Stay Together for the Kids

Stay Together For the Kids

Author: Lanni Weasley

Rain pounded against the window. Lightening flashed from behind the broken shades while thunder roared in retaliation. It was so loud that it startled Ron, waking him up from his deep sleep. He jumped in his bed and sat up. He looked around his room, but couldn't see anything until lightening flashed. Just a little light peeked into his bedroom through the holes of his shades. He groaned; he didn't want to be awake. He was still very tired from everything that had happened last night.

Ron Weasley was just seven years of age. He was very young and just starting to show signs of magic, not on purpose, but his mother seemed to be ecstatic about it all more than he was. Charlie and Bill didn't live at the Burrow any longer or go to Hogwarts. Percy claimed that when their father wasn't home, he, Percy, was the "man of the house". Ron didn't think Percy was much of man, but the last time he'd been vocal about such things, it had earned him an acid pop, which he didn't like anymore.

Thunder roared again. Ron fell onto his bed and threw his pillow over his head. He didn't want to hear the storm any longer; he wanted it to end because he didn't like storms. But it wasn't ending, just like some things never ended in the Burrow. Ron didn't like storms because they reminded him too much of when his parents got into explosive arguments.

As of late, his parents had been getting into some pretty nasty disagreements. No one was supposed to know about them, of course. During the day, they'd put on happy faces and sweet smiles with equally nice voices and loving kindness. At breakfast every morning, his father would kiss his mother on the cheek and say goodbye before going to work, like they hadn't gotten into a severe disagreement the night before that had ended with his father on the couch once again.

Ron had asked Percy about it once, but Percy just scoffed at him, saying that he'd been dreaming or he'd heard the ghoul up in the attic. Fred and George didn't know anything about it for sure. And Ron wasn't about to bother his little sister, Ginny, about this stuff; he didn't want to scare her. So that left Ron with only himself, which he didn't like. It had always been like that--all he had was himself sometimes. A lot of the time, he wished he could owl Bill or Charlie and go live with them for a bit. At least neither one of them would get into huge arguments with anyone.

His parents didn't even know that Ron knew about their huge fights that almost occurred every night after everyone went to bed or every morning before anyone woke up. Their bedroom happened to be close to his so he could hear them fight. In fact, last week, he had heard them screaming at each other at the top of their lungs; Ron had cried himself into a restless sleep last week in his bedroom, trying to drown out their voices.

It was pathetic, the way they fought with each other and then tried to pretend like nothing had happened because they couldn't fool him. When dad would be off at work, mom would let them play around. Percy would read; Fred and George would play tag; Ginny would play with her blocks; and Ron would have nothing to do. He watched as his mom broke down at the sink. He'd sit down under the counter, just out of her sight, and listen to her cry, not knowing what to do or how to even feel. It was all so pathetic, the way they acted like nothing was wrong and the way he felt so hopeless and confused.

Ron just didn't understand the way his parents' relationship worked. Of course, he was only seven, but one should be able to understand something by then, right? His father would kiss his mother on the cheek and say, "I love you" with her saying "I love you, too" in response. They sounded so sincere. He wondered if they were lying or not.

But how could they love each other one second and furiously yell at each other the next? Why did they fight so often if they loved each other so much? Wasn't that the total opposite? They loved each other; yet at night or morning, they seemed to hate each other. And they sometimes argued over the stupidest things. Was it impossible to not argue and fight with one another? Ron didn't understand.

Every morning, Ron felt like just bursting out, "You hate each other, don't you?!"--right in the middle of breakfast before his father left. He learned that the best way to deal with adults was confrontation and very loud voices or crying; and it was pretty obvious to Ron that neither of his parents were planning on telling them that they were having difficulties with each other. There were a lot of things Ron wanted to shout, like "Shut up!" for example because every time he heard them fight, he felt so bad. He had a lot of things to tell his parents, but he never spoke a word, out of fear that he might make the situation worse.

Once in a while, Ron would build up enough courage to say or shout something at them. Everyone needed to know that their parents were having problems. Why should Ron be the only one? He didn't like being the only one. It was hurting him--killing him slowly from the inside out at the young age of seven. Even at such a young age, he could understand the change that was happening to his parents.

But every time Ron tried to say something about it, he was interrupted or he lost the boldness. He would turn a nice shade of pink while his mother would look at him suspiciously and his father would raise one eyebrow. He'd tried the same thing two days ago; Ron had landed up storming up to his bedroom.

Last night had been the worst of all the fights to Ron because he'd actually witnessed it this time. He hadn't been able to sleep because he was thirsty. He had sneaked downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He had walked into the living room with his drink in hand only to witness the beginning of another vicious verbal spat. But this one had been more venomous than usual.

Ron didn't even know what they had been fighting about, but when his father tossed a vase across the room at the wall, it had all come crashing down to young Ron. He'd dropped his glass of water on the ground; the glass had shattered and water spilt all over the carpet and his feet. He stared at them in horror, in confusion, and fear. His mother and father had heard the crash and turned around to spot their youngest son. His mom only had time to say "Ron--" before he'd taken off and sprinted into his bedroom. His accidental magic had sealed his bedroom door apparently because neither of his parents could get into his room.

It had been the worst moment of Ron's life. Never again did he want to see it; never again did he want to hear it. He wanted it all to go away and leave his family alone. He had flung himself on his bed and sobbed into his pillow, coughing horribly and ignoring both his mother's and father's pleas to let them inside his bedroom. He'd do anything to fix this broken home--to fix his broken family--to fix his angry parents. He would even read a bloody book or poem if it helped--even though he hated reading. He'd read it every day, just to fix the cracks in his family--in this home--before they broke apart completely.

Ron wanted to go back to the days when everyone was happy together. He missed the days when he would fall asleep at the normal time and wake up at the normal time because his parents didn't argue. He missed the days when his mother wouldn't cry at the sink or when his father would come home early from work so he could be with them all even more because he loved spending time with them, including his mother. He wanted those days back--those days where he would sit on his mother's lap as his father told a story.

He would give anything and do anything to get those days back, the sunny days that were like a holiday that would never end--a never-ending joy and happiness; an unlimited measure of love; and an infinite amount of laughter.

Surely his parents would take those days over these days any time. And they wouldn't argue. Instead, they would be enjoying a lovely day filled with complete contentment. Ron knew that he would enjoy it and so would Ginny, Fred, George, and Percy, even though they knew nothing. And maybe it wouldn't be so short this time. Maybe the happiness would last longer than it had the last time around.

His parents gave all their happiness away for a bunch of arguments. It would never make sense to Ron. He just couldn't fathom why they would ever want to fight with each other. Ron gave them chances to reconcile with each other; they always had their chances to say, "I'm sorry. Can you ever find it in you to forgive me for being such a prat?" Yet they never took the opportunity.

Instead, they gave the opportunity away--a chance to escape this now tortured prison Ron called home. It wasn't used. His parents smiled at someone else and acted kind to someone else, giving away their chance at a completely happy life with no disputes whatsoever. It sounded so nice, too. It was not only their chance at happiness, but his, too, and his siblings', yet they gave it away. Sometimes, they were too nice to people who weren't family and too mean to people who were family.

Ron was scared--scared that he might lose one of his parents now. What happens if one of them decided that they just couldn't take the fights any longer and left? He buried his face in his blanket and whimpered as thunder boomed. That was a lot scarier than any old thunderstorm.

But would they always be like this? Argue at night and pretend it never happened in the morning? It was their routine, but it was getting old and fast. Percy and the rest may not know what was happening between their parents, but they could all tell that something had changed because they weren't much of a family. Ron increasingly spent time alone in his bedroom; Fred and George and Percy did the same; Ginny spent her time with their mother; and their father stayed at work later.

Or would they finally stop and recapture the happiness they all once had together as a family? Would they forgive each other and learn how to smile when they actually mean it? When one was gone, would the other be able to reminiscence and smile?

Twenty years later, when Ron would be twenty-seven, would he remember this night? Would he be able to remember the most horrible thing ever? Would he cry about it? Or would he look back at this night those twenty years later and reflect on how things changed for the better--or the worse?

It was stupid. Their arguing was stupid. There was no point in it. So why did they seem to argue every night then, if it was pointless and stupid? Years down the road, when they would be happy again, they'd never remember these nights or they would remember and be thankful that things had changed. But when would this all change? When would they change?

But right now, none of that was happening. Right now, he could hear another argument starting up from underneath him in his parents' bedroom. He willed for the thunderstorm to get louder so he wouldn't hear their booming voices accompany the thunder. He heard his mother shout his own name at his father a few times; they were fighting about him. Ron pushed his pillow over his head harder, begging the storm to get louder. He couldn't take this any longer. He wanted it to end.

No matter how much louder the storm got or how hard he pushed the pillow against his head, Ron could hear the furious voices of his mother and father. He began to cry again, but no one could hear him. He could still hear them though, and it was driving him insane.

"Stop fighting, mummy! Stop yelling, daddy, please!" Ron sobbed into his bed. They would never be able to hear him over the storm and their angry bickering. No one ever heard him. Their voices hurt him and gave him a headache, as well as a heart ache.

Ever since Ron could remember, his parents argued with each other. Both of them had a temper, but in the beginning of his life, they weren't so bad. True, when his mother was pregnant with Ginny, she was quite irritable, but his father rarely raised his voice at her. However, after Ginny was born, things started to spiral out of control. Harmless bickering turned into brow-furrowing disagreements, which evolved into the awful fights that broke out often now.

For all the seven years of his life, Ron couldn't remember a time when his parents didn't argue at all for something, but it never used to be this bad. It was traumatizing, listening to his parents scream at how they hated each other. It tore him apart when they acted like it hadn't happened the next morning. The work they did to make sure that their children didn't know about it was amazing, but one had gotten through their cracks. Ron had gotten through, and he knew everything. He wished he didn't.

They weren't doing anything to help solve the problem by pretending like they didn't have any explosive arguments almost every night. They were trying to shove it to the side like nothing was wrong when something was terribly wrong. They were trying to keep it a secret so they could deal with it themselves while they weren't doing anything to solve the problem at all.

Ron's parents weren't going to fix the problem at all. They just weren't going to solve it. They were going to leave it alone and try to ignore it, but that wasn't doing too well either. They were going to try and leave it alone, but that would never happen because their quarrels would start up all over again.

Ron was confused about this. When you had a problem, you fixed it. You solved the problem. You didn't put something so big and important to the side and act like it wasn't there. You didn't pretend that you weren't having difficulties with something. You had to face things like this head on. You had to get down to the bottom of all the arguments.

Then why weren't Ron's parents doing just that? Ron didn't understand. It didn't make any sense at all to do nothing about this when it was something.

Sometimes, when his father was home on the weekends, Ron would watch them interact with each other to see if they would finally give the forgiveness they'd been denying the other. He could see the tension in his mother's eyes when his father would do something thick or when he brought another Muggle item home from work. She would clench her jaw, get that stern look in her eyes, turn a little red in the cheeks, and then walk out of the room.

They weren't about to get in an argument in front of their children. They were now arguing with each other because they had just done that for the first time last night. It was probably their worst nightmare come true. They didn't want their children to worry that they were going to split up. But they weren't trying to fix anything to stop that from happening, were they.

Ron guessed that there would be some things that he wouldn't understand until he got older. Maybe this was one of those things. Maybe when he got older, he'd argue and fight with someone just like his father did with his mother. He didn't really want to do that; he didn't like the way they fought. Maybe a little bickering and play banter here and there, but nothing like this. He didn't want that at all.

Another thing that confused Ron was the fact that they couldn't seem to get along. They'd been married for so long. Why were things just now getting bad? They had seven children. Seven! And yet, when they were all put together, they all seemed to get along just fine. Sure, there was a bit of bickering and fighting here and there, but it wasn't like their bickering and fighting at all. It was type that they would laugh at later on in the evening. If their seven children could get along, then why couldn't they do it themselves? They were only two people. Seven was a lot more. Why couldn't they get along, if they did?

Deep down, Ron knew that his parents loved each other. If they didn't love each other at least a little, they wouldn't still be fighting. They wouldn't be together. Ron shuddered and sniffed; he never wanted that to happen. He'd take their fighting over them splitting up any day. And his parents seemed to want the same thing. They didn't seem to want to fight--they just did, like it was normal. They wouldn't be fighting this much if they didn't love each other, right?

But if this arguing was so horrible that they were getting in a fight about it now, why did they not try to stop it? Was it one of those strange things that adults did? If this was tearing them apart, if they didn't want their children to worry about them splitting up, then why were they still fighting? Couldn't they at least try to fix it? Maybe they were those types of people that actually liked arguing--actually liked to watch as the other person's face turned red and fume.

Were those arguments the only thing keeping them together? Was it something like that--something so weird and unusual? Did his father bring Muggle items home just so he could see his mother's face turn pink and watch her storm out of the room in a huff? Maybe he was amused by that stuff. Maybe he liked it that way--something to keep him on the tips of his toes.

Did his mother roll her eyes at her father and correct him sternly just so she could see his father get mad at her for acting so proper or for just correcting him as if he was dumb? Maybe she liked the way that his ears would turn red from anger and embarrassment for doing something a little thick. Maybe she smiled at night about it. Maybe she wanted it like that--maybe it strengthened them as one to constantly nitpick at each other's imperfections.

But Ron didn't like it. They didn't need to fight with each other. That was optional in a marriage, at least to Ron it was. They could be happy all the time if they didn't argue with each other so much. Why they would want to bicker all the time was beyond Ron completely. It was over his head--way over.

Couldn't they see that their fighting was hurting him? Couldn't they see that at the young age of seven, he was already dealing with the heavy repercussions of constantly hearing and now witnessing interparental conflict? It hurt him. It was breaking him apart piece by piece because he had to continuously turn it over in his head and deal with the pain by himself.

And it any else began to hear their fights, it would be painful for them to. If Percy found out, he'd probably fret about it because he wouldn't know what to do. He'd be too stubborn to owl Bill or Charlie for advice. The only reason Ron didn't do it was because he wasn't allowed to use Errol unless one of his parents read his letter first--and he couldn't do that because they didn't want Bill or Charlie to know about their growing hardships either. Fred and George would be angry and confront his parents directly about it. Ginny would cry a lot more if she found out. As far as she was concerned, everything was hunky-dory and great. There was no arguing, as far as Ginny knew; and if she knew, everyone would know it.

So Ron was left to himself once more, like always. He was left alone to deal with the pain. And there was a lot of pain because their fights were getting to become more regular, as if it was part of their everyday life, a painful part, at least.

Ron couldn't take it anymore. Something inside of him just snapped. He'd just heard his father shout something back at his mother that concerned him--and that was it. He leaped out of bed, tears streaked down his face, and ran to his bedroom door, which he whipped open. He stormed down the stairs, not paying a lick of attention to the raging storm outside that swayed the Burrow. He could hear the shouts of his parents less now, but he could just a bit.

When he got to his parents' bedroom, Ron wrenched the door open. He didn't care that he was scared when he saw them fighting. Nothing mattered to him right now more than to have them stop fighting. All Ron wanted right now was some peace and quiet. He wanted them to stop. He wanted everything to stop. It was impossible for him to hold it all inside now. The words didn't leave him; and he wasn't about to back down.

Ron exploded like a time bomb. "STOP IT!! JUST STOP ARGUING!! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! IF YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DO A BLOODY THING ABOUT, THEN I AM!!"

His parents both stopped arguing. His mother whipped around to face him, eyes wide, flabbergasted. His father gawked on in horror as his youngest son blew up for the first time ever. Tears were still falling down his face as everything happened. His parents just froze; they couldn't move even if they wanted to.

"Every night or morning, I have to listen to you two fight with each other; and it's hurting me! I don't want you to fight anymore! I don't care if you like fighting because I don't! No one else knows because I haven't told them! And I'm going to tell them everything and owl Bill and Charlie about this if you keep on with this stupid stuff!"

Ron was crying now as he continued to lash out at his parents. They needed it. They needed to know what they were doing to him. They needed to know what they were going to do to this family if they kept on fighting with each other. They needed to see it from someone else's point of view. They weren't getting anywhere by screaming at each other, so Ron had decided that maybe having him scream at them would do something to help.

"I don't want to hear you fight anymore! You sound like you hate each other! But you do, don't you? You hate each other, but you have to love each other, right? If you don't, then why are you still here? You're just going to split up if you keep arguing! Why don't you leave now--leave us all! It would save you and us a lot of trouble!"

"Oh, Ron, dear...your father and I aren't going to split up," his mother said softly, tears filling up her brown eyes. But Ron didn't believe her. He couldn't believe her because he saw her and his father lie to them every morning at breakfast when they acted like nothing had happened the night before or earlier in the morning.

"You are!" Ron cried out. "Daddy's going to leave, aren't you? You're going to walk away and go off with someone else who you won't argue with!"

"Ron, I'll never do that!" his father yelped in horror.

"Don't tell me!" Ron shouted. "Tell mummy!" Ron's father closed his mouth. "This is between mummy and you, right, daddy? You're the one arguing all the time! She needs to hear it more than I do! This fighting is so bloody stupid! Why can't you see that?"

The tears in his mother's eyes were different than usual. The look in his father's eyes was different than usual. Those tears weren't out of sadness or anger; they were for regret. The look in his father's eyes wasn't grief or fury; it was pure, shameful guilt. Finally, they both saw what Ron had seen all along.

His father and mother turned to each other. Maybe they were going to lie to him once again; maybe they were going to play pretend once more. But all Ron wanted to see was for them to see and understand that they were both being dolts.

"Molly, I..." Words failed his father. They fell away, just like they had done to Ron so many times before. But they didn't seem to be needed right now.

"Oh, Arthur, I'm so sorry!" His mother started to cry. She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed onto his shoulder as he tried to hold in the tears. Ron rubbed his own eyes as the tears began to slow down. "I was such a prat!"

"Well, I was one, too," his father said, sniffing to stop the tears. He rubbed at his eyes, too.

Ron walked over to his parents. His mother let go of his father just for a little so that his father could pick him up from the floor. Ron began to cry again. Now, maybe, things would finally get better. He'd dealt with them with confrontation, just the way to do it. Now, maybe, they finally understood.

"I'm sorry, Ron, for hurting you so much," his mother sniffed. She choked on another sob. His father patted him on the head.

"I'm glad you're smarter than us," his father whispered to him. "I'm sorry you had to see what you have and hear what you have. You shouldn't have had to have all that happen to you. You're too good of a son for all that. I'm sorry."

"I thought that you were going to leave," Ron said as he rubbed his eyes.

"No, your mother and I would never leave you all," his father told him. "And I'd never leave your mother in a million years. I love you all. I know that it may not have seemed like that at times, but I do."

"And I, too," his mother added. "People argue, but we've been doing it too much. Things just happen, Ron, for reasons that we don't know or understand. All we can do is try to forget about this and move on. We should forgive and forget."

"We were wrong to not do anything to stop this, Ron," his father sighed, sounding guilty. "You know that we won't be able to stop arguing completely, but your mother and I are going to try and control ourselves because we now know that it's not only hurting ourselves, but you, too."

"We're so sorry," his mother whispered, her cheeks tear-stained and her eyes red and puffy. Tears were now falling out from behind his father's glasses. "We were wrong. It wasn't right of us. You were right. We were acting stupid."

Ron merely nodded his head and hugged his father. His mother stroked his hair and sang him a quiet, tearful lullaby that slowly made him drift off the sleep. Things would get better. Things would start to return to come out like those days when there was more laughter and smiles than tears and shouts. The storm outside had finally stopped.

And so had the storm on the inside.