Chapter 1: Melvin and Jane

The weather was unusually hot and humid for England in the first week of November. There was so much moisture in the air that it felt like a blanket when a person built up the courage to step outside his door. But Ron couldn't feel it. Ron felt cold. So cold his fingers and toes ached with it. He had taken to wearing a minimum of three layers of socks and sitting near a fire so that he could hold his fingers close to the bright orange flames, but still they ached. He tried hot baths and having Hermione cast warming spells on them. Nothing worked. Ronald Weasley hadn't felt warm in days.

He rubbed his numb fingers vigorously together and Mrs Granger looked over at him. "Hermione said you were having a difficult time staying warm. So I placed some extra blankets in your room. I put them in the trunk sitting at the foot of the bed."

Ron nodded to let her know he had heard her but couldn't muster the will to answer. He hadn't felt like talking since he had made the biggest blunder of his life. He had let down Harry, Hermione, his family, and so many others. He was a failure in every sense of the word and the knowledge of it ate away at his insides like a virus.

"Melvin already brought your trunk up." Jane Granger came to a stop beside an open door. "Why don't you settle yourself in then come downstairs for dinner?"

Again Ron chose to nod his head instead of speaking and Jane felt a swell of pity for the boy.

She placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. "I know things look pretty horrible right now, but these things tend to turn out all right in the end. You'll see."

Jane patted his shoulder as she stepped around him leaving him standing outside his new bedroom. As she walked away she was unaware that he was struggling with every ounce of his being not to follow after her and rail at her. 'These things tend to turn out all right in the end'? How could things ever be all right again? How could it be all right when he was forced to leave Harry and Hermione now when they needed him the most? It would never be all right as long as his two best friends were out there learning and studying and searching without him. And it would never be all right as long as he knew it was his fault he was in this predicament. He could blame no one but himself. The burden of fault lay securely on his shoulders.

Ron heard the mad fluttering of wings inside the room followed by the excited twitters of a small owl that meant Pig was no longer alone. Ron took the few steps that brought him into the room and saw that Harry's snow-white owl, Hedwig, was sitting there pointedly ignoring Pig and his frantic flight inside his cage as she waited for Ron to remove her burden.

"Hello, girl," he whispered as he stroked Hedwig's soft, feathered head. "How are Harry and Hermione?" He asked as she patiently extended her leg so that he could untie the letter one of them had sent.

Hedwig hooted softly, conveying in that one sound how they all felt about what had happened.

"That bad, huh?"

She hooted again while Ron set the letter aside so that he could search his trunk for the box of owl treats he kept there. When he found the package he tipped a small pile in Pig's dish and set it before her. She hooted her gratitude as she pecked at the first treat while Ron found some water to give to her as well.

With his task done Ron took up the note and turned it over to find Hermione's tidy hand addressing the letter.

Having only parted company with her that morning Ron didn't know what she could possibly have to say to him but he broke the wax seal and opened the note anyway.

'Dear Ron,' the letter began, 'I expect that you'll have arrived shortly before my letter. I don't have a great deal to write now; I talked to you only this morning. I'm sure you're feeling incredibly low at the moment; one could hardly blame you. And so I am writing because I wished to remind you not to lose hope. The Ministry has Aurors working on your case and I am certain it won't take them long to find a solution. You'll be back here with Harry and me in no time. But until that happens I want to encourage you to take advantage of this opportunity. Rarely does a pure-blood wizard have the chance to spend this kind of time with Muggles. It will be an extraordinary learning opportunity for you. I promise to keep you posted as well as I can. You know how things are. Just think on what I said, all right?
Until my next letter,
Hermione.'

Ron stared at the contents of the letter in disbelief for several seconds. With a snarl of frustration he crumpled the note in his hands and tossed it angrily toward the rubbish bin sitting next to the desk. The letter was so annoyingly like Hermione. Only she would see this tragedy in his life as an opportune learning experience. Couldn't she see how horrible this was for him? Couldn't she even imagine what he was feeling like right now? No, all she saw was that this was an 'extraordinary learning opportunity'.

Needing something to do with his hands, he reached for the latch on his trunk but stopped half bent over. What did he need out of his trunk? Everything that was packed away inside was from his life at Hogwarts. A life that he could no longer partake in.

Sighing heavily he opened the lid long enough to rummage through and find all his clothes, excluding his robes, and tossing them in a messy heap on his bed before closing the lid and locking it tight. Pushing up his sleeves to keep them out of the way he bent over, placing his hands firmly on the corners and pushing it toward the closet. He opened the door and saw that there was more than enough room to store all his clothes and a nice dark corner where he could hide his trunk out of sight.

He slid the trunk across the carpeted floor and through the doorway. With a great deal of manoeuvring and heaving he finally wedged it into place. He moved quickly back to the bed and picked up a pile of shirts and trousers and brought them to the closet where he hung them on hangers and suspended them from the rods. When the last shirt was in place he took a step back and was satisfied to find that his clothing completely hid his trunk from sight and it brought a sigh of relief to his lips. Out of sight, out of mind, he thought wistfully, knowing that it would never really be out of mind.

With that task finished he returned to the bed and took up his socks and pants and put them in the small chest of drawers the Grangers had provided him. When he slid the last drawer back into place he turned and took his first real look at the room he would be calling home.

It was a plain room, done un-inspiringly in varying shades of tan. The walls, the carpet, the comforter were all tan. The only splashes of colour the room had were the three throw pillows of dark green, the copper lampshade and the few pieces of art arranged on the walls.

The room was well put together and functional, a very practical room. It was exactly the kind of room Ron expected the Grangers to have. Despite the lack of colour and vibrancy his own room at The Burrow had, it was still welcoming in its own way. Ron pursed his lips to the side in thought. The only thing that would have to go was the pillows. He simply could not be expected to live in a room that had Slytherin-green pillows.

Scooping the offending objects into his arms he carried them to the closest and deposited them on a high shelf where they would be well out of sight. With that done he let out a sigh. That was better. He felt much more at home now. Well, as at home as he could feel considering the circumstances. He didn't think he would ever feel truly at home here. It just didn't fit right.

Ron turned and with a dramatic groan plopped on his back across the foot of the bed. His eyes blurred as he tried to focus on the plain white ceiling above him. It seemed so… empty and …bare …so different then his own ceiling at home. For the briefest of moments he considered writing his mum and asking her to send him some of his Chudley posters to brighten up the room but decided against it in the end. The Chudley posters were a part of his old life. They had no place here in the Muggle world. Besides they were too conspicuous. What if a Muggle who knew nothing of the wizard world should happen to see them? How could Ron explain away the moving pictures? He couldn't. No the posters were better left where they were.

Ron was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of a soft knock at his bedroom door. He turned his head to see Mr Granger standing in the frame, his finger resting against the half closed panel.

"Mr Granger." He rolled off the bed and onto his feet. "Come in."

Ron watched as the older man stepped into the room and closed the door and the thought ran through his head that Hermione most definitely did not get her diminutive height from her father.

"Hello Ronald," Melvin Granger greeted as he looked around the room curiously. "I thought I would come up and see if you need any help. Didn't you bring anything that would help make you feel more at home?"

"No sir." Ron shook his head sadly. "Everything I own comes from the wizarding world."

"Ahh…" Mr Granger nodded his balding head. "I see. Do you mind if I sit?" He asked indicating the chair set at the desk in the corner.

"Not at all."

Melvin set himself in the chair then looked up at Ron, who was towering over him. "Please, sit," he prompted when the young man remained standing. He waited until Ron was seated before he leaned forward, his hands clasped, his elbows propped on his knees. "This is hard for you, isn't it, Ron? I don't see how it couldn't be. You must feel like everything you once thought you knew about yourself is a lie. You must feel like you don't know who you are or where you're headed anymore. And no matter if you choose to admit it to yourself or not, you're scared. More scared then you have ever been in your life."

Ron stared at Hermione's father, shock written on every inch of his candid face.

"Hermione went through the same thing," he explained, "when she first learned that she was a witch. Hermione used to share everything with us. Her hopes, her dreams, her feelings. That was a really hard time for her and for us. She told us how alone and scared she felt. She doesn't tell us things like that anymore." A note of regret crept into the older man's voice. "She hasn't for a long time."

"Mr Granger…"

Melvin held up his hand to stop Ron. "I'm not asking you to divulge any of my daughter's secrets, nor to make you feel guilty for taking my place as her confidant. It was just an observation that I've made. I can't tell you how thrilled I am that Hermione has found two friends that she feels comfortable with and whom she trusts enough to share her secrets. Jane and I have always worried about her. Hermione always had a hard time making friends. Strange things always happened around her and she was so bright I think it made the other children feel uncomfortable. But now that she has you and Harry I sleep better at night, knowing that you two have her back and that you are always looking out for her. I'm glad that I finally have the opportunity to repay some of my debt to you."

"Mr. Granger, honestly, you don't owe me anything."

"Nonsense! I owe you a great deal, more than I think you realise. Which is why you will always be welcome here."

"Thank you." Ron stammered, not knowing what else to say.

"No, thank you Ron. It's truly a pleasure to have you. So," he clapped his hands together before leaning back in his chair, crossing his right ankle over his left knee, "I was hoping to take this opportunity while Jane is cooking to talk to you about your options."

Ron cringed as Mr Granger's voice melded into Headmistress McGonagall's and echoed quietly through the back of his brain.

'We need to discus your options, Mr Weasley.'

'My options?'

'Yes, Mr Weasley, your options. I'm afraid it is no longer viable for you to remain here at Hogwarts.'

Ron shook his head. Those words, your options, in his opinion, would never bode well for him. He swallowed past the lump that had gathered in his throat. "My options, sir?"

"Yes, your options. Your first option is, you can either continue to call me Mr Granger or we can forgo the formalities and you can call me Melvin, or if you prefer, Mel. After all, you are going to be living with us for an undetermined amount of time and I think it would be more comfortable for all involved if we were on a first name basis."

"I don't know," Ron scrunched his brow "That might get a bit strange. You're Hermione's dad."

"Yes I am," he agreed. "But I sincerely hope we can set that aside and become friends. But it's all right." He patted Ron's knee. "You don't have to call me Mel until you're ready. All right?"

Ron nodded and watched as Mr Granger's foot twitched into motion as he readied to move on to his next topic. "How old are you Ron?"

"Seventeen, sir."

"Yes, as I thought. And you'll be eighteen in March, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmm." Mr Granger nodded, his pursed lips twitching from side to side. "Hermione warned us you're not very fond of school."

"No, sir. Not very much."

"And I suspect one of the reasons you agreed to come here and stay with us was the belief that Jane and I would not insist you go to school."

"Well…" The very tips of Ron's ears coloured pink.

"Don't be embarrassed, Ron." Mel leaned forward in his seat. "Don't tell Jane or Hermione this, but when I was your age I didn't much care for school either. It wasn't until University when I was on my own and doing what I wanted that I learned to love it. Be that as it may, Jane and I both strongly believe in education and before we even started our family we agreed that our children would attend school until they were legally adults. Of course with Hermione that was never really a concern, but…Jane and I have talked about your circumstances in great detail and we both agree that it would be better for you if you attend school.

Ron's bright blue eyes widened and his mouth gaped open. "School?" he gasped. "With Muggles?" Mr Granger nodded. "I can't go to school with Muggles."

"On the contrary, you can. You are here, Ron, so that we can help assimilate you to the…Muggle world, did you call it? You are here because your teachers and parents thought living with us would be the easiest way for you to grow accustomed to our way of life."

"But Mr Granger, I've never been to a Muggle school. I wouldn't know what to do. I'd look like an idiot."

"Idiot is a little harsh, Ron, don't you think? Listen," his ankle slid off his knee and landed on the floor with a soft thump, "I understand your objections, but Jane and I have discussed this matter at length and we agreed that we should hold the same expectations for you as we did Hermione. We expect any child who stays in our home to attend school until they are eighteen years old, until they are a legal adult, at which time they can make their own legal decision whether they want to continue with school or not. You turn eighteen in March; at that time you can make the decision for yourself. But until then, you go."

Ron glowered at his knees. "I should have just gone home," he muttered, crossing his arms childishly across his chest.

"You still can. It was your decision to come here; no one forced you. If you want, Jane and I can drive you home tomorrow, no hurt feelings." The young man's shoulders hunched up around his ears and his face tucked into his chest. "But I highly suggest you stay here and attend school."

"Why?"

"Because no one knows how long you'll have to remain an exile of the wizarding world. Days? Weeks? Months? What if its years? You still have to go on living your life as best you can, even if that's living it like a Muggle. Jane and I can teach you a lot. How to run a Muggle house, the ins and outs of finances, how to act with professional decorum, which will help you with the basics in life. But we can't teach you how to be a young man in the Muggle world. I'm sorry Ron, I don't know any of the social costumes and expectations you will need to know. Those you can only learn by going to school and interacting with other individuals your age."

"So you want to send me to a Muggle school just so I can make friends."

"No, we are going to send you to a Muggle school so that you have the opportunity to make friends while learning the tools you will need to support a career of your choice. I could only teach you how to be a dentist, and I doubt that is what you want with your life. What do you want to do with your life Ronald?"

Ron looked up at Mr Granger in surprise. What did he want to do with his life? He wanted to go back to the wizard world, that's what he wanted. He wanted to be looking for Horcruxes with his two best friends. He wanted to end this war so that he could finally…Ron's mind came to a halting stop. So that he could finally what? Any chance he ever had of making something of himself was gone now.

"Ron?"

The red haired boy jerked to attention. "Can…can I think about it for a little while?"

"Yes." Mel nodded. "I suppose that is only fair." He leaned forward in his seat, bracing his hands against his thighs. "All right then, in the chance that you will stay, lets discuss house rules." Mel chuckled at the look of mild displeasure that slipped onto Ron's face. "Yes, Ron, if you decide to stay, Jane and I will expect you to abide by certain house rules. We'll expect the same from you as we did from Hermione. They are really very simple. Assignments and revisions are to be done first thing when you get home from school. There is no TV-watching or computer using until it's finished."

"Mr Granger," Ron timidly interrupted, "what is a tea V and a come putter?"

"Good heavens!" Mel shook his head with disbelief. "It never crossed my mind that you wouldn't be accustomed to… It's so common place I just assumed…well, no matter. We'll take care of that when we're done clearing the kitchen after dinner. Which conveniently brings us to our next house rule. We take turns making the meals in this house and everyone helps clear when we're finished eating. Sunday is when we do chores in the yard and Monday after work is when the house gets cleaned." Melvin bit the inside of his lip to stop the chuckle that threatened to escape the more Ron struggled to hide his look of displeasure. "Jane thought we should forego on expecting you to help with chores but I'm afraid I had to insist. I want this to feel like home for you. And you'll always feel like a guest if you don't participate in the daily chores."

"I suppose that makes sense," Ron grudgingly agreed.

Melvin finally gave in to his amusement and chuckled as he glanced down at the watch strapped to his wrist. "We'll continue this discussion later. Right now we had better head downstairs and help Jane set the table."

Without a word Ron followed Melvin to his feet and out of the room. His large shoes made a shuffling sound as they dragged along the hallway and down the stairs, clumping softly on each step. When the two men reached the kitchen Jane looked up from her work with a smile on her lips. "Hello boys. Perfect timing. The chicken is nearly finished."

"It smells wonderful, dear." Mr. Granger crossed the small kitchen to stand behind his wife, a hand coming up to lightly rest on her hip. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Might I steel a bite?"

"Mel, the chicken is still in the oven. It's too ho…" Jane broke off when Mel's teeth grazed lightly across her neck. Ron turned quickly on his heel and faced the opposite direction, willing his face to remain a neutral tone instead of the usual incriminating red.

'Mel," Jane slapped her husbands hand away with a chuckle. She nodded to the young man standing on the other side of the room. "Teenager in the house," she reminded him.

"Oh, right." Mel stepped back from his wife, letting his hand linger a moment longer on her hip. "Let's get to it then. Shall we Ron?" He moved quickly toward the high cupboard on the left side of the sink where Ron soon learned the plates and cups were stored. Within seconds of opening the first cupboard Ron knew where Hermione had gotten her tendency to over organise.

The plates were all stacked in neat piles on the first row of shelving. The biggest plates were stacked on the left, medium sized plates beside that, then a row of desert plates and lastly a stack of tea saucers. On the next shelf began the glasses organised not only by size but also by colour. Blue, yellow and white, each one arranged tallest to shortest. And on the shelf above that were the mugs and teacups the family used - mugs on the left, teacups on the right. This shelf, surprisingly, had little variation in colour, you could either choose from white, white or if you really wanted, white. However Ron was comforted to see that three mugs stood out amongst the rest. In a place of predominance on the forefront of the shelf was a mug for each member of the Granger family, each one its own colour and each one inscribed with the name of a family member.

First there was a dark blue mug with white script that read Melvin, a yellow mug with orange writing proclaiming Jane and a soft, pale pink mug with light blue elaborate script that spelled out Hermione's name. Ron's lips almost twitched at the site of it. Never would he have imagined Hermione choosing pink as her colour. It was such a prissy, girly colour, so unlike his Mione.

"Ron." The tall redhead blinked back to attention at the sound of his name. Mr. Granger was holding a small stack of plates. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all." Ron hurried forward to accept the stack from Hermione's father.

The two men fell into silence as they worked together to prepare the table while Mr. Granger half listened to his wife describe a procedure she had preformed earlier that day on one of her patients. There were several times during her story when Ron found himself arrested in his work with shock over something she had said.

Hermione had tried many times in vain to explain what it was her parents did for a living, but he was never able to pay attention to her for very long. He would either lose interest as she grew too technical with her explanation or he would simply get so lost and confused Hermione would simply give up on him. But he never remembered her saying anything about her parents cutting teeth out or putting metal on them. Muggles were barmy, all of them, most especially Hermione's parents.

By the time Ron set the last bowl of vegetables on the table the chicken was finished and dished up on a platter by Mrs. Granger. Jane set the meat in the very centre of the table while Melvin retrieved a pitcher of chilled water and lemonade from the icebox.

Heeding his mother's instructions to always wait until your hostess was seated before taking your own, Ron stood near the end of the table until Mrs Granger had set the chicken in the middle and took her seat.

Jane glanced over at the boy who was still standing stiffly a few paces away. She pulled the seat beside her out from the table and nodded her head toward it. "You can sit down, Ronald."

"I…I didn't know where I was suppose to sit." He stammered as an excuse as he took the proffered chair and sat down.

Jane smiled sweetly while patting his hand. "Well now you know. Would you prefer dark meat," she took up his plate, "or light?"

Ten minutes later found Jane and Melvin staring with acute curiosity at their daughter's friend. Hermione had spent a good part of the last six years telling them a great deal about the two boys that had become her best friends, in particular the one now sitting across from them at the dinning table. They couldn't recall all the times Hermione had complained about Ron's eating habits. How she had never seen a human being who could eat as much in one sitting as he could, or who couldn't seem to manage to swallow his food before speaking.

But this boy who was sitting in front of them hadn't managed to swallow even an entire mouthful. He had spent the past ten minutes chasing his beans around his plate with his fork, never taking a bite, before jabbing it aggressively into the chicken breast that had until that moment remained untouched on his plate.

Mrs Granger set her fork and knife delicately at the side of her plate before using her napkin to dab her mouth clean. "Ronald," she asked tentatively. "Is there something wrong? Hermione assured me you liked chicken."

"What?" His head jerked up from his plate, his eyes finding Mrs Granger. "No, no… Everything's fine. I love chicken." He used his fork to tear a morsel off and popped it between his lips. "It tastes great Mrs Granger." He chewed the chunk until it was fine then forced his throat to swallow. "See."

"You know, Ron," Mr Granger said as he watched the redhead tear another chunk from the chicken and force it between his lips, "you don't have to eat if you're not hungry. I wouldn't be surprised in the least if something like this caused you to lose your appetite for a while." Ron slowly set one prong of his fork against his plate and watched as the rest turned like a top from that point. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

Ron shrugged. "I haven't felt like eating since I…since it happened," he admitted, his face flushing with shame. "And the few times I have been hungry and did eat I wasn't able to keep that much of it down. And I don't want… I'm just not hungry."

"How long has it been, Ron?" Mel repeated.

"I don't know… A week, I reckon."

"A week?" Jane gasped. "You haven't eaten anything in a week?"

"No, I just ate some chicken."

"But Ronald, you can't…"

"Jane," Mel said, a hint of warning in his voice.

The two adults looked at each other and seemed to have come to an understanding. Jane sighed as she turned back to Ron. "When you do feel like eating, the kitchen is always open."

"Thank you, Mrs Granger."

"Think nothing of it, Ronald." She patted his hand. "I want you to feel comfortable here. Which means the kitchen is always open. So," she took up her fork and knife and separated another morsel of chicken from the bone, "what did you boys discuss while I was slaving away in here?"

Ron shrugged his left shoulder dismissively as he resumed chasing his beans. "Rules."

"Melvin," Jane slowly turned on her husband, giving her eyes a dramatic roll. "Rules? The boy steps foot in our home for the first time and you bombard him with rules?"

"Jane," he drew out her name with a light note of mockery, "the rules needed to be said. Ron needs to know what we expect from him. How else is he to know what the boundaries are?"

"Yes, but you couldn't start with a 'Hello Ron, welcome to the house? Is there anything I can do for you?' Really, Melvin, sometimes…"

"It's all right, Mrs Granger. Really," Ron said timidly. "I don't mind."

"But I do." She sent her husband a half glare out of the corner of her eye and Ron recognised it immediately as the same half glare he was so often receiving from her daughter. It was almost comforting, in a bizarre, complicated sort of way.

Jane shook her head disapprovingly as she turned away from her husband, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. "Am I right in assuming that at some point during your lecture my husband managed to tell you about our decision to send you to school?"

"Yes, ma'am, but…"

"Very good." She took up her fork and resumed cutting into her meant. "Tomorrow we'll head into town to buy your school supplies. You'll need paper, pens, pencils and a few pieces for your new uniform. Is there anything you need that we can stop and get while we're out?"

"I don't think…"

"Jane, that room needs some work," Melvin interrupted before Ron had a chance to speak. "It is far too old for a boy his age. You should stop and get him some things to make it feel more like home."

"Oh." Her eyes widened and her brain began to churn with thought. "I hadn't even thought of that." She turned to look at Ron critically. "We didn't really have time, this all happened so suddenly. But I think we can manage that easily enough. Perhaps a new comforter, a fresh coat of paint on the walls, posters and pinups…"

"Please, Mr and Mrs Granger. Don't trouble yourself…"

"It's no trouble." Jane assured him, her eyes twinkling bright. "It will be nice to have someone young in the house again. Melvin and I always wanted more children but that just wasn't meant to be." She sighed heavily, looking across the table to an empty seat at the end. "It's always lonely here without her."

"Jane." Melvin set his hand lightly on his wife's wrist when he saw tears begin to gather behind her eyes.

"I'm all right." She wiped at her right eye where a tear had worked its way out. She gave her head a firm shake, clearing away the remaining tears. "I won't take no for an answer, young man. As long as you are staying under our roof you are family. And I like nothing better in the world then to spoil my family."

"Spoil, dear?"

Jane dismissed Mel's question with a wave. "You know what I mean. The point is tomorrow when we're out we'll pick up your uniform, school supplies and a few things to spruce up your room."

"Mrs. Granger…"

"You know dear," she interrupted smoothly. "I think that I would like for you to call me Jane."

"But…"

"I don't think he's ready for that yet."

"I couldn't possibly…" Ron tried to agree with Mel.

"Well, when you are. No need to rush anything. So tomorrow we'll pick up your supplies and on Monday you'll start school. We decided that for sanity's sake, in keeping our stories straight, we would make it as simple as possible. When we visited your new school to register we told them that you are an old family friend. Your parents are going through a difficult time at the moment so they asked us if you could stay here until they get back on their feet. How does that sound?"

Ron blinked at her a moment not knowing what to say. "That sounds fine." He muttered knowing she expected an answer. He hadn't really heard most of what she had said after his starting school on Monday. The truth was no matter how much he wanted to run home right now and burry himself under the covers of his own bed, he knew he had to stay. He couldn't bear the thought of going home and being around magic every day and seeing the look of disappointment on his parents' faces, or listening to Fred and George taunt him… No, he had to stay with the Grangers. The alternative was unbearable.

Which meant, in less then a week he would be starting Muggle school, a place he never thought in his life he would step foot inside. He was absolutely terrified. It was all he could do to bite back the hysterical laughter threatening to come forth. How ridiculous did that sound? Ron Weasley, descendent of a long line of pure-blood witches and wizards, terrified of a room full of Muggles? It was ludicrous. What could they do to him that was any worse then what he had already experienced in the wizarding world? What could they do to him? Nothing worth fretting over. But even armed with this knowledge he was still terrified. He could only imagine what Draco Malfoy, the stupid tosser, would have to say about this - that was, if any one could find him to ask him.

Ron pushed his plate softly away and braced his hands on the side of the table. "May I be excused please?"

"Yes, of course, dear."

Melvin watched as the young man brought his plate to the sink and instinctually slid his hand into his pocket. The boy's shoulders dropped further when he withdrew it, clutched in an empty fist. He cleared away the untouched food and rinsed of his plate before putting it back where it belonged in the cupboard.

"Ron, wait!" Mel called when the redhead was at the door, his hand in place to push it open. "Why don't I show you how to use the TV and the computer? Sweetheart, do you mind?"

"No." Jane stood and began stacking his plate on top of her own. "But you can do all the dishes tomorrow."

"Deal."

Mel pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek before moving to the door and putting his arm around Ron's shoulders, drawing him out of the room. "Ron, my boy, there is this amazing invention we Muggles have come up with called the television."