Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Set in the Stay Standing Universe

My first one-shot guys. A special gift for those waiting for the last five chapters.

"Least love, always, by the mother who craved a daughter." -Voldemort

Least Loved

He will always be grateful to Harry, after he destroyed the locket, to have only talked to him about Hermione that night. To have neglected speaking about what Voldemort said about his mother. He honestly wasn't sure what he would have done if Harry had brought it up. Because while the Locket had lied about Hermione and Harry, reflecting Ron's own thoughts onto itself, the painful truth about his mother was something that neither of them could deny.

When he thinks about his mother, there are a few events that stick out with more vividness than others, memories that stray like accidentally stepping on garbage. The smell lingers longer than the fresh baked goods. The goo sticks to the bottom of your shoes even after you've washed them. The memory of disgust lingers longer than the feeling of comfort from walking beside Harry and Hermione. Bad things just tend to stand out more and linger longer.

Ron would rather think about other memories; like the time she had met him downstairs between second and third year, bustling around the kitchen at one a.m without saying a word. She had made hot tea, snatched up a pair of cookies for the two of them, before settling them and herself down at the table Ron sat at. She hadn't said a word about being woken up by his shout. Had not mentioned the dark circles under his eyes, which he was eternally grateful for.

"I didn't want to share Harry," he finally muttered under his breath. "I really hated that out of all the people Ginny could have wanted to be around she just had to pick my best friend. She didn't want to be around me, she wanted to be around Harry. So instead of helping her like I should have, I ignored her all year."

His mum only hmm'd at him, no judgment, no condemnation or scolding. So he continued.

"When I would see her in the halls, I'd steer me and Harry or me and Hermione away. I thought, 'if she gets to know Hermione then she'll want to be Hermione's friend too.' I really didn't want to share my friends with her. I wanted her to make her own friends. So, I thought, if I just avoided her until she got her own friends then it would be fine. She'd stop harping after mine."

He took a huge gulp of the still steaming tea. Barely noticing as it burned the tip of his tongue.

"Gin's always been so friendly. She's super social, ya know? I thought, surely, she'll make friends soon. But it never happened. And when she sent Harry that ridiculous letter, I got so mad. I thought really awful things about her mum. And I didn't notice anything wrong with her, honest, all I could think about was how I didn't want her to charm my friends the way she does everyone else I know."

He finished, waiting for the inevitable sound of disappointment. When it didn't come he looked up to find his mum staring sadly at him, tears shining in her eyes.

"And... how did you feel when you found out?" Molly asked him gently.

Ron ducked his head, gripping the cup like the warmth of the liquid to kindle the hollow and hurt consuming his heart.

"Like I would give anything to trade places with her," Ron whispered. "Like I was being crushed to death. Like I'd tear the school apart if that's what it took to make sure Gin was safe."

He found a large, warm hand cup his chin and force his head up. The tears had poured over to drop onto her lap.

"You should have done better by her," his mum said softly. Something curled in on itself in his chest. Tears threatened his own eyes. "But it wasn't wrong to want to have your own friends, to keep them to yourself. It's natural to want a little distance from your siblings. What to Ginny wasn't your fault, Ronald, it wasn't Fred or George's or Percy's either. It was terrible and I'm so glad that you are all safe and home with me now."

Molly straightened out her apron. Neither of them had touched the cookies, but their teas had been drained.

"Do you think she'll be alright?" Ron whispered.

"Not right away," she murmured. "It will take time. But I think you and your brothers have learned something about not letting her go through things alone, right?"

Ron gave a sharp nod.

His mum smiled then, patting his cheek softly.

"You are a good boy Ronnie, remember that I love you, that I will always be here for you and your brothers and sister. Now, why don't you go up to bed? Be up nice and early to make sure someone goes with Ginny tomorrow for her appointment with the healer?"

"Of course," Ron answered. He'd given his mother a cuddle before thanking her and, with a mischievous smirk, snatched his two cookies up before heading up to bed.

"I'd better not seen any crumbs in that bed of yours," the dark tone threatened.

"Never!"

Memories like that had gotten fewer in between though. Not that he blamed her. There were a lot of them after all. But the good memories had started to blur in their age, leaving only more recent events, more vivid outlines to detail their relationship.

Stepping into the house one evening, for instance, with Harry in tow. Seeing his mother's tired, but beaming face. Feeling his father walk behind him and into the kitchen. He'd moved his bag of groceries aside for the expected hug.

"Hi Mum, rest of thems in-"

…and felt the bags go limp in his hands as his mother walked passed him to embrace Harry. Heard her fussing over Harry's clothes, straightening them out. He closed his mouth that had gapped, struggling to reign in the hurt, before shrugging it off and heading into the kitchen to help his dad put groceries away.

He'd ignored the warm, goofy smile on Harry's face when his best friend joined them. Part of him would scoff at his jealousy, of his selfishness, but the other part whimpered.

As a child trip to Diagone alley had been fun… until his family floo'd home without him and didn't realize he wasn't with them for three hours. He'd wandered around during all that time, sticking to the main street and looking through shops, trying to pretend like his family hadn't forgotten he existed.

Visiting Aunt Muriel's had been, if not decent, then at least not cringe worthy. At least until the old bat started pointing at him and asking why he looked like a rag doll instead of a child while Ginny stood beside him wearing a new dress. His mother's explanations had been wince worthy.

'They're perfectly fine clothes Muriel.'

'For who? Your pet ghoul? They've been sewn up half a dozen times from what I can see.'

'Ronnie grows like a weed Muriel, we can't afford to get him a new wardrobe every few months.'

'Then get him something he can grow into at least. I can see his shins from here and I'm blind as a bat!'

'Muriel.'

'Ginerva's dress looks very pretty.'

The pleased look on his mother's face as he and Ginny waited outside the door had caused a bitter, angry ball to well up inside him.

'Thank you Muriel.'

'I suggest you take it back where you got it from and buy your youngest boy some decent clothes from the thrift store. Dress looks more than adequate for at least that.'

It was the one and only time he'd been delighted to hear Muriel speak. They'd left soon after that. His mother angry and Ginny looking fearfully from her dress to her mother. The next day he had a few decent sets of clothes, but not at the expense of Ginny's dress. Instead the expensive ham dinner his mother had been excitedly talking about all week ended up being another dinner of chicken.

No one said a word about it, but he'd always wondered if his mum had resented him for Muriel's words. She never said anything along those lines. But she hadn't exactly told him it wasn't his fault either. It wasn't as if she didn't know they'd been outside the door listening. She'd told them to stay there with the intentions of being as fast as possible.

The next visit had been tense. A stand off between his mum and Muriel where they simply glared at one another as his mum delivered a few groceries to the aging witch. No words were exchanged, but he saw Muriel send him a pleased look as her eyes scanned his clothes. His mum's eyes had glittered in their anger.

Ron could care less though. Never had he worn clothes as bad as the stitched up ones since. And he had Muriel to thank for that. Though there was still lingering anger and bitterness when he thought of the dress robes at the Yule Ball. Ginny, who should not have even been going to the Yule Ball because of her age, had looked stunning in her blue dress. Ginny had gotten a beautiful gown to wear and he, who had been meant to go, had been left with a hideous disaster. Even Fred and George looked pretty decent in their hand me downs from Bill and Charlie. He was the only one out of the Weasley siblings to have to wear a humiliating outfit. Why was that?

Each of his siblings had been able to get their own wands, but not him.

His mum always remembered each of his siblings' favorite colors when she made them things, but he always received maroon, a color that clashed near traumatically with his hair and made him look like an idiot.

As the last of the sons, he always received things when they were near unusable.

And at the end of the day…

'Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter.'

At the end of the day Ginny had been born less than a year apart from himself. If she had taken care of him with more preference than anyone else for even a single day before she found out she was having a girl- then he was surely glad he didn't remember it, because knowing what it felt like would probably make living without it much worse.

When he was little there were those days when his mum and Ginny would gather in the kitchen. He'd tried, at first, to involve himself in the cooking, in the talks, in the projects, by sitting in the kitchen and watching, but the distracted glances, and tired look in his mother's eyes at his interruptions had weaned him out of that habit. He made sure not to bother with talking to either of them on those girl days.

So when Hermione was over for the summer and one of those girl days arrived he'd been sure to distract Hermione with some old books in Grimmauld place. It had been fine for a bit, just he, Harry, and Hermione in the tiny old library he'd saved for telling her about on just such an occasion. They'd been joking around for a while. He and Harry playing a game of chest in between asking Hermione if she'd found any grand secrets in the old books yet. Her eyes, glancing over dust and paper with something akin to fond annoyance, had rankled more than a few guffaws from them.

And then the door opened.

Ginny's head popped in, eyes searching, until she found Hermione's silhouette. Ron deflated a bit. Some of the old fear that Ginny would be a more interesting friend to Hermione, because she was a girl and everyone seemed to like her better, roared up. He refrained from saying anything though, as the blood soaked image of his little sister popped into his mind.

"Thought I would find you here," Ginny chirped.

Hermione ignored her though and Ron realized Hermione thought she was talking to her brother. Something inside of him scoffed at the thought. Ginny never sought him out for anything or for any reason.

"Hermione," Ron called, brown curls bounced as her head shot up, "She's come to take you away."

Ginny scowled at him, but he ignored her, making his next move on the board. The knight moved forward, decapitating Harry's Queen. The knight did a jig as it put its sword away. Harry, the poor bloke, looked scandalized.

"What for?" Hermione asked.

"She and Mum need a sacrifice for the cookies their baking," Ron drawled. Perhaps, maybe he was a tad bitter. "The secret ingredient isn't love. It's blood." Okay. Maybe he was really bitter.

"Hush you," Ginny snapped, before she smiled over at Hermione. "Mum and I wanted to know if you'd like to join us. We're not making cookies," Ginny added this last part with a dark look towards Ron.

Hermione looked reluctant, glancing from the book to Ginny and Ron found himself smirking on the inside. But that quickly died down to a simmering unhappiness as Hermione put it down and stood up.

"Sure."

Ron made sure to avoid looking at either girl as Harry made his move. Without needing to think much about it, he sent a pawn forward to check his King. Harry's sputtering was only satisfying until he heard Harry speak up.

"What are you doing?"

The curious tone caused Ginny to turn, Hermione already having left the room through the door the redhead was holding open.

'Tough luck Harry, if you've got a dick, she won't answer,' Ron groused to himself. Afternoons spent peeking into the kitchen and looking out into the garden at the pair had taught him that. Lonely days spent by himself down by the pond or in his room had cemented it.

"Oh, um, mum's gonna teach us some tricks to transfigure clay."

Ron's neck creaked as his head shot up to stare at Ginny casually leaning against the door, an easy smile on her lips.

"Apparently clays the best thing to use when you want to transfigure additions to stuff. Like making a table bigger or making pans deeper or repairing items that have big chunks missing. It's a handy trick whether you're a mother taking care of a house or an Auror out in the field. Don't you think?"

"Sounds amazing," Harry said, getting up, "Mind if I listen in?"

Ginny shrugged.

"I don't see why not. Just thought you would be bored of something like this."

"Not at all, sounds darn useful," Harry replied.

Ron felt cold inside, watching the chess pieces as they impatiently gestured for Harry, who was ignoring them, to make his next move. When his best friend made it to the door, he turned.

"Aren't you coming Ron?" Harry asked, looking at Ron in confusion.

He stood, a heavy feeling in his stomach, as he just shrugged.

"Are you mad about the game? We can come back and finish it later," Harry placated.

"Not mad," Ron told him, trying to get a smile to stick to his face. From Harry's expression he didn't think it went well.

"Well come right back," Harry promised.

"It's not a big deal, mate, let's just go."

Part of him felt nervous. A small voice questioning whether his mother and Ginny would actually let him into the room. Though a larger part was scolding him for being stupid. They weren't going to 'not' let him in if Harry and Hermione were there. That would be plain ridiculous.

Making it to the living room he found his mother with a large pot of moist clay on top of the small dining table. Hermione and Ginny were on either side of her while Harry directly across. Feeling awkward and unsure, Ron kept back. It had been a long time since he'd actually spent time with is mum or Ginny.

"All right you lot, watch carefully," Molly said evenly. She straightened her back, putting his arms out and held her want nearly diagonal to herself. "You'll always want to start by having your wand adjacent to the object you'll be expanding. Then, swiftly bring it downwards, and move it clockwise over the span of the area that is to be expanded." She did so, a deep purple glow, almost violet, began to surround the piece of furniture. "Then point your want at the clay itself and speak this spell; Molde ad meum imperium. Suggero. Praetende. Unum fieri." The clay turned a rust color before rising from its bucket. It followed his mum's guiding hand before hovering above the purple glow of the table. "Once you have it above your desired placement slowly lower it downwards with an image in mind. Imagine the table being larger. Give it shape as you mold it to its new home." The clay lowered, beginning to glow the same purple as the table and reshaping under their eyes. Once it was in the desired shape it changed color to reflect the rest of the table. "Finish up with this spell," his mum murmured, "Nuper mutate!"

The table glowed fiercely before dying down. In front of them stood a much larger version of the original table. It was perfectly shaped. The wood looked legitimately made from the same tree as the rest of the table. Ron gaped, before a grin spread across his face and pride filled him, he opened his mouth to tell his mum just how amazing she was.

"Oh Mrs. Weasley! That was amazing!" Hermione squealed.

His mum blushed.

"Thank you Hermione dear," she said, wiping sweat off her brow. "If you would like I could show you a few more examples. Once you lot get to Hogwarts you may try it out. Preferably with a teacher around. This spell, if not done right, could end up attaching to your leg or your arm. We wouldn't want that!"

"That was brilliant," Harry added in.

"Yes, well, let's skip on into the kitchen shall we. Now that you dears have a good idea of it we can go over the little details. Biscuits are in order, I think."

They exited the room. Ron edging around the others to get to his mother. He wanted to make sure, on this rare occasion, that he could tell her himself that he thought it was wicked. He caught Ginny's annoyed glance in his direction. Feeling suddenly unwanted in this whole affair, he ended up trailing behind.

Last to enter the room, the group hovered over naturally to the counter tops rather than the table. Taking seats on the tall chairs. All three of them, as his mum hovered about pulling things off the shelf. Awkwardly standing beside the counter, having lost out in the miniature musical chairs, he listened in to his mum's explanation as she set out plates and teacups.

"Drat it all," his mum groused. "There aren't enough biscuits."

There were four left.

Never quite enough to go around before it made it to him.

"Ronnie dear, could you go down to the basement and grab the box we brought from home? I'm certain there's another box of biscuits in there."

He nodded mutely. Turning around and leaving them to it as his mum started in on how to perform the spell. His legs felt heavy as he trudged down the steps. Being the only area they really hadn't gotten to yet, it was filled with layers upon layers of dust. His feet kicked up plenty of it as he moved further into the room searching for the blasted light. When his hands found the switch it flickered, throwing the room into shadows every few seconds.

"Lovely," Ron muttered.

It took fifteen minutes to locate the box, it had already gathered a great deal of dust, completely bewildering Ron since it had only been down here for a few weeks. When he popped it open there were no food items at all inside, but only a few pots and pans. Ron shoved it aside, thrusting his hands into his pockets in irritation.

"They's got rid of the ill-tempered one on purpose," a voice spoke.

Ron spun. Heart pounding like crazy only to spot Kreacher slouching around in the flickering darkness. Disgusted he started to head up the stairs, ignoring the thing.

"They's not want to be around the nasty one at all. Kreature can tell."

"Shut up," Ron snapped. The horrible little thing was hitting way too close to what he'd been thinking on his way down.

"But the boy knows what Kreature talks about, yes, he does. Knows that no one likes him. That no one wants him around. That no one loves…"

Ron slammed the basement door shut. Hands shaking as he stalked down the hall.

'Horrible, mangy, too bit, little…'

The sound of laughter stopped his dark thoughts. He dusted himself off as best he could before hovering by the door. He peeked inside.

He had taken a long time. But… none of them seemed to have noticed. No one came down to come after him or help.

'They's got rid of the ill-tempered one on purpose.'

Glancing at the table he saw six biscuits there, an open new box on the counter. He felt his throat dry. He took a step back before another and another. He was down the hall before he turned completely around.

One memory in particular rang out with such profound hurt and betrayal, that he still found he needed to bite his lips to keep them from trembling, when he thought back to it.

When his father had been put into St. Mungo's after being attacked by the snake she had been the one to stay with Arthur near constantly. They'd visited, of course, but since there were so many of them they hadn't bene allowed to stay. After the argument with Sirius, when they had all been upset and left angry, he heard his mum making rounds.

She went to Harry first. He'd walked passed the living room to hear her talking to him about how she didn't hate Sirius and how the twins were just hurting and didn't mean some of the awful things they'd said to his godfather. Ron hadn't said a word, choosing instead to continue on into the kitchen for a snack. Harry really needed to hear it after the stress his best friend had been under as of late.

He found though, that he couldn't keep anything down. All the food made him feel ill and he ended up putting the sandwich into the fridge for later. Come to think about it… he hadn't really slept or eaten since the whole thing happened. If he didn't stop soon then he and Harry's dorm mates were going to have two nightmare ridden people to deal with. He sighed, settling on tea.

When he finished he made his way back up to his and Harry's room, passing by the twin's room on his way. The door was cracked open slightly and she could hear his mum talking in a calming voice. She, apparently, had moved on to the twins. She heard shuffling and moved away quickly.

'Best not to upset mum.'

It would do him no good for her to think he'd been spying on her. He hid behind the next corner, watching as his mother sighed heavily before tiredly making her way to Ginny's room. So she was going around, making sure all her children were alright.

When he made it up to his room he looked around at the mess and quickly went about picking everything up. He wouldn't give her any reason to be upset with him when she got around to coming up to his room. He glanced at Harry, sound asleep in his bed already.

He moved about quietly, tossing dirty clothes into hampers, putting his school supplies into his trunk. He even cleaned up some of Hedwig's 'mess' she'd left; the remains of a dead mouse, the tail still twitching the slightest bit. Gross.

And then he waited.

And waited.

He frowned, wondering if Ginny had been really upset. He glanced at the clock realizing that it was nearly ten. He peaked out of the room. All the lights were off. Even Sirius showed no signs of being awake. He sat back, his frown deepening. He waited ten more minutes before turning off their lights and going to sleep.

When his father was brought home three days later, he and Fred were busy setting up the bedroom so that it would be easier for him to move about it. Fred enlarged the pillows while he used a take home sticking charm mat against the wall to affix a pole for his dad to use while in the bathroom.

He heard Fred leave while he was working. Heard everyone greeting his dad, but he couldn't let go of the sticking charm yet because they only had one and if he let go before five minutes were up then it wouldn't work. He heard his mum settling his dad into the bed and heard his dad speak for the first time in forever. It warmed him, filling him with relief.

"Molly love, don't fret so much."

He heard his mum huff and couldn't help but grin.

"My fretting is the last thing you should be complaining about. I'll have you know that I've been given stricked instructions not to give you solid food for a while."

"No Christmas dinner?" Arthur whimpered.

Ron chuckled along with his mum, though neither of them heard him.

"Afraid not dear."

He heard his dad move about the bed, adjusting himself. When he spoke next there was a seriousness to his voice Ron hardly ever heard from him.

"How did the children take it?"

Ron stilled, wondering if he should make himself known.

"I talked to all of them, they didn't take it well, but I think they'll be okay, now that your home at least."

"All of them? Including Harry?"

"Of course! Harry's as good as any of my children. I wouldn't forget him."

A sick feeling nailed him in the chest. He leaned his head against the pole as he tried not to let himself be heartbroken by the statement. There was suddenly not enough air in the room.

"I'm glad to hear it," Arthur rasped.

He couldn't take it anymore. He stood, letting go of the pole. It didn't fall, but he doubted he would have noticed if it did in that moment. He exited the bathroom, his dad's eyes finding him, showing surprise.

"Poles up mum," Ron announced, trying his very best to exit as quickly as possible.

"Ronald! Aren't you going to say hello to your father?" Molly barked.

"Oh, right," Ron said, distractedly, he rushed over to the bed, being as gentle as he could in his hug. He stepped back, gripping his father's arms in his. "I'm glad your back dad. I missed you a lot. Try not to scare us so bad next time?"

Arthur chuckled.

"I'll try not to find myself on the bad side of anymore snakes, no," Arthur told him, eyes dancing in merriment despite the bruises around them.

"It's the Weasley charm," Ron stated, fighting against glancing at his mother.

His dad smiled, patting him on the head.

Ron gave his dad one last soft squeeze before hurriedly leaving the room, closing it firmly behind him.

"The fat bloodtraitor never talks to the nasty one. She recognizes his horribleness," Kreature muttered knowingly.

Ron jumped. Glaring hatefully at the house elf, he quickened his pace. He was gonna kick it any moment now. Kreature hobbled behind him though, seemingly noticing how his words were taking affect, and being quite pleased with it.

"Horrible bloodtraitors should leave Mistress's House, yes? Yes, they's should. Quickly too. Mistress loves all her children unlike fat bloodtraitor. The fat one does not love the nasty one. Does not indeed."

"Bugger off you vile piece of shit," Ron growled.

Utterly delighted Kreature continued.

"Kreature thinks nasty bloodtraitor should kill himself. That would solve many problems. Fat bloodtraitor would be most happy Kreature thinks."

"In a minute Kreature is going to find the nasty ones shoe shoved up his wrinkled arse!" Ron roared.

"But nasty one knows Kreature speaks truth," Kreature said slyly.

Hurt and enraged Ron whirled, grabbing the nearest object with every intention of bashing its head in. He raised his arm and brought it down only to find himself tackled to the side by a body. Ron angrily pushed against them, dropping his object with a loud 'clang!'

"What the bloody…"

George's brown eyes met his own blue.

"That's exactly what I was thinking. Geez Ron, you looked like you were gonna kill him."

"I'm gonna!" Ron snapped, looking around for the menace, only to find him gone. Suddenly all the fight fell away from him. He pushed passed George tiredly, moving to his room.

"Hey now, what did that thing say to yah?" George called, coming up beside him.

"Nothing," Ron grumbled.

George quirked his eyebrows in disbelieve.

"Nothing I'm gonna repeat," Ron amended.

"That bad?"

"Snape could learn a few lessons from him."

George whistled.

"Just ignore him, Ron, we'll be out of here and at Hogwarts soon enough."

And merlin, Ron had tried, but the little thing had stalked him every time he was alone for the briefest of moments. It had made a game of finding him. Ron didn't know if it was a mercy or some sick, twisted joke that no one ever heard the things Kreature said to him.

Of course, it was these things, these words and these memories of his mother that always seemed to come to the forefront of his mind on cold days or lonely nights. He rarely remembered conversations with his mum, cuddles when he was hurt, or loving comforts amidst the more unpleasant memories.

And he acknowledged that his mum had never intentionally done any of the things that had happened. It was accidental neglect. It was thoughtless little events that built itself up into a long line of preferential treatment. Others before him. Always.

His brothers before him.

His sister before him.

Harry before him.

Hermione before him.

But at least there was a him.

At some point she got to him even if it was only once in a blue moon. There were times when she would embrace him or talk to him rather than his general vicinity with an order. His scarf for Christmas had finally been made of the vivid blue he liked so much rather than maroon. When push came to shove Ron had finally been given a wand that was whole and that worked before third year. That was something.

Least loved did not mean unloved. It just meant that when she went Christmas shopping he got a present as an afterthought, when arms were already loaded with gifts for the other children and the money was running low. It only meant that when she considered cooking one of her children's favorite meals that his favorite meal showed up the rarest. It meant getting a broom from an antique shop rather than Charlie's good hand me down which went to Ginny. It meant a lot of things.

It meant his mum, after the department of mysteries, walked passed his bed in the hospital wing to grip Ginny in a tight embrace. That she sobbed and rocked her baby girl in her arms and told Ginny how stupid her daughter had been and how she never wanted her to do something so irresponsible like that again.

It meant that his mum had noticed Hermione, groggily awake, and had hugged the girl silly and scolded her. Then she'd stepped back, looked around with searching eyes and finally took notice of him.

"Oh Ronnie!"

He almost flinched as she came near. Watching her with cautious eyes and hurt as she backtracked through the beds to come to him. He gestured to his bandaged arms to ward her off of hugging him. Not wanting her to touch him after being so thoroughly labeled as an afterthought.

She settled her hand on his knee, sitting as close to him as she could.

"I'm so happy to see you alright, sweetie," she said wetly.

"Yeah," he croaked, "I'm fine."