Footprints

Fluffy, sticky snow fell to the ground, covering it, and Hogwarts thickly. The sky was clear and white, the air was frigid, and the lake was glazed over with shimmering ice.

Some people have a sixth sense about them… reading minds, telling the future, things like that.

Ron Weasley was a bit different.

He could sense snow.

He didn’t have to look out my window. He didn’t have to listen to the Wizard Wire. He didn’t need to speak with anyone. He only woke up early when it snowed. He could smell it even from underneath the covers of his four-poster. He reached a long, freckled arm out to grab the pocket watch sitting on his dresser, and pull it underneath the heavy blanket.

5:12 am.

He knew it was Saturday.

Slowly, he sat up and pulled his covers down. His bright red hair stuck out every which way, and rubbed his sleepy blues eyes into focus. He glanced out his window and smiled.

Right again.

His roommates were obviously still asleep.

Harry was sprawled out on his stomach, drooling lightly onto his pillow, his glasses clenched in his hand, which dangled off the bed. His black hair was just as, if not even messier than Ron’s. He murmured in his sleep, and occasionally said coherent words.

Seamus was a complete mess. His pillow covered his head. His right leg and arm dangled off the bed. He hadn’t even bothered to get under his sheets.

Neville was curled up, looking cozy. He snored quite a bit, but not enough to bother any of his roommates.

Dean slept on his back with his arms behind his head. He was soundless, his eyes closed.

Ron knew what he looked like when he slept. Bill made fun of him all the time.

He was a “Pile of Weasley.” Curled up, his whole body, sans the top of his head covered by his sheets.

As much as he loved Quidditch, and as little Quidditch you could play in the winter, he loved cold weather. He silently slid out of bed and padded over to the window. He opened it up, and breathed in the sharp, cold air.

“If you don’ close tha’ window, I’ll kill ya.”

Ron sighed at Seamus’ muffled voice and shut the window. “Sorry, mate.”

There was no reply. Seamus had most likely passed out again.

Ron couldn’t stand it. He had to get outside.

He grabbed a pair of pants and, his robes, shoes and his scarf and was about to walk out the of the room, but instead, knelt beside Harry’s bed and pulled the glasses from his grasp. He folded them neatly, and set them on the night table.

Harry’s eyes opened to slits, and he smirked at Ron. “Come to wake Sleeping Beauty with a kiss, have you Prince Charming?”

“You’re a prat, y’know that?” Ron asked with snicker. “I was being nice.”

“Thanks, mate,” Harry said sincerely. “You headed for a jaunt to the kitchens?”

“Outside,” Ron corrected him.

“Snowing, is it?”

Ron nodded.

“Go out and catch your death, you crazy git,” Harry ordered. “See you at breakfast.”

Ron got up and walked out of the room, closing the door as quietly as he could behind him. He walked quietly down the stairs to the common room, where Hermione was sleeping over her books at one of the table.

He sighed and smirked. He gently lifted the quill from her loosened grasp and set it next to her. He grabbed a blanket from the couch near the fireplace and draped it over her shoulders as she slept on.

She smiled in her sleep, and sighed.

He almost left before he sighed and headed for the girls’ dormitory. He slowly opened one of the many doors, to find his younger sister sitting up in her bed, looking out the window at the steady fall of snow. Her head snapped to him, and she smiled.

“Thought you’d be up,” she whispered.

He smirked and nodded. “Going for a walk. Coming?”

She stretched and shook her head. “No, thanks. Gonna catch more sleep. Have fun.”

Ron shrugged, and closed the door once more. He walked back down to the common room, only to find Hermione now sitting up in her chair, the blanket wrapped closer around her. “Going out?”

He smirked. “Just for a bit of a walk. Wanna come?”

“No, thanks,” she replied. “I have work to do.”

“Hermione…”

“I do.”

“You slept here. Go to bed.”

“But-”

He knelt in front of her. “Do you know most of the things in the chapters you were assigned?”

“Well… yes.”

“Then go to bed, you bloody know-it-all, and worry about it a few more hours,” he told her. “Please, Mione. It’s not good to sleep over your books.”

She smiled at him, and kissed the top of his head. “Alright, you bossy prat. Go have your walk, and I promise I’ll be in bed when you get back. But I’m making you sit and do your homework this afternoon.” She poked him in the shoulder.

He wrinkled his nose, and got up, and kissed her forehead. “Yeah, alright. Sweet dreams, luv.”

With one last smirk her way, he exited the portrait hole.

He walked through the empty halls, taking in the scenery he’d taken in for seven years.

“Weasley?”

He turned around casually, and caught sight of Professor Snape.

Ron sighed, annoyed. “Good morning, Professor,” he greeted.

Snape glared at him, warily. “Where are you going?”

“Outside.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to freeze me bum off.”

Snape glared harder. “I don’t trust you.”

“Nonsense, Severus,” said a kind voice. “It’s the first snowfall of the year. It’s tradition for Ronald Weasley to rise early and go for a morning stroll.”

Professor Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, walked up to stand next to Snape. “Good morning, Ron. Sleep well?”

Ron nodded. “You?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Dumbledore smiled. “No Ginny this year?”

“Sleeping,” Ron informed. “As is Harry. And I just kicked Hermione out of the common room to get some sleep in an actual bed.”

“And who’s bed might that be?” Snape asked harshly.

Ron sighed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes, Professor Snape, because I’m having wildly passionate, dirty sex with the Head Girl. I have been since third year. We haven‘t been able to keep our hands off each other, even when she was dating Krum. And Harry gets in on it, too, when he pleases. In fact, the entire Gryffindor tower gets in on it, for one giant, magnificent orgy. We have so much fun, we invite your Slytherins over, sometimes, just because we can.”

Snape looked ready to snap.

Dumbledore was holding back a chuckle, but his eyes laughed. “Go for your walk, Ron.”

He nodded and smiled at both professors, and walked the other way. As he did, he heard Snape mumble a “Cheeky little runt,” to himself.

Ron smirked. He was proud to say Snape no longer had any frightening affect on him. Snape could give out as many detentions as he pleased, and glare as much as he liked, but none of it would bother Ron anymore. He was too old for it.

And far too experienced.

He’d faced off with Death Eaters, and supposed killers, and spiders, and even Voldemort himself. All of these things were far more frightening than his Potions professor. Hell, asking Hermione to the Yule ball in sixth year had been more frightening than Snape.

Hermione.

Four years of fighting. One year of complete and utter denial, and half a year of almosts. He was amazed that it had taken so long for him to figure out just how he felt for the girl. He remembered Harry’s words:

“You stupid git! If you don’t realize you want to snog the hell out of her before the Yule ball, I’m going to take my broom and beat you with it!”

Ron asked her, and she’d accepted, but they never had a Yule ball. The war had made certain of that, and it had taken that war, and Harry’s coaxing to bring them together as a couple.

Harry.

He hadn’t always been so blunt. Actually, he’d only started to be blunt after he’d gone to live with his godfather. Which didn’t surprise anyone. Sirius Black had a mouth the size of the Grand Canyon, and Harry had been living with the man for a couple of years. Harry still only spoke out when he was angry, but it was a more confident anger than it had been years ago.

Defeating You-Know-Who will do that to you.

He kicked himself. “Voldemort,” he muttered to himself as he walked out of the castle. “Voldemort.”

The Death Eaters were no match for the older, more experienced version of The Order of the Phoenix. Especially when the Order members had their children at their sides.

Not to mention many of the children of the Death Eaters themselves.

Ron smirked, remembering how nearly the entire student body of Hogwarts had banded together to take on Voldemort and the Death Eaters when they attacked the school.

Even Draco Malfoy, bastard that he was, held up his wand against what he’d been brought up to be.

Ron hated to admit it, be he admired the Ferret-y git.

“I don’t care who I’m pissing off,” Draco had said. “I don’t give a shit. I am not a tool!”

It still shocked Ron that none of the Death Eaters’ children had betrayed the Order.

He remembered the day he’d started to really trust Draco Malfoy as if it were yesterday.

Harry had been captured by Voldemort’s forces, and the Order‘s, specifically Sirius Black‘s, main goal was to save him.

The plan was simple. Send Draco in as a traitor to the Order, with Ron as his apology to the dark lord.

This plan, of course, didn’t work at all.

It had all worked out in the end. They saved Harry, but they angered many a Death Eater in the process.

Not that he was complaining, mind. He loved pissing off Death Eaters. And he wasn’t alone. Draco had made his father insanely angry, and loved every minute of it.

The snow crunched underneath his boots, and he glanced around at the white abyss ahead of him, smiling.

Last year’s first snow had come in the middle of a major battle in Hogsmeade.

Ron could almost see the blood in the snow in front of him.

He, like Harry and Hermione, were not supposed to fight in that battle.

Harry had decided to go, and Ron and Hermione refused to let him go in alone, as usual.

Ron understood why no one wanted students at that battle. He’d never seen so much death before.

He looked around one last time, nodded, satisfied, and walked back into the school.

He began a slow saunter back to the Gryffindor portrait hole.

“Ron?”

He turned to find Professor Remus Lupin smiling at him.

“Good morning, Professor Lupin.”

“Good morning,” Lupin nodded. “You look quite frost-bitten.”

Ron shrugged. “Happens when you go walking in the snow.”

“I never understood that,” Lupin told him. “Why do you do this every year?”

Ron smiled. “Insanity,” he replied, walking away. When he got to the portrait hole, the fat lady was glaring at him.

“You’re up to something.”

“Oh, am I?”

“You never get up this early.”

Ron crossed his arms. “I’ve gotten up this early every year on the morning of the first snow! Aren’t you used to it yet? Pegasus.”

The portrait hole opened, and Ron walked in to find Hermione’s books abandoned. He smirked, and walked back up to his dorm room.

He found things much the same.

Except for the tiny detail of Hermione curled up under the covers next to Harry.

Harry fought back a snicker. “Busted.”

“What’s this, then?” Ron asked.

“Well,” Hermione explained, matter-of-factly. “I went to my bed, and it was cold, so I came here, and tried to sleep in your bed, because it was warm, but distracting.”

“Distracting?”

“It smelled like you,” Hermione added.

Harry made a face.

“So,” She went on. “I decided to sleep with Harry. Warm, and not distracting. Besides, you never specified which bed I should sleep in.”

Ron took off his robes and scarf, leaving him in the thin t-shirt he slept in along with his slacks. “Right. Make way.”

“Oh, no,” Hermione said.

Ron made a running jump and landed in-between Harry and Hermione. “Hi.” He leaned down and kissed the brunette on his right.

Hermione wrapped an arm around him. “Hi.”

Harry muttered something.

“You want a kiss, too?” Ron asked. He tried to lean forward to Harry. “Pucker up, Potter.”

“No,” Harry replied. “You’ll only use me for my body.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Ron asked.

Hermione hit him. “How was your walk?”

“Fine,” Ron replied. “Last one I’ll ever have, here, I suppose.”

Harry sighed. “Hard to believe we’re going to graduate after all that’s happened. What next?”

Hermione sighed as well. “There are so many choices… I could teach, I could work for the ministry…”

“I’ve gotten an offer to be on the high Ministry council, right underneath the minister for magic… I’ve gotten owls requesting my presents at Quidditch try-outs… What about you, Ron?”

“I’ve been accepted to the Auror Academy in London.”

His two friends blinked.

“Auror Academy?” Hermione asked. “I didn’t know you applied.”

Ron shrugged. “Didn’t really think I’d make it in… guess they heard about my war efforts…”

“You mean how you saved my arse, and beat the crap out of loads of Death Eaters?” Harry asked.

“I had help,” Ron protested.

Harry sighed. “You always complain about not getting any credit, but you never take it when it comes your way anymore. I’ve the right mind to smack you.”

“Are you going to go?” Hermione asked, changing the subject.

“I might,” Ron replied. “I want to get through my seventh year first. I want to enjoy these last few months of Hogwarts.”

“Here, here,” Harry voiced. “Let’s worry about the future when it turns into the present. And presently, I‘m hungry. And I‘m obviously not going to get anymore sleep with this heaping Weasley practically lying on top of me.”

“Yeah, you like it,” Ron joked.

Harry rolled out of bed, showing off his striped pajama set. “Come on, let’s go.”

“In your night clothes?” Hermione asked, also getting up.

Harry shrugged. “I’m a seventh year. I’m a seventh year who defeated the dark lord. I don’t give a damn.”

Hermione glared at his curse, but let it go. “Ron, aren’t you hungry?”

He looked up at her, his eyes wide with wonder. “Food?”

“Yes, Ron. Food. Now get off your bum.”

Ron obediently got to his feet, and the three walked down to the great hall.

They received many a stare from the other early risers, as they walked in.

Ron. Tall, his red hair still sticking up, his pants loose without the support of a belt, his orange shirt hugging his torso lightly.

Harry. Glasses crooked from being too tired to put them on right. His black hair laying flat, getting in his eyes. His striped blue and white pajamas looking comfortable.

Hermione. Hair looking as it always had, frizzy and brown. She wore her blue night shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants.

They sat together and ate.

Outside, the tracks that Ron’s boots had left were blown about and covered over with heavy cold snow.