, I’m-”
“I think you’d better go,” Harry says, firmly but kindly. Ron picks up his coat from the back of an armchair and walks to the door. He opens it, but pauses in the doorway and turns his head.
Harry nods at him. Ron slams the door shut behind him. A pause follows. Harry looks at me.
“I know,” I reply, and with that, I grab my coat and open the door. I turn to say goodbye, but all I see is Ginny’s white-knuckled fist. I leave without a word.