Just a little something I came up with randomly one day. Reviews are much appreciated!

also, I own nothing. but it would be nice to own Ron Weasley, wouldn't it?

Pubs are not known for their wonderful smell. Especially not pubs in the Muggle alleys of London that are only open late at night and inhabited by men who don't smell all that nice themselves.

Ron should have realized this. It isn't the first pub he has stayed the night in.

But he was a little slow on a lot of realizations lately.

He stretches out across the booth seat, legs hanging off the edge, using his jacket as a pillow. He wishes he was in his own bed, under his orange Chudley Cannon bedspread, his brothers and sister in the rooms just below him. Hermione and Harry would probably be there too.

Hermione and Harry.

He had been stupid. He knew he had let the Horcrux get to him as soon as he took the necklace off. He had wanted to go back as soon as he left.

But he knows that some things just couldn't be taken back right away. That he had gone above and beyond git and into the range of arsehole. He needs to let things settle down, let himself and Harry calm down.

He shouldn't have left.

Harry.

His best friend since his first year at Hogwarts. His brother, practically. Probably his future in-law.

Anything he had seen between Harry and Hermione had been emphasized, twisted, by the Horcrux. Nothing had happened, he knew now, now that his mind was free. Harry knew how he felt about Hermione.

Of course, he had never said anything to him. But Harry had a way of knowing these things, and Ron had a way of knowing when Harry knew these things.

Hermione.

He had walked away from her, from her cries and her pleading. He had left her, accused her of choosing Harry over him when in reality there was no choice. They were a team, a package deal, the three of them. Friends first, always.

He had made her cry again. He didn't know whether or not she would forgive him. This wasn't like the Yule Ball or when he had dated Lavender or any of the times at Hogwarts. He had deserted her, a much more serious crime.

Ron hears a shuffling noise, feels the bench across from him shake under the weight of someone.

"If you don't mind, I'm trying to sleep." Ron doesn't sit up. He hopes whoever it is will leave.

No such luck.

"Sorry, mate. I don' like settin' by myself at night. Didn't think you would min', seeing as you were asleep." It is a man's voice, deep and gruff. Ron shoots up, excited, thinking maybe Hagrid has found him.

Of course it isn't Hagrid. His hopes are taking over his rational mind now.

The man is much smaller and much less hairy. His coat frays at the seams and has several large holes in the elbows. He wears a wool cap that covers his ears, and thin gloves that are missing several fingertips.

He smiles at Ron. "Runaway?"

Ron lies back down. "More like on the run."

The man laughs. "They get younger every year. What did you do?"

Ron groans.

"That bad, kid?"

He grunts in reply.

"I hear ya, kid. I've been there. Still am there, mind you."

Ron looks in the man's direction, still lying down. "What did you do?"

"Oh, same old, same old. Spent too much time at the pubs, family didn't like it. Got myself into a bit of trouble, money-wise. I left, thinking it would be better for everyone but I didn't have nowhere to go 'cept back to the pubs. An' here I am, a different pub every night, eating when I can find the money."

Ron sits up. The man's voice has taken on a tone of sadness and it feels rude, even for Ron, to not look at him while he is speaking.

"You never went back?"

The man shakes his head. "Don' think things will be the same. My family will probably be angry at me, my kids won't want to talk to me."

"You don't think they will take you back?"

The man lets out a loud laugh. "I know they will take me back. They won't want to, but they will. Family always does."

Ron blinks slowly. Although the situations are not all that similar, he can't help but relate to this man.

"Then why don't you go back?"

The man looks at Ron sadly. "I don' want them to see me like this." He motions towards himself and shakes his head.

Ron shakes his head too. "They'll want to help you; they won't care what you look like."

The man sighs. "I know. But I'm too proud, kid."

"That's just an excuse. You can get over being proud." Ron's voice is angry, accusatory.

The man just looks ashamedly at Ron.

"You belong with your family. They will forgive you, you told me so. Go back."

The man smiles. "You're right, kid. I been thinking about it for a while but I haven' had the guts to go back yet."

Ron smiles, feeling accomplished. "Good."

The man leans forward, getting closer to Ron. "I'll make ya a deal, kid. I'll go home if you go home."

Ron leans back, surprised. The glint in the man's eye tells him that this was probably his plan the whole time.

He isn't sure if he can go back. Something broke between him and Harry, and he ruined things between him and Hermione. He was a complete arse, and he doesn't know if they will take him back.

The worry shows on his face. "Family always takes ya back, kid. Always."

The man is still leaning towards him, hand outstretched to seal the deal.

Ron grins. The man is right.

He can make things right. All he has to do is go back. It will take a lot of apologizing, but they are his best friends, his family.

All he has to do is go back.

He takes the man's hand, shaking it firmly and feeling lighter than he has in days. He knows everything will get better now, even if the Wizarding World is in the middle of a war. As long as he has Harry and Hermione, he will be okay.

The man gets up, leaving a confused Ron seated at the table. "Where are you going?"

The man's voice booms happily in the empty pub. "Might as well get started now! I have a lot of lost time to make up for! See ya 'round, kid."

Ron nods and watches him leave. When he is sure that no one else is in the pub he pulls his Deluminator out of his pocket-his one last connection to his friends.

I wish I knew where they were, he thinks, flipping the cap on the object. The light from the lamp at his booth goes out.

He flips the cap again. A large ball of light floats out, hanging above him, glowing brightly in the dark pub.

He can hear a voice coming from it, saying his name. It is soft, like a whisper.

Ron.

It's Hermione.

The ball of light floats up, away from Ron, and before he has time to even draw his wand it comes shooting downward straight into his chest, warming his whole body.

He is going home, and the only thing he can think is: It's about time.