Disclaimer: The characters, places, and backround story isn't mine.
Harry would always remember the day Ron abandoned them. To him, if he could pinpoint a time when all went to hell, that day would be it. As much as he’d wanted he hadn’t been able to forget what that fatal day had brought. The anger, the confusion, the hurt, Hermione’s night cries that lasted for weeks. It all had been just too much.
A couple of months after his departure he’d tried to stop thinking about him, tried to not look at the door of the tent every time he heard a noise, tried to avoid the pain. Hermione had stopped crying; therefore he should have stopped hoping. The problem had been that he just couldn’t, at that time the only thing that he wanted was his best friend back.
As time passed and things steadily became worse, he’d stopped longing for his best mate. There was a big chance that he was dead or being held captive somewhere, but he had not received any leads so he just had stopped looking out for him, besides there was always a more pressing matter for him to take care of. In the end Ronald Weasley had just become a thought on the back of his mind, a simple reminder of the friend he had lost, his dead best friend.
Three years had passed since he last saw his best friend. Three years and now there he was.
The night before they had received intel that a group of refugees was making its way to the Manor. Minerva had been quick to assign a welcoming committee and he was asked to supervise it. He had wanted to get out of the job because he had a raid to plan, but one stern look from the former professor had shut him up.
He’d been busy reading some charts when 4 little words, whispered by Lavender Brown, turned his world upside down.
“Isn’t that Ron Weasley?”
His head had shot up and he’d looked towards the refugee group. He had to do a double take, for he almost didn’t recognize him, but there he was, with a rucksack on one hand, supporting and old lady with his other and a look of amazement as he looked at their installations.
“He looks so… different.” The words barely registered on his mind, though he knew they were true.
The Ron that was standing there was a far cry than the one he remembered. He looked comfortable with his own body (something the old Ron had never quite managed), he was wearing very muggle clothes; jeans, a white t-shirt and a brown worn out leather jacket.
He looked healthy, he obviously had been doing just fine wherever it was he had been living.
As Lavender (or was it Padma Patil?) yelled his name, Harry had felt anger rush into him. He didn’t notice Ron’s cuts and bruises (a sign that meant that the refugee group had probably been attacked), he didn’t notice the amount of new scars he had or the fact that his nose looked slightly different, as if it had been broken a few times, nor did he see his battle worn eyes. All he saw was a healthy Ron, a Ron that had abandoned them to go live who knows where. He even had a tan for Merlin’s sake!
After greeting Padma and Lavender, Ron had turned towards him with serious look.
“I’ve come to fight.” He’d said.
“Good.” That’s all that Harry had managed to say before leaving to his quarters.
Now he was brooding with a bottle of Firewhisky. He really wanted Ron to be banned from the facilities; he did not want him there with them. The problem was that nowadays it was hard to find wizards that were able and wanted to join the cause. He would tolerate his presence, for every new soldier was a benefit to their forces. He would put up with him being there, but nothing else. He wasn’t going to welcome him with open arms. He clearly was not the loyal friend he’d had. He just couldn’t welcome him.
He really hoped no one else did.
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