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Mum had them stop sharing a room when Ron was ten.
Ginny had crawled into his bed again the night before. Ron couldn't remember when it had started, but it wasn't like it was a big deal or a secret or anything. She just had nightmares every so often — bad ones — and sleeping in the same bed made her feel better. And it wasn't like Ron minded. He figured it was just part of looking after her, like their mum always told him to when she was busy or the twins had done something again.
So there was no reason for the unpleasant, shocked jolt in his belly when Ron woke up in the morning and saw their mum standing by the bed, watching them with a strange, pinched expression on her face.
"Mum," Ron croaked quickly, sitting up and dislodging Ginny. She grumbled, still half-asleep, rubbing her eyes with small fists.
Molly sighed, hands on her hips. "You're getting too old to share a room," she said. "C'mon, get up. Both of you. Breakfast is ready."
After breakfast, she told Dad to clear out the room under the attic. It had been used for storing old furniture, toys, and other knick-knacks around the house. Dad tried to hedge, muttering something about taking apart the toaster he'd nicked from work, then hunched down when Molly gave him a sharp look.
"They're getting too old, Arthur," Ron heard her say irritably through the door, her words almost lost in the clatter of washing dishes. "Ron's starting Hogwarts soon. It's not appropriate for them to share any longer."
Ron knew she hadn't meant for him to hear, but her words made something ashamed and confused twist in his gut anyway.
Ginny was increasingly upset about it all. She sat on her bed, hugging her knees tight to her chest, watching as Ron unenthusiastically packed his things into a box.
"Why do you need your own room?" she insisted. "Is it because I wanted to sleep in the same bed? If I don't do it anymore, can we still share?"
Ron didn't say anything. He couldn't look at Ginny, mindlessly throwing his comic books into the box.
She bristled at his silence. "Do you want your own room? Is that it?"
Ron stopped, staring at her. Ginny huffed and threw herself down on the bed, curling up on her side towards the wall. Her back was a rigid line of hurt anger. Ron's throat ached with the need to reassure and comfort her, but he — he kept thinking of too old and not appropriate and the look on their mum's face that morning.
As if Ron was something wrong.
He had a precarious inkling why, but that was — it was ridiculous and stupid.
"Ginny," Ron said, his voice rough. "Stop being a brat."
"Go to your own room and you won't have to put up with me being a brat," Ginny snapped back, her voice brittle and uneven, and Ron's heart constricted. Ginny always came to him when she was upset or hurt or scared, and Ron was so used to comforting her.
He took half a step towards her and then made himself stop. He tossed the rest of his things into the box, picked it up, and stood indecisively in the middle of the room. "Yeah, well," he said. "I'm going."
Ginny didn't say anything. Ron couldn't even hear her breathing.
He wavered for another moment, then walked out without a word. As soon as he closed the door, he could hear her stifled crying. His heart sank like a stone, his stomach aching.
With heavy steps, Ron shuffled up to his new room and sat on the bare bed. The ghoul was banging the pipes in the attic, the sound barely muffled through the low ceiling. He looked around the dusty room miserably. Dad hadn't had time to clear out everything, and there were still a few shabby boxes on the floor. An old desk stood in front of the window; Ron could just about make out their paddock on top of the hill.
The walls were faded maroon. He thought of how much he hated maroon, then got up and started plastering the walls with the Chudley Cannons posters from one of the boxes.
Mum called them down to eat in the afternoon.
Ron wiped his forehead, looking about. The walls were now covered in garish orange, making the room seem brighter. He'd found an old terrarium in one of the boxes and placed it on the desk, late afternoon sunlight slanting across a corner of it. The bed was made, the rest of the boxes shoved underneath it.
He exhaled, thought it was probably as good as it got, and went downstairs into the kitchen.
"What's taking that girl so long?" Molly muttered as Ginny failed to appear. She marched to the doorway and yelled, "Ginevra Molly Weasley! Get down here this second! Do not make me come up there!"
After a while, Ginny shuffled into the kitchen, her eyes red and her expression mulishly miserable. She sat at the table without a word or a look at anyone.
The dinner was wretchedly awkward. Dad and Mum filled the silence with forced talk about Dad's work or his "muggle oddities", Ron could barely taste his food, and Ginny kept moving her potatoes around the plate.
"Don't play with your food," Molly snapped eventually, and Ginny looked up, startled, before her eyes flashed dangerously in that way Ron was intimately familiar with. He flicked her a desperate, warning glance to stop her before she made things worse, but Ginny didn't even look at him.
She shoved away from the table, upsetting her chair. "If I'm so annoying, why didn't you just let me stay in my room!" she snapped back and stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. A moment later, they heard the door bang shut.
Mum stared after her, momentarily speechless. Then she scowled, her mouth pressed thin. "I don't understand what's wrong with that girl," she muttered and started clearing the table.
In the evening, Ginny still hadn't come out of her room.
Ron was lying on his bed, his door cracked open. The ghoul was making a racket, clattering around, moaning, and scratching the floor. He could just about make out his mum's voice downstairs as she rapped on Ginny's door and told her to get in the bath. After a moment, her tense voice called out, "Arthur! Ron!"
Ron was already up before he realised he'd moved. He all but sprinted to the third landing and skidded to a halt, breathing hard. Dad rushed up from downstairs and grasped Molly's arm.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
His mum was pale, distraught.
"Ginny's missing."
"What?" Arthur asked, blinking. "What do you mean she's missing?"
"I mean she's not in her room, Arthur. She must've snuck out when we didn't notice. I swear, that girl is always causing trouble," Molly snapped, worried and angry with it.
"All right," Arthur said, adjusting his glasses. "All right, we'll go out to look for her. I'm sure she couldn't have gone far. It'll be all right."
Ron followed them downstairs to the front door shakily.
"You stay inside, Ron, in case Ginny comes back," his mum ordered, tugging on her jacket. "We'll be back as soon as we find her."
Ron nodded dumbly and waited until they were gone — the lights on the tips of their wands turned into pinpricks, their amplified voices fading in the dark. Then he hurriedly yanked on his boots and snatched his jacket and a lantern. He set out into the night.
He had a feeling where Ginny had gone. There was a grove along the river where they often played, just the two of them. It was secluded, overgrown with grass and wildflowers that Ginny liked to pick and painstakingly braid into wreaths, giggling as she placed them on Ron's head while he grumbled. The trees were crooked and ancient, and the oldest of them all was a vast, hollowed oak. She liked sitting inside it when she was upset and hiding.
Ron traipsed along the narrow dirt path, cursing loudly whenever he stumbled on an exposed root. The flickering light of the lantern didn't illuminate very far, the deep shadows between the trees remaining undisturbed. By the time Ron got to the grove, he was sweaty, out of breath, and pissed off.
He saw the glimpse of Ginny's vivid hair first. She was huddled inside the hollow tree, her face pressed to her knees. She looked up at the sound of Ron's steps on the fallen leaves, her eyes gleaming suspiciously in the lantern's light.
"You're a real brat, you know that," Ron said, and Ginny's lower lip wavered. "Mum and Dad are worried sick and out looking for you."
She scowled, looking away. "Who asked you to come looking for me?" she snapped.
Ron stared at her, at the flushed misery of her expression. It was the end of September, the nights were getting dark and cold, and she must've been sitting there for hours, waiting for them to notice she was gone.
Ron exhaled a breath, exasperated. "Ginny. C'mere," he said.
She hesitated, biting her lip, before she got up, her movements a little stiff and unwieldy after hours of sitting still. She shuffled forward timidly, then all but barrelled into Ron, toppling them over. Ron grunted when his back hit the ground, his arms instinctively going around her. The lantern rolled away, stopping in the crotch of a tree root.
Ginny's face was pressed to his chest, her voice muffled. "Are you mad?"
And all at once, Ron's exasperation vanished. He patted the back of her head. "I'm not mad. Mum's gonna give you an earful, though."
"Did you want your own room?" Ginny asked, her voice so small and muffled it was almost inaudible.
Ron stared at the dark tangle of branches overhead, adumbrated against the stardust of the sky. His voice was stuck in his throat. He thought of his new room, how he had to stoop all the time because the ceiling was too low, how the ghoul was never quiet in the attic. Ginny could chatter his ear off and pester him to play with her all day, but as soon as they had gone to bed, she'd gone quiet.
He hated his new room. It was small, noisy, and lonely. But Ron felt there was something different if he complained about it.
"C'mon, we weren't going to share a room forever," he said, his voice rough. "Bill already moved out to Egypt and Charlie's gonna go next year," he added nonsensically, since it was doubtful he was going to get either of their rooms.
Ginny was quiet. Ron felt her warm breath on his chest. After a moment, she pushed herself up, her expression unhappy. "I guess," she said.
Ron sat up, looking at her helplessly. He didn't know what to do or say to comfort her anymore. What was okay to say or do. Since he'd woken up that morning, everything had felt wrong-footed, turned upside down, as if he'd fallen through a looking glass. Yesterday he could've just hugged her, and usually it would've made her smile, no matter how upset she was. Now Ron felt as if that would cross invisible boundaries he hadn't been aware of, his mum's voice nagging in the corners of his mind about too old and not appropriate.
Ginny scrubbed both hands over her face and clambered up. "We should get back," she said, not looking at him.
After an indiscernible beat, Ron got up and went to pick up the lantern. As they headed back, Ginny grabbed his hand without a word. Ron exhaled, feeling stupidly relieved. It was okay. She'd initiated it. He squeezed her hand, just a bit, as if worried she'd run off and disappear again.
Mum gave them both an earful when they got back. Ginny had dropped Ron's hand and stared at the ground the entire time, her hair obscuring her face. Dad hovered nervously behind Molly as she yelled herself hoarse, her voice echoing in the night.
"Disappearing like that — reckless — never in my life — worse than Fred and George!"
When she was done, she huffed out a breath. "Take a quick bath before you go to bed. Both of you. You're all dirty."
Ginny went in first, and Ron quickly washed after her. He glanced at the door of their — her — room on his way up the stairs. It was closed, not even a sliver of light underneath. Ron hesitated. He felt weird about not saying goodnight to her, but thought it was probably weirder if he knocked and woke her up just for that.
He shuffled up to his new room, ducked his head, and flopped on the bed. The ghoul was still making noise, its rasping hollow moans barely muffled. Ron wondered if it ever went to sleep. He didn't know. He'd never had to live close enough to hear it before.
It'd been a really long day, and he must've fallen asleep because in the next moment, he jerked awake at the sound of a quiet, small knock. Ron blinked foggily when Ginny eased the door open, her pale face peeking in through the crack.
Ron bit his lip. Then he sighed and lifted the covers. Ginny scurried across the floor and climbed in. Ron tucked her close because she had a bad habit of getting her elbows and hair everywhere.
Ginny was quiet for a long time, and Ron was already half-asleep when she mumbled, "I don't like being in that room alone. It's dark and big and cold." She snuggled closer, going pliant.
Ron thought of the long winters when the cold seemed to seep through the walls and they'd shared the bed for extra warmth. He thought of drifting off to sleep to the sound of her quiet breathing across the room. He thought of lazy summer noons and reading his comic books together, Ginny's voice chattering nonstop in his ear.
"Yeah," Ron said roughly, the only concession he'd ever make.
They jolted awake before dawn and listened carefully for a moment. The ghoul was clanging something in the attic, and robins were already twittering outside. Ron glanced at his alarm clock. It was barely five. Their mum wouldn't be up until six. He exhaled, slumping back down.
Ginny yawned and stretched, looking fuzzy and sleepy, and not for the first time, Ron thought he had the cutest little sister in the world.
"I'm gonna go back to my bed before Mum gets up," she said, her voice hoarse.
And Ron thought about that, something uneasy fluttering in his gut. He didn't remember when it'd started, how old she'd been the first time she'd startled awake from a nightmare and asked in a low, timid voice if she could sleep next to Ron, but it never used to be a secret before.
Now it was because their mum had implicitly forbidden it, and weren't they proving her right?
Then Ginny glanced at him, her cheeks still pink with sleep. "Thanks," she said, and that settled it.
Ron figured it was okay.
It was going to stop anyway when he started at Hogwarts.