Hello. Welcome to Little Lion Man, a fic that will be centred around Ron Weasley, because he is my favourite character of all time and he gets far too much hate in this fandom, and his relationships with the members of his family and as such, there will eventually be eight chapters. This chapter focusses on Ron and Molly, but it's mostly told from Molly's POV and looks into the ways in which he's broken after the war (more on that at the end; I don't want to spoil anything.) Trio-ship if you squint, but doesn't have to be taken that way.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form, other than as a fan, nor do I own the song that the title came from (Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons)
Warnings: there aren't any that I can think of. Touches on sensitive topics, and there is no dialogue so swearing is not a problem.
Written for: Connect the Weasleys Challenge - Molly/Ron - Breakable/ Favourite Character Boot Camp Challenge with prompt 'Mother'/ Favourite Hogwarts House Boot Camp Challenge using 'Fragile'/ If You Dare Challenge with 'Only Time Will Tell'
May/August 1998
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Molly Weasley knew that her youngest son was broken.
-xoxo-
She saw it in the way that he flinched away from human contact unless it came from Harry and Hermione, or he could see it coming. It had almost completely destroyed her to see him go rigid when hugged by what was left of her family around Fred's… well, around Fred, and to realise that he was so out of touch with interacting with other people that he completely clammed up if so much as a finger was placed on him without his say so. She didn't miss, and was both silently relieved and jealous, that he was fully relaxed around Harry and Hermione; that after Voldemort was dead and the world had started turning again, that Ron and Hermione were immediately in the black-haired boy's arms and so unbelievably happy to be with each other and alive, she'd had to turn away.
Ron wasn't the only one, of course, that shied away from physical contact; his two best friends' were equally skittish around others, but Harry had always been slightly wary when approached by anyone other than those two or Sirius, and Hermione had never been particularly open with affection. But Ron was her baby boy; the one who used to hang onto her apron strings until given a cuddle and who couldn't go to sleep without a bedtime story and a kiss. Molly wasn't sure how she'd missed her baby becoming a man, but she did, and she wasn't sure she liked it.
-xoxo-
She saw it when she realised how her son wouldn't fully relax until the other members of the 'Golden Trio' (a nickname she used to think was ridiculous, but now, she's not so sure it's wrong) were in the room where he could see them. She knows she's not the only one who noticed how close the three of them sat to each other, nor how they kept touching each other, as if to reassure themselves that they were actually there and okay. Bill told her how Ron had got separated from them for a while, although the details were sketchy at best and none of them were talking, which partly explained the touching, and whenever it happened she couldn't help but wonder what exactly they'd been through in those ten months that made them so scared of being out of each other's sight for more than five minutes.
It wasn't just in wakefulness that her son centred himself around the two non-Weasleys, and vice-versa. It hadn't escaped any of the family's attention that they took shifts in sleeping, and 'guarded' each other whilst doing it. Molly would have found the idea ludicrous, had she not been witness to Ron's wand mere inches away from Ginny's face and a dangerous hex on his lips when she'd come too close to a sleeping Harry. He hadn't even been apologetic about it; had only shrugged his shoulders and refused to lower his wand until his sister had backed off to stand a few feet away.
-xoxo-
The most obvious sign had been how shockingly little her son had eaten. Growing up, Ron had eaten anything and everything placed in front of him. It became abundantly clear on the night after the Battle, when even Molly herself had been operating on autopilot and could barely bring herself to put one foot in front of the other, that something was very wrong with her youngest boy. He had sat opposite her at the Gryffindor table, his eyes red and puffy from crying, his face so covered in blood and grime, she could scarcely see the skin underneath and could smell him, them, from across the table; a mixture of blood, sweat and smoke, amongst others that she couldn't place. He'd had Hermione's head on one shoulder and Harry's arm around his waist. A position she had gathered that meant they could both be touching (something they clearly needed, so she hadn't said anything) and eat without trouble. Not that they need have bothered; Ron had eaten less than a third of what was on his plate, and even that had looked like a struggle.
It had taken weeks to build up even half of the appetite he had had before they'd run off doing Merlin knew what. Even now, three months later, there are still days where they're all sat down to eat and she'll offer him something and he'll pale drastically, his chair shooting backwards so quickly it almost topples over, and disappear out through the back door or upstairs, the other two close behind him looking equally ill. There are also times where his face visibly lights up, he declares that she's the best cook on the planet, and she'll think that maybe he's getting better, before he shoots an apologetic look in Hermione's direction, his appetite vanishing faster than she can say 'Scourgify', and they're back at square one.
-xoxo-
When they'd got home to The Burrow, and the grief of Fred's death had dimmed from a constant, almost physical thing to a never-ending, but somewhat manageable ache in the back of the head, Molly noticed pretty quickly yet one more thing that was wrong with her child. Before Hogwarts, Ron had always been a very vocal person; he shouted when he was angry or excited, he laughed loudly when he was happy and he rambled when he was nervous. Over the years, that had obviously changed and he'd become more subdued and contemplative about things, which was probably to be expected given the things he'd been doing since the age of eleven, most of which both Molly and Arthur agreed he had kept hidden from them. This had only escalated on their return to their house. Ron only spoke in length to Harry and Hermione and he didn't even try to hide the fact that if anyone else approached them in the middle of a conversation it would stop until they left again. He only spoke when spoken too, and even then it had to be done quietly; none of them reacted well to loud or sudden noises and they never laughed, not in the way that they used to; carefree and happy.
-xoxo-
There were then, of course, the nightmares. Where her son and his friends kept quiet during the daytime, at night it was a very different story. In fact, the three of them had been plagued by nightmares for weeks, months really, that were so bad even the silencing charms placed over Ron's room were not enough to completely block out the screams. The first time she had witnessed one of their night terrors, which they were, if the sounds were anything to go by, it had been Hermione, who was still in Ginny's room at that point, who had woken the entire house with a soul-shattering scream. By the time the two boys had come hurtling down the stairs from the attic, neither one in more than a pair of boxers and the shorter of the two without his glasses, every Weasley had been gathered on the landing, not knowing what to do and Charlie had been the one to catch Ginny as she came stumbling out of the room, wide-eyed and terrified. When prompted to say what had happened, the redhead had simply shook her head and stared through the open door at the three friends.
Hermione had been laying ramrod straight on her back, her fists clutching the sheets around her so tightly her knuckles had turned white. All six of them had silently watched as Harry and Ron had laid on either side of her on top of the covers. The young witch had immediately curled into the taller male's chest; her head nestled under his chin and her hand on his shoulder. Despite the circumstances, the position had made Molly smile to herself; it had been no secret to her that the pair had fancied each other for quite some time. What had made her eyebrows near her hairline, however, had been Hermione reaching behind her to grab Harry's arm and pull it around her midriff tightly, without hesitation, his forehead resting against her shoulder blade and his thumb drawing soothing circles into her belly, Ron's fingers doing the same to her spine, both of them whispering words of comfort to the distraught girl.
It had been at that point that she had ushered all of the others back to bed, trying to give them some privacy, with Ginny standing at her shoulder, unsure of what to do next. That decision had been made for her a few minutes later when the three of them had exited the room, Hermione still between the two boys, looking pale and shaky, her head on Ron's shoulder and her hand gripping Harry's hip hard enough to leave a bruise, her eyes screwed shut and sweat beading her forehead. As they'd headed towards the stairs, Ron had given his mother a reassuring nod. Not that she had seen it; she'd been too focussed on the fact that she could see two pairs of ribs and six collarbones more than she should've been able to and skin so pale it was virtually translucent. She'd suddenly been struck with the fact that all three of them were broken in ways she didn't even know how to begin fixing, and for someone who spent so much time concentrated on the well-being and happiness of her family, it had been a bitter pill to swallow.
It had been a drastic and upsetting realisation; that her baby was breakable and that he'd been pushed over the edge to a place where it would take a lot of time and dedication to put the pieces that were once Ronald Weasley back together into some semblance of whole. But as she watched him one day in late August, pulling a face at Teddy over Harry's shoulder, making the young child gurgle happily, and then lifting his head enough to offer her a small smile, she couldn't help but think that her broken boy, broken children, really, had always been good at defying the odds. Limits simply didn't exist to them, and maybe that meant that things would eventually be okay. Either way, she'd be there to help him, because that's what mothers did.
Back to what I said at the top. I think that after the war everyone, but especially the Trio, would have been extremely damaged by the things that they had seen and done, and I also think that Harry, Ron and Hermione would have had a lot of trouble readjusting to normal life; things like not being on edge and ready to run all the time, eating healthy sized portions, etc.
Not all of the chapters will be like this, I promise. It was just that the way I wanted to tell it didn't really leave room for talking, so it was just easier to not have any.
But yes, if there's anything you don't understand, or just want to tell me, let me know! Just try not to be too harsh about it, yeah?
Cheers, guys,
-V