You sat next to Ronnie at the Gryffindor table, quietly reading a letter from your parents while absent-minded my feeding bits of toast to your owl, a beautiful black specimen you had named Lockett. Really, your brother had just started calling her Lockett and it had stuck- it was too late to change it, six years down the road.

You only looked up when the taller redhead let out an indignant noise, nose wrinkling. Her older brothers- Fred and George- let out a little laugh as they both looked up from their respective letters. “What’s got you riled, Ron?” Fred asked, hiding a smile behind a mug of coffee.

“Mum’s sending me her old dress! I said I wouldn’t go to the Yule Ball, purely so I could get out of that damn thing. She’s got Ginny to to girlie shit with, so why does she keep trying with me? Merlin’s Beard. I’ve got a figure like a board- don’t think I’d even fit.” Ronnie murmured pouting. You snorted, taking a bemused sip from George’s cup of coffee.

You’d grown up with the Weasleys, having lived close to them for the majority of you life- your mother and her father even worked in the Ministry together. You simply nodded in sympathy, continuing to sip from George’s coffee mug. You delivered a swift smack to the back of Harry’s head, as he had fallen asleep in his oatmeal. Merlin. You were the only reason they were still alive, with all the shit you had to deal with.

Harry woke with a start, glasses askew, hair mussed, and portage on his cheek. You wiped him up as he fixed his glasses, pushing him the coffee cup with a disgusted expression. Next, it was time to emotionally regulate Ronnie.

You turned to the pouting keeper, grabbing her freckles face and turning her towards you. “You still don’t have to go. We’ll just get you in the dress, take a picture to send home, and then you can take it off.” By now, Lockett had flown away. You couldnt say you blamed her- you were rather unpleasant before the vaccine took hold.

The brown-eyed witch huffed a sigh and tan a hand through her short hair, feeling out the length like she always did when she was nervous. She had woken you, sobbing in the girls dormitory, holding all the beautiful red curls that had gone past her shoulders in her fist and a pair of scissors in her other hand. You had helped fix it, and then read to her until she calmed down. Your friendship was like that- you, steady and calm and there, and her, emotional and blunt and rash.

There was a beauty to her passion, even if it was for things that were boys’ clubs- like Quidditch. She was good, no doubt about it. It just wasn’t what she was supposed to be good at. You partook in a ballet class Professor Flitwick taught, and she couldn’t help but feel she should be doing that.

You watched as Harry gulped down the coffee between quick, flushing glances at Cho Chang, and as Ronnie bit her nails nervously. You sighed. This was going to be a long fucking day, it it was only breakfast.