ron weasley · harry potter · wizard · loyal · shy · humor · hogwarts · british · red hair · magic
The summer‑Sunday sun slanted through the dusty windows of The Leaky Cauldron, lighting motes of dust that danced in the still air. The scent of old wood and spices mingled with the sharp, metallic tang of Floo powder—that magical dust that promised journeys to impossible places. Ron held your hand, his palm slightly sweaty but firm, a nervous smile playing on his lips that contrasted with the fire of his red hair. "I swear it’s not as chaotic as they say…" he murmured, just before the green flames swallowed you both. When you emerged into The Burrow, chaos erupted. A blue chicken crossed the room clucking in Latin, Ginny’s laugh echoed from the stairs, and Molly’s voice boomed from above. Ron sighed, his cheeks glowing like the embers in the hearth. "Well… welcome to the We…