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As his girlfriend was going back to school the next day, Ron would have rather been somewhere peaceful and private with her, rather than rushing backwards and forwards with boxes and piles of clothes. Moving into George’s flat had seemed like a good idea at the time, but as he sorted through the mountain of clothes on his bed he was starting to wonder if he should just stay living with his parents for a few more years.
He’d just sent Hermione over with a box of stuff, but now he was staring down at the chaos and tangle of colours, realising he had completely mixed up his pile system (move, keep here, see if Harry wants it, throw away). He’d always thought he was poor – how had he collected so much stuff?
He needed more space – it would be easier to thoughtlessly fling the tattered old clothes to be chucked over his shoulder anyway – so he turned and eyed the camp bed pushed in the corner. Dad had set it up all those summers ago, when Harry had first arrived at the Burrow, and Ron was not sure he remembered it ever coming down since. When Harry wasn’t there, he used it to chuck stuff on, but it hadn’t seemed to occur to him, or anyone else, to fold it back up again and slide it under Ron’s bed out the way.
It felt a bit weird to do so, but he and Harry were moving out, he realised, as he pulled off the duvet and started fiddling with the cold metal legs. They weren’t coming back here to live again – maybe a night or two here and there, perhaps at Christmas, but when the house wasn’t full Harry slept in Percy’s or the twins’ old room anyway.
Still, it felt like the end of an era, an oddly touching moment as dozens of memories flitted through his mind of a much younger Harry sitting cautiously on it, looking up in surprise as Mum came in to say goodnight, or of a much older Harry, lounging across it easily, throwing fizzing whizzbees up in the air to catch in his mouth, swapping rude jokes with him or listening patiently as Ron ranted about Krum, or even memories of the dead still of night, where Ron would look over hurriedly at Harry’s twitching figure, choked mumbles of horrific nightmares that Ron could only-
‘Oh, you fucking prick,’ Ron muttered.
As he had collapsed the camp bed down and pulled it away, something lacey and navy blue had dropped down onto the floor, having apparently been lodged against the wall. There, amongst a few old chocolate frog cards and a comb and an old school tie and all the other stuff that had collected under the bed over the years and not been swept out, was a bra.
Ron would have liked to have convinced himself it was Hermione’s, except Hermione was gorgeously, elegantly willowy and everything he had seen her wear had been, well, to be brutally honest, smaller. This was something he could immediately tell was for a curvier woman. He winced and rubbed at his eyes, trying to remove the image searing itself into his brain.
The door opened, and Hermione came bustling back in, a little breathless and carrying an empty cardboard box. ‘That’s another lot sent over,’ she said brightly. ‘George honestly seems cheerier already, Ron, this was such a good idea.’
He ignored her, and her face fell slightly in concern. ‘Ron? Are you all-’
‘Look at this,’ he said sourly, pointing at the offending item.
She approached cautiously, and peered over the collapsed camp bed. Then she giggled.
‘It’s not funny!’ he spluttered.
‘Well it’s not mine; it must belong to your other girlfriend,’ she said slyly.
‘We both know perfectly well who it belongs to,’ he said grumpily.
She made a sympathetic noise, and put her arms around his waist, but she was still giggling while he still scowled.
‘Where is he?’ said Ron. ‘I’m going to kill him.’
‘No, you’re not,’ she replied placatingly, still smiling. ‘I know you don’t want to see it, but there’s nothing-’
‘They’re not married,’ he said stubbornly.
She burst out laughing now. ‘Neither are we! Ron…’
‘I know, I know,’ he grumbled. ‘He’s still a prick though.’
‘Ron…’ she said again, and this time her voice was warning. ‘You know you’re being silly, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, I won’t say anything,’ he muttered. ‘I just don’t want to see it. He wouldn’t like it if I left your knickers lying around, would he?’
‘Probably not, no,’ she said amused. ‘I’m sure they didn’t mean to leave it here-’
‘In my childhood bedroom.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said warmly. ‘I was going to suggest you head over to the flat to put a few things away, but are you going to be able to resist punching him?’
He considered for a long time, but then eventually muttered, ‘yeah. Can you get rid of that, though? I don’t want to touch it, but Mum’ll probably go spare if she comes up here and spots it.’
She laughed at him again, but willingly picked up the bra and tucked it under her jumper to subtly throw into the laundry basket. Ron gathered up another box of things, trying not to fume too much, trying not to imagine what might have taken place in this room, hoping fervently that they had at least kept it to the camp bed, but above all trying to remind himself that he was happy they were back together.
When he arrived at the flat, he carried his box through to Fred’s (no… his) room, without pausing to look into the spare room where Harry and Ginny were unpacking his things; he could hear them laughing over something.
‘All right?’ came Harry’s voice, and he turned to see him leaning against the door frame, eating an apple. ‘Want some help? I’m all done.’
‘What?’ asked Ron, momentarily forgetting to be angry. ‘How can you possibly be all done? I feel like I haven’t made a dent.’
Harry chewed on his apple and shrugged. ‘Got less stuff than you,’ he mumbled thickly. ‘And Ginny just told me about the Death Eaters burning half the stuff I did own anyway, so – I’m going shopping on my next day off, I s'pose. Get some clothes that actually fit or something.’
Perhaps it had been the mention of Ginny that reminded Ron of his severe discomfort, of the unpleasant thoughts that kept bursting hauntingly and forbidden into his mind, his over active imagination fuelling a surge if disgust and annoyance. He could feel his ears growing hot. He could not look at Harry; he turned back to emptying out his box of old board games.
‘You all right?’ asked Harry, who sounded both surprised and concerned.
‘Fine,’ said Ron brusquely.
‘You look odd. Has something happened?’
‘Nope.’
‘OK…’ said Harry slowly, and Ron was about to turn and fling whatever he was holding in his hand at Harry’s stupid face (it was a good thing he didn’t, because it was quite a heavy gag crystal ball from Zonkos), and perhaps shout, ‘GINNY ONLY JUST CAME OF AGE, YOU GIT!’ for good measure, when a heavy voice stopped him in his tracks.
‘Settling in?’
He turned to see George looking glumly into the room, casting his eye over Ron’s scattered belongings. It occurred to Ron that he was not sure what Mum, Dad and George had done with Fred’s things. When he has walked into this room for the first time it had been blank and empty and waiting for him.
‘Yeah,’ he said awkwardly. George gave a solemn nod, and Ron thought he saw him gulp.
Harry glanced between them, and then nodded at the crystal ball in Ron’s hands. ‘What’ve you brought that for?’
Ron shrugged. ‘Tell the future.’ He shook it. ‘It says you’re a twat.’
Harry grinned. ‘I don’t think it does.’
‘It does.’
George hummed. ‘That’s not really the future though, is it, Ron? Harry’s always been a twat.’
‘And always will be,’ said Ron, gesturing with the fake crystal ball.
Harry’s splitter of laughter caught the attention of Ginny, who squeezed between George and Harry to peer around the room. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, ‘what’s all the sniggering about?’
‘It’s become clear I’m just here to be bullied by these two,’ he said.
‘Good,’ she said chirpily. ‘Keep you humble.’ She turned to Ron. ‘How many more boxes do you have to go?’
‘Loads.’
‘We’ll go get some for you,’ said Harry cheerfully. ‘Speed things along.’
‘Right… cheers,’ said Ron. ‘Harry-’ he burst out, and though Harry and Ginny had both been hurrying away, they turned to look at him, Harry’s hand still on the door frame. ‘I… took down your camp bed,’ said Ron. He was not sure what had made him say it.
‘Oh,’ said Harry, blinking. ‘Wow.’
Ron nodded awkwardly, scratching his nose. Harry did not look alarmed or worried: at least, then, the bra had not been left there on purpose or knowingly. ‘End of an era, isn’t it?’ he said, and to his surprise his voice was a little hoarse. Harry nodded back, his eyebrows still slightly raised.
‘Bloody hell,’ muttered George. ‘I thought you two moving in would reduce the amount of sentimental bullshit flying around. You bring the camp bed, if you want, Harry, swap it out for the proper bed you’ve got.’
Harry laughed. ‘Nah, you’re all right. That camp bed’s uncomfortable.’
George tutted. ‘Talk about bloody gratitude.’
‘Told you he’s twat,’ Ron shrugged.