Ron loved the Chudley Cannons.

They hadn't won a league in about a century, their scores were so terrible it was unbelievable they hadn't been disbanded yet, and they played like sacks of dragon dung. At least, that was how Charlie put it.

Their merchandise was always cheap and there was always a lot of it; it stood forgotten in the stores, when everyone else was all over the Falmouth Falcons or the Montrose Magpies. While Fred and Charlie both supported Puddlemere United and bickered over who got this poster or hat, nobody ever borrowed Ron's Chudley Canons figurines. Because nobody wanted them.

He finally had something that was all his, that no one would mistake for theirs, that no one would claim as theirs, that he wouldn't discover abandoned in a sibling's closet three months later. It was official now: the Chudley Cannons were Ron's. So what if they lost all the time? Ron didn't mind. Aside from chess, he didn't win at many games either. It was okay. One day, the Cannons would win and prove everyone wrong. He just knew it.

So, the Chudley Cannons it was. Ron finally had something to call his own among the big chaos of his family. He might not own the team proper, but he had a complete set of their figurines, that he'd asked for over Christmas AND his birthday. Today he'd received Windsor, the Seeker and the missing piece of his collection. Finally he had the full set, finally he had the whole team! Not the real one, of course, but the figurines; they had to count somehow.

And even though Fred and George had mocked him for playing with dolls – they were action figures! – they were so great that even Fred and George's words couldn't bring him down.

Currently, he was doing a little bit of an experiment, attempting to use them as wizard chess pieces. Just to see how it would go. The black Queen had been horrified at the innovation, but she'd quickly adapted to it, much like she always did. She was great.

"Despair not!" she yelled as he moved Wells (whom he'd decided would be a castle, since he was the Keeper and all) to take the opposite bishop. "So what if they dwarf us, so what if they are garishly-clad giants? It just gives us more flesh to hack at! Have at them, men!"

Harper, the Beater he'd assigned as one of the white knights, glanced nervously at him. Ron chuckled. "Don't worry, she won't cut you up. She's just excited."

She did have a point about the figurines being giants, though. They were at least thrice the chess pieces' size. Compared to the long stride the pieces used when moving across the board, the figurines had to tiptoe their way through, their flowing orange robes sometimes catching an unaware pawn and dragging it across the board. One bishop had expressed jealousy of the Cannons' bright orange robes and thought everyone on the board ought to get a special colour too, while Windsor, the Seeker, had spent a few minutes trying to ride on the little black knight's horse that barely came up to his ankle.

Ron had to re-explain to his figurines the way they were meant to move a few times, but he didn't mind. This was amazing! He had combined two of his favourite past-times together and it was going along really well! Maybe someday he'd create a whole new sport, a combination of chess and Quidditch. Maybe the players could stand on a giant board and throw Quaffles at each other, and they only would be allowed to move the way chess pieces moved – and if a Bludger hit your king, it was game over. Well, maybe the Bludger would need to hit the king three times before it was game over. Or maybe not have Bludgers at all, it was a bit difficult to play chess with someone trying to beat you up – Ron would know, he lived with Fred and George…

"Ronnie?" The voice shook him out of his reverie.

Ginny was peering through his door, hiding one eye behind her long hair.

"Can I play with you?"

Ron chewed on the inside of his cheek. On the one hand, he really, really hoped Ginny would one day ask him to teach her chess, and he'd finally get to be one of her cool, smart big brothers who knew tons of things and whom she could ask questions to. He'd get to be sort of a… mentor? And watch as Ginny kicked everyone's butts with the cool moves Ron had taught her.

On the other, he was busy creating a whole new sport over here, and he didn't really want Ginny to intrude… especially not if she started asking questions and disturbing his game and trying to do things her way when it didn't make sense. She was still little and her logic was a little off at times. Ron, being six, had enough experience to know that garden gnomes didn't turn into valiant knights or pretty princesses when you kissed them on the butt cheek. That was the time he'd decided he'd stop listening to Fred and George.

In the end, the idea of Ginny becoming really good at chess thanks to him was just too appealing. "Yeah, get in."

His heart sank when he saw that she was clutching her own Quidditch figurines, the emerald green of the Holyhead Harpies flashing through her fingers.

"We can have a match", she said, and Ron knew perfectly well she didn't mean it in the chess sense. She sat next to one of his sweaters, completely ignoring the board.

"… Okay", he said, because it was still playing, even if it wasn't chess.

Ron interrupted the match, much to the protests of the black Queen and to the relief of the Cannons figurines. He and Ginny set up the hoops, enchanted to hover above the ground, and after five minutes of rummaging through the toy's carton, found the miniature balls.

Time to play.

The Quaffle was jumping from hand to hand, the players fumbling after it in a whirl of robes. They were quite fast, but Ron imagined a true, pro Quidditch team would be even faster. But they didn't have much money, so they couldn't go see real Quidditch matches. They had to make do with the action figures.

But their matches were interesting still. Especially if you kept your eyes on the balls and let yourself be surprised by the players. For example, the Bludger here, it was flying everywhere, and then all of a sudden, you'd have a bat colliding with it out of nowhere and sending it onto another player. It was a bit of a shock to see the bat suddenly appear when you least expected it.

It was harder to follow the Quaffle, because it kept being passed everywhere, and sometimes Ron had cricked his neck trying to follow it, especially when he put himself in the middle of the field pretending to be a giant that had wandered into a Quidditch pitch.

And the Golden Snitch was even worse because it was so fast, and so tiny, and it was really easy to lose it. Seekers were very skilled fliers; probably why Charlie had gotten the position.

"Oh no!"

Ron turned his head to see Ginny, hand over her mouth and looking down at a little mess of green and orange robes.

She picked up her Harpie figurine.

Ron's blood ran cold.

Windsor, his Seeker, his brand-new friend, his birthday present, was torn in two, orange-clad legs kicking uselessly as they tried to get him back up, arms futilely reaching for help.

"I'm sorry!" Ginny cried, holding her Harpie close to her chest.

Ron's heart was pounding. He snatched up the two pieces of Windsor and ran out of his room, practically jumping down the stairs as he went.

There was only one person who could fix that sort of mess.

In the kitchen, pots and pans were dancing all over, batter flowing graciously from bowl to bowl, and in the middle of it all there was Mum.

Ron ran in, making as much noise as a rampaging hippogriff.

"Now what is all this racket?" Mum said, frowning in annoyance.

He brandished his poor maimed Seeker.

"Fix him! Please, Mum, you can fix him!"

Mum's expression turned into a gentle smile. She brought her wand down to Windsor's head and tapped him lightly.

The flailing limbs stilled, the distressed face slackened and became blank, and soon Windsor found himself whole again.

"Good as new," Mum said before turning back to her cooking.

Ron smiled and looked down at his figurine.

It didn't move.

He frowned. Shook it lightly.

No cheeky wink, no thumbs-up, nothing. Not even a change in expression.

Windsor was just blankly staring ahead, without any sort of reaction.

"Why's he not moving?" Ron demanded, dread rising again as soon as it had gone.

Mum turned around again, brows raised, and pried Windsor from Ron's hands. After a careful examination, she put a hand to her son's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she said, voice full of a weird sad tone that made Ron want to scream. "Sometimes toys that aren't made well or old don't really like it when you use spells on them. He must not have liked me repairing him."

That made no sense. Windsor was well-made, Ron had just gotten him, and why wouldn't he want to be repaired? He needed his legs to be on his broom. He would want to be fixed. Why wouldn't he?

"Can you make him move again?" Ron asked as his eyes started to sting.

Mum's grimace told him everything he needed to know. Ron's heart plummeted.

He didn't listen as she tried to explain why she couldn't make Windsor move, about how it was complicated magic to enchant things to move for a very long time, and how she had not received training for it. It didn't matter. It didn't matter.

It didn't matter that Ron had his own thing for once and now he didn't because his stupid sister had broken it.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Ron had just gotten Windsor and now he couldn't have him; it wasn't fair that finally when Ron had something of his own, he couldn't enjoy it.

It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair…

Someone tugged on Ron's sleeve.

Teary big brown eyes looked up at him. In one hand Ginny was holding the Harpies' Seeker, Halley.

Halley, who was moving just fine, who wasn't broken, who was Ginny's thing. Mum was looking at her with a look of pride.

Ginny opened her mouth.

Not fair not fair not fair not fair

Something burned within Ron.

Why did Ginny get to keep her Harpies? Why did she get to break Ron's things? Why did she get to have smiles from Mum while Ron only got those weird, sad looks that made him feel even worse?

Ron jumped away, not even bothering to take back his ruined figurine.

"I hate you!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "I HATE YOU ALL!" And he dashed off, as fast as his legs could carry him, up to his room, and slammed the door as hard as he could.

For a moment, there was nothing but his heart hammering in his chest, wrapped in a weird feeling he couldn't quite place. It felt hot, exhilarating, strange. He didn't like it much. He panted, staring at the closed door, wondering – would they come find him? Would they just ignore him? He knew he wouldn't get out of his room though. He'd never come out. They could send Bill or Charlie or the twins to wrestle him out, he would never come out again. Not until Ginny apologized for breaking Windsor.

His eyes burned. It was so hard to breathe around the lump of lead lodged in his chest, getting heavier and heavier the more he chanted to himself.

I'm right, he repeated, stubbornly. She broke it. She broke MY toy and if Fred can curse me for breaking his toys, I can yell at her as much as I want!

Something didn't feel right though.

I'm right, I'm right, I'm right. They always do that, they always want me to feel bad for stuff they do, well not this time! This time I'm not falling for it!

Sure it was his toy. But it wasn't like Ginny had wanted to break it either. He knew that. Hell, she had even asked him to pit his Chudley Cannons against her Holyhead Harpies, she hadn't snuck behind his back to throw a match without him knowing.

I'm not getting out of my room! Never again! I'm right and they know it! They're not winning this one!

He was breathing so fast, yet somehow he couldn't get enough air. Why was this so painful? Why did his chest feel so tight?

I'm right! It was MINE! I'm RIGHT!

A hiccup disturbed the tears that were clinging to his eyes. They slowly made their way down his cheeks, cooling them as they went.

I'm right…

So why did he feel so wrong? Why did he feel so bad?

His own voice rang in his head, providing the answer. I HATE YOU ALL!

His heart seemed to just… cave in on itself, as he realized that he'd actually meant it.

He often said that he hated Fred, or George, or Percy, or his maroon sweaters, or corned beef, or the ghoul that never shut up, or the sun when it burned a red patch on his skin – he said it often enough.

But he didn't really mean it. He didn't want his brothers to get hurt terribly. He didn't like maroon, but his Mum made those sweaters for him so it was really hard to not like them, even just a little. Corned beef, well, he'd eat it if he had nothing else on hand, it would never be the first choice, but he could stomach it, even if it was disgusting. The ghoul was annoying, but it was also fun to make up a tune on the pipes and wait for him to answer. And how could one even hate the entire sun?

When he said he hated things, he just… he just thought they were very annoying. Not that he wanted them hurt.

But this time he'd meant it.

And it hurt, gnawing at his heart, burning like the bite of a spider.

He choked down a sob. Stepped away from his door.

He was never going to come out of his room again. He wouldn't let himself. Because for one split second there he'd meant it when he said he hated his family, and he didn't want to ever, ever do it again. He would stay locked inside and they would be safe from him. Safe from him and his horrible words.

He let himself fall on his bottom and scooted away as far from the door as he could, finding refuge under the desk full of comics and Famous Wizards cards. He shuddered as what felt a lot like the remnant of a spiderweb brushed against his neck, but he didn't flee.

That was where he belonged. Awful boys who hated their families and little sisters ought to be locked in the dark, among all the ugly things like spiders and Doxies.

Ron curled up on himself and cried. Minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

He tried to go even deeper beneath the desk, but he already was flat on the wall.

"Ronnie?" came Bill's voice.

Go away, he wanted to say. Leave me alone. But his voice wasn't working.

"Ronnie, I'm coming in."

"No," he rasped, but it wasn't loud enough for Bill to hear and so the door opened anyway.

Bill was allowed to go wherever he liked. Bill was older. Ron wished he was older like Bill.

He thought he had been hiding well, but Bill was onto him in seconds. Maybe being older meant he was smarter, too. Ron really, really wished he was older then.

Bill crouched next to Ron's desk of exile. He wasn't smiling. Ron didn't know if that was good or bad. Not smiling meant it was serious; but then again, smiling also meant mockery and Ron hated that.

"What you said wasn't very nice."

Ron curled on himself further. "Did they all hear it?"

"We all did."

Ron sniffled.

"Everyone is worried about you, too."

The pain in Ron's chest kept getting worse and worse the more Bill talked, but Ron wouldn't cry. He didn't know why but he didn't want to. Not only did he not want Bill to see him cry, because Bill was so cool and Ron didn't want to look like a baby in front of him, but… it felt wrong to cry, too.

"You know Ginny didn't mean it, right?"

Ron nodded. Sniffled.

"She's very sorry, and she wants to give you Halley to make up for breaking Windsor."

A sob escaped him, despite his best efforts. "Halley's with the Harpies. She can't play for the Cannons."

Bill didn't answer. He didn't speak for a few moments, actually, while Ron was just crying and clutching at his chest as if he could rip the hurt out and toss it away.

"Bill?"

"Hm?"

"It hurts."

He inched closer under the desk. It would have been funny, to see Bill all folded up, trying to fit next to Ron, but Ron didn't feel like laughing at all.

"What does?"

Ron put a hand on his chest. "Here."

Bill nodded, but he didn't look afraid or worried. Only a bit sad.

"Why does it hurt?"

Bill tilted his head to the side. "I think it's because you're ashamed."

Shame? Ron was no stranger to shame, Fred and George made sure of that.

This burning, this horrible feeling, it wasn't just the usual "fell-for-it-in-front-of-everyone" feeling though. It was so much stronger.

He wanted it to go away. This was so much worse than being pranked by his mean brothers. It was clinging to him, it was burning, it was awful.

"Bill?"

A hum.

"How do I get rid of it?"

"Of what?"

"Of the shame."

Bill remained quiet a bit.

"I think it's easier when you apologize."

"But she started it," Ron murmured, even though it mattered less and less with each passing second.

"I can get Gin up there if you want to say you're sorry," Bill proposed.

His brother was just too nice. Why did he have to be so nice when Ron had just said he hated him? It just made him want to cry harder.

Ron sniffled, tried to hold them in, but his tears had a will of their own.

Bill sighed. He pondered whether or not to leave, to bring Ginny back so Ronnie could apologize, to just leaving his little brother to cry himself out.

A little hand seized his jeans.

Ronnie crawled onto his lap, sobbing incoherent apologies and "I di'nt mean it"s, and curling into his chest.

Bill couldn't do much but gently rub his little brother's back. Cry himself out it is, then.

He saw Mum peer through the half-open door, her hand on Ginny's shoulder and a worried frown on her face. Seeing them, she gave one of those pitying smiles that tended to make him feel like a child, and hushed Ginny back with her.

Bill just held his little brother. It would have to be enough.

He'd apologize, for now he just had to get the shame out.