A/N: My apologies, due to the actual birthdates, Ginny was eight in the past chapter, she doesn't turn nine until August of 1990. Ron is nine and turns 10 in March of 1990. Sorry once again for the misprint.

As the crisp snow-filled air entered Ron's bedroom from the breeze in the doorway, the now nine-year-old Ron groaned as he rolled over on his bright orange bedspread. The metal bed frame that Ron had been given from the time he'd upgraded from a crib creaked underneath him as he tried to hide his boredom. The young boy had spent the majority of the year thus-far complaining to Molly (and Ginny when he wasn't trying to convince her that he didn't want to play with her dolls) of the boredom in the Burrow. Every year prior to this had been fun. He had been able to follow the twins around, to watch their mischief or avoid Percy's constant tattling until Molly had come up with an understanding.

Ron remembered the conversation Molly had held with Percy the previous summer as he got ready for his third year at Hogwarts, the first year he would be the sole one in charge of keeping Fred and George out of trouble. She had told Percy, over a cup of tea at the kitchen table, that there was a difference between tattling and reporting. She said that there were certain things that Percy was to tell her about while the twins were in school. That he was supposed to report any trouble that they may be getting into, but to avoid tattling on them over the small things. The message hadn't gotten through to Percy.

Instead Molly recieved a bi-weekly owl from Percy stating how Fred and George were already gambling their desserts away in the Great Hall with the intent that Gryffindor would win the Quidditch Cup because their brother Charlie was playing. The letters would also entail how Fred and George were consistently convincing other first-years to go closer and closer to the Whomping Willow, and how they were routinely out of bed after hours. Molly was borderline pulling her hair out at the thought of the trouble that the twins were getting into, Percy constantly reminding her that after their first few detentions, Filch could no longer catch them out of bed, although everyone knew they were.

And although Percy had Molly on-edge at the thought, Ron couldn't help but miss his older twin brothers. Every time that his dad came home from work after a long day of shrinking keys and biting socks, his mom would run up to him.

"Do you realize what your boys are doing?!" She would exclaim as Ron sat there in boredom, staring at the chessboard to which he had no one to join him with. Ginny was still too young with dolls and Molly and Arthur were both too busy to keep a nine-year-old boy entertained.

"They are kids. It is their job to misbehave." Arthur would answer, causing Ron to wish that he could be there with them. At least then, he wouldn't have to deal with Ginny demanding that he play house with her.

"They are getting into trouble." Molly would continue with despair. "They are going to get hurt."

"They are going out for a midnight stroll again?" Arthur would ask, a playful smile covering his face as he thought back to the young Gryffindor girl whom he had once taken out to see the Black Lake in the middle of the night, where they had shared their first kiss. "Let's just hope Filch is a little bit better at catching them than what Pringle was."

That was usually how the conversation would end with Molly's blush-covered face and as long as the clock that sat in the kitchen didn't have Fred and George's faces pointed to 'Mortal Danger', Molly really had no argument. Occasionally she would send out an owl to the twins, reminding them to keep their toes in line, but there was little more she could do. She had to agree that Arthur was right, they were kids and although they were pushing the envelope, they hadn't done enough to get expelled yet.

Bill, on the other-hand, wrote home about once every two weeks. Usually the letters consisted of pictures of Egypt, which caused Ginny to run downstairs with excitement any time she saw the familiar black owl flying towards the kitchen window.

"It is amazing," Bill had written in one of his letters, "The symbolism that the Egyptians held. Have no fears mum, for the writing on the sides of the pyramids tells me what kind of counter-curses I may need. They were, in fact, very smart people. To the Egyptians, the owl symbolizes night, death, and cold. I know that the curses in those areas of the pyramids are much worse than what I need to be facing alone. However, they have the falcon as the guardian ruler, and he will keep me safe. Trust me mum, I am getting into no more danger than I would be at home."

None of this seemed to interest Ron, in fact, to say the least, it made him only more bored at home. Bill was off fighting dangerous curses in the pyramids of Egypt while the twins were causing trouble at Hogwarts and here he was, alone with no more options than to either help Molly make dinner, or join Ginny in her play. At nine-years-old, the boy couldn't help but feel like maybe if he got sent off somewhere, anywhere, it had to be better than sitting at home with two girls. He needed another man around the house, someone he could relate to.

One day, as Bill sent another one of his letters by owl, a letter included for Molly and pictures for Ginny to look at and hang up on her bedroom wall, there was also a small P.S. at the bottom.

"P.S. Mum, I know that Ron is bored out of his mind. I remember before Charlie and Percy were old enough to play, back when they were in diapers. Tell Ron I said Knight to C-3."

Suddenly Ron had something to look forward to. The chess board stayed down on the kitchen table, only being pushed aside whenever the family would sit and eat dinner, and Ron's day consisting of looking out his bedroom window as he awaited an owl from his oldest brother. It felt good to have some contact, to be able to exchange chess moves with Bill as Molly would write her son a new letter, and Ron often imagined that Bill had the same chess board set up in his bedroom, awaiting an answer from Ron as well.

While none of the boys came home from Hogwarts for Christmas, the twins having way too much fun to worry about Molly's wrath now, Percy being wrapped up in his studies, and Charlie still trying to get his Apparation down for the big Apparation test, Ron didn't seem to notice. He had something to look forward to as the ground covered with snow and the crisp winter air added an occasional shiver to the room.

Occasionally, while he waited for a letter in return from Bill, Ron had also found it entertaining to join Arthur out in the shed where they kept the Ford Anglia.

"What is this?" Ron asked one time, looking at a small metal box within Arthur's garage that he had, although he wasn't supposed to have, taken home.

"That is a toaster, son." Arthur answered, pleased to see that his son was interested in what he was working with. "The muggles put bread in it and whenever the bread gets hot enough, it pops out as toast. Or at least, it's supposed to." He said with a grim head-shake.

"Supposed to?" The nine-year-old asked, looking down into the toaster to see metal bars aligning the inside of the machine. "What does this one do?"

"This one shoots out the actual sandwiches." Arthur answered as Ron's eyes got big with amazement. "A genius idea really, however it's not exactly something we would want a muggle running across. Sit down."

Ron did as he was told, listening intently to what his father had to say.

"Sometimes, mixing magic and muggles does great things." Arthur continued, "Sometimes, it makes a clock where your mother can see that you kids are safe and out of harm's way. It helps to ease her mind knowing that I am at work and the other boys are at school, but if a muggle were to run across a clock like that, they wouldn't know what to do. They would know that there is magic and that we can do these things that they can't explain as muggles. That is why I have to confiscate these sorts of is why muggles and wizards don't often interact. People find it hard to believe things they can't explain, wizarding or muggle."

Ron nodded his head in understanding. "That's why we can't do magic in the presence of muggles. They wouldn't understand?"

"Precisely." Arthur answered, explaining to Ron as he had to Bill, Charlie, Percy, and the twins. This was his job as a wizarding father. He had to explain to them why they couldn't do certain things in front of muggles before they became old enough to be held responsible for it to the Ministry. He didn't want to have to explain to his son that a war that he couldn't even remember was the reason why now the Ministry was so strict. He didn't want to have to tell him of the cases he had to face while You-Know-Who was at large and killing muggles, muggle-borns, and even pure-bloods who stood for muggle rights, but his son had to know what he was going to be facing if he got in trouble.

"There is nothing wrong with muggles though, right?" Ron asked softly.

Arthur sighed as he leaned back, knowing this was a discussion he wasn't ready to have.

"There was a muggle-born who died to keep this world safe for people like us, people who don't like evil. People who don't agree with hurting others or killing the innocent. I remember her." He said firmly. "She was quite a bit younger than me and your mother, but we fought side by side during the Wizarding War. You were young."

Ron's eyes got big at the thought as Arthur continued to explain. "She had a young son who you will probably be about the right age to go to school with. He survived a very Dark Lord's power. He is the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Are you talking about?!" Ron asked in shock, his eyes wide at the thought. He had heard rumours from Charlie and Bill growing up, rumours of a boy who survived the deadliest curse of them all. An infant boy who held a lightning-shaped scar.

"That Dark Lord thought that muggles were less than us, but there are reasons why a dark wizard doesn't stand tall. He believed that muggle-born witches and wizards are less than what we as pure-bloods are. When you were a baby, another child was supposed to die from this wizard, and his mother was a muggle-born. His name is Harry Potter."

Ron looked down in understanding, knowing that this boy that Arthur was talking about would probably be going to school with him. That he would have classes with this boy, as a regular wizard.

"It doesn't matter what our blood says," Arthur told his youngest son, trying to help him understand. "Pure-blood, half-blood, muggle-born. None of that matters. What matters, is what you have in here." He said, prodding a finger into his son's chest. "Courage."