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The Burrow was loud.
But really, when was it not?
Ron sawed at his steak, only half-listening to Percy discuss the Ministry reorganization effort that was underway, even two years post-war. His new girlfriend, Audrey, sat beside him and seemed to be actually hanging on his brother’s every rambling word.
Ginny and Harry sat together on his other side. They were inseparable while Ginny was on a four-week break between seasons, but with the number of missions the Ministry sent Harry (and Ron) on, their time together was still limited.
People probably expected him to care about his best friend and his sister, but war sucked and life was short.
Though, they made him wish Hermione had been able to join tonight, if only so he felt less like a third wheel.
Victoire, the first and likely not the last Weasley grandchild, soaked up the attention her grandparents gave her. She hammed it up with big gestures and tight pigtails that coaxed even George into affectionate smiles. Ron didn’t know how anyone ever said no to her. If he were in charge of keeping her alive, she’d have him wrapped around her finger in seconds. He supposed Fleur’s veela side made her immune to charm.
His parents were not though. They doted on Victoire’s every move.
Charlie was still in Romania, but had told the family recently that he wanted to move back to be closer to home. War was funny that way. Growing up, Ron had only ever wanted space from the shadow of his brothers, and now he wished they could all live together again in this stupid house forever.
He’d just settled into his second helping of roasted potatoes when George pushed his chair back and stood.
"If I could get everyone’s attention for a moment," he called. "I think we should acknowledge a major achievement in the family."
Bill looked up, eyebrow raised. "If this is about the pie again, we already agreed you ate more than your share."
"This is far more important," George declared. "This is about Ron."
Then George’s grin was so wide and shit-eating, it made Ron simultaneously elated and uneasy. "What about me?"
George reached into his pocket and dramatically unfolded a glossy magazine, smoothing it out with both hands. "You’ve achieved something truly historic."
Percy leaned forward eagerly. "Did you get a promotion and forget to tell us?"
"No," George replied, sliding the magazine across the table. "Our baby brother has been crowned Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile."
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Harry laughed. "You’re joking." He grinned at Ron. "I haven’t even won that one yet."
The table became even louder than usual. Ron stared down at the cover despite himself. It was his Ministry badge photo, the one they made everyone update every year. He was clean and professional, hair combed and beard neatly trimmed. He had on his Auror robes, one hand smoothing the front of them, and his smile was a little lopsided.
"That is ridiculous," Ron muttered, ears burning.
Arthur leaned closer, a smile playing on his lips. "You look very official, son."
"Didn’t the magazine contact you about this?" Ginny asked, picking it up and flipping to the inside.
"Dunno, maybe." Ron rubbed the back of his neck. "I’ve got a pile of junk mail at my desk."
"Can we enlarge this?" Harry asked, peering over Ginny’s shoulder. "I am absolutely putting it up in the office."
"Hey, that photo is from here," Percy said, snagging the magazine from Ginny's hands. Ron caught a glimpse of a different picture accompanying the inside article, but couldn’t make out any details. "Where did they get this?"
Molly cleared her throat. "They wrote to me."
"What?" Ron whipped his head around to stare at her.
"The editor, she was very sweet," Molly explained. "She said they were looking for someone genuine this year."
"And Mum said wait, have I got the redhead for you," George added.
Molly swatted at him. "No. I just...sent over a couple of pictures."
Fleur accepted the magazine when Percy handed it over. "I took this photo," she exclaimed. "The day I brought my camera. You look very handsome, Ronald."
His ears still burning, Ron was again a little disappointed Hermione wasn’t there.
"I only wish you’d asked me, Mum," George added. "I have some excellent options that really could have helped Ron’s image."
Ginny stood and began gathering dishes. "You’re enjoying this too much."
"Of course I am," he beamed. "Fred would have loved this."
The table went quiet for a moment, then George went on. "He would have made a whole new product just to put your face on it: Charming Smiles. Trick your friends into thinking you’re good-looking. Our brother did."
Ron snorted before he could stop himself.
It wasn’t until later, after they’d had pudding and a nightcap, and he’d hugged his mum goodbye, that Ginny pressed the magazine into his chest while he tied his shoes by the door.
"You should read the article," she said quietly. "You’ll like it."
Ron didn’t make it off the property. He veered toward the old shed instead, too impatient to Apparate home, and ducked inside before opening it.
He sat on the edge of the workbench and flipped past the glossy ads and horoscopes until he found the centerfold.
It took him a second to recognize himself.
This picture was nothing like the neat, squared-off Auror badge on the cover. It was wider and taken outside. He was leaning against the split rail fence by the chicken coop, one leg crossed over the other.
He wore a white Henley and faded jeans, a tan beanie pulled low over his hair. His beard was fuller, more vibrantly red than his head hair. Behind him, the sky was bright and blue, the Burrow just out of frame.
And he was laughing. Emphatically.
He watched as his head tipped back in silent laughter before photo-him turned slightly toward the camera, smile still tugging at his mouth.
He remembered the day. Fleur had brought her camera over, insisting on documenting everyone for some family tree project. They'd gone outside after dinner, Victoire toddling through the grass, Bill and Percy arguing about something. It'd been Hermione that had made him laugh, he was pretty sure. He could see her in his mind's eye, complaining animatedly about one antiquated law or another.
Below the photo, in looping script, was the headline.
Auror Ron Weasley
And then slightly smaller, underneath it.
Most Charming Smile
Ron huffed under his breath and started to read.
When I started thinking about candidates for this year’s Most Charming Smile, I was determined to find some new faces.
Over the last twelve months, I have reviewed every public appearance, Witch Weekly photo shoot, and press release the Ministry of Magic has put out. I started noticing smiles everywhere, at Wizengamot hearings and charity galas and even in the Leaky Cauldron when no one thought they were being watched.
Still, it was not until I was idly flipping through Ministry employee badge photos that inspiration struck.
There were a number of witches and wizards who caught my eye, but only a handful had smiles that made me want to look twice.
So, I began to pay attention. I followed those candidates through Daily Prophet clippings, Ministry announcements, anyone who might spill a little dirt.
Which brings me to our winner.
It should come as no surprise, given the photograph splashed across this centerfold, that Ron Weasley was the obvious choice. Just look at that grin.
Ron’s gaze drifted back to the picture before he could stop himself.
Our honoree is disarmingly private. Despite my best efforts, he never once agreed to speak with me directly. But when his mother sent in a candid photograph taken at a family dinner, I was, quite frankly, stunned.
Ron felt his stomach flip.
What truly sealed the decision for me, however, was a conversation I happened to overhear in a coffee shop.
It may or may not have involved a certain Quidditch playing sister and a certain bushy-haired witch who is definitely not his sister. The conversation went something like this.
Quidditch sister: I still think you should tell him. I know he feels the same way.
Definitely not his sister: I know. It’s just that when he looks at me and smiles, my brain turns to mush and I forget everything I promised myself I’d say.
Ron read it once.
Then again.
So there you have it, readers. If his smile can undo one of the brightest witches of her generation, it can certainly win Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award.
Congratulations to our winner, Ron Weasley.
Mary Quillsworth
Editor-in-Chief
Ron didn’t remember Apparating.
One moment he was standing in the shed with Witch Weekly trembling slightly in his hands, and the next he was on the narrow pavement outside Hermione’s building, the evening air sharp against his face. He stared up at the familiar windows, heart pounding harder than it ever did on the job.
He opened the door and took the stairs two at a time, hesitating only a moment before pounding on the apartment door.
Hermione opened the door on the third knock. She looked startled to see him, hair pulled back in a messy bun, loose strands framing her face. He let his gaze linger on the freckles scattered across her nose, noticing how her sleeves were rolled up, ink smudged faintly on one hand.
"Ron? What’s wrong?"
He held up the magazine.
Her eyes went straight to it, and then to his face. "Oh," she said. "You saw it."
"I saw it," Ron replied. His voice was rough. "That was you, wasn't it? In the article."
Hermione blew out a breath, fluttering a wayward curl. "Come in."
He followed her impatiently, brandishing the magazine as she closed the door.
"I didn’t know they were going to print that," she said, standing with her hands on her hips. "I didn’t even know the editor was eavesdropping. Such a breach of privacy. I could press charges, honestly you should too. I could draft something up tomorrow--"
"Hermione," he growled, snagging one of her wrists in his hand. "You really think that’s the bit I’m asking about?"
She faltered, biting her lip.
"Did you mean it?" he asked.
Hermione swallowed. They stared at each other for a long time. So long that Ron worried she would ignore the question altogether.
Then she let out an exasperated noise. "Of course I did."
Ron kissed her.
Hermione’s mouth was warm and familiar and not, all at once. He dropped the magazine and she grabbed at his jacket, pulling him closer. He wrapped his arms around her and breathed her in. He didn’t want to stop. Why would he, after wanting this, needing this, since he was fourteen? She was perfect, exactly what he’d hoped for, better than he’d imagined. There was no going back to life before.
When they finally pulled apart, she was laughing a little.
"Well," she said. "I suppose that settles that."
"Yeah," Ron said, giving her his most charming smile, just as lopsided as ever. "I think it does."