The Three Broomsticks was usually quite busy but on the weekends when Hogwarts students were allowed to visit, they were especially crowded. Add on that there were many wizards and witches staying in Hogsmeade due to the upcoming First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, and - well - there was a line out the door 'round lunch time and kids jostling to carry their bottles of Butterbeer out onto the street, where they sat in clusters 'round the square, eating from paper sacks she'd stuffed their orders into. Rosmerta had sent an URGENT owl to her supplier for Butterbeer imploring them that she would need a rush order in order to accommodate the influx of guests visiting the village due to the Triwizard Tournament.

It made for good pickings for a mangy old stray dog, who had followed Oliver Kent that morning from the Inn out to the pub, and great money for Rosmerta's bottom line, of course, not to mention boosting the local economy handsomely via Zonko's Joke Shop and Honeyduke's, but it made it rather hard to navigate unnoticed when one was trying at being invisible.

"Honestly, why don't you just take off that stupid cloak?" Hermione said, trying to keep her lips as still as possible, "I hate it when you're under that thing 'round in public. Everyone thinks that I'm mad, talking to myself and ordering two of everything!" 

Harry had just walked into a man dressed head to toe in leather who was rushing through the square to Brood & Peck's at top speed. The man had spun 'round on his heels and looked 'round, confused about what he might've run into, and then continued running, shouting a hurried "scuzy!" as he went.

"I'm not dealing with Rita Skeeter pestering me and getting more rubbish written about me in the Daily Prophet," Harry hissed from under the cloak. "The one article was enough for me, thanks." 

Hermione sighed and led the way through the crowd - Harry dogging on her ankles so closely so as to make her anxious - and pushed her way into Honeyduke's, where the air smelled of chocolate and caramel. Neville Longbottom was waiting on the line with Ron and Dean Thomas while Seamus was paying for an armful of popping candies - "Polly Pollington's Popping Candy! Like Fireworks in Your Mouth!" read the package. It had a picture of a boy with his mouth open and a splendid display of fireworks going off on his tongue.

"I'm going to let Ronald know we aren't meeting him, I guess," Hermione said edgily, looking the wrong direction from where Harry was, but clearly thinking she was facing him. "Unless you think you might talk to him and maybe --"

"No," Harry said firmly. "I didn't do anything wrong. Ron owes me an apology."

"Yes but if you both think the other owes the apology and neither of you are willing to actually give one out, there's never going to be any sort of resolution, is there?" Hermione said logically. "Perhaps you lot need to discuss it and see why it is that the other thinks that he is the one who is owed the apology and then --"

"Hermione," Harry said, stressing the "mi" part of her name.

"Fine!" she said in a clipped tone, "Stay mad at each other, I don't care." She went over to talk to Ron and Harry made his way down one of the aisles, not wanting to hear the sound of Ron's voice. He was sure it would only make him angrier - or else drive him to feeling sick and ready to cry again and he'd done that once on Hermione's shoulder already and once was enough...

Hermione meanwhile had approached Ron. She stepped up beside him and sighed. "Ronald -- about the meeting at the Three Broomsticks, Harry --"

"Isn't willing to apologize, is he?" Ron said.

"Well... no," Hermione admitted. 

Ron nodded sharply. He was holding two Chocolate Frogs, two boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and a bag of Animal Crackers, as well as two licorice wands in cherry red. "That's fine," he said, "He doesn't need to."

"Really?" Hermione's eyes lit with hope, "You mean that you still want to --"

"No," Ron cut her off, "I mean that he doesn't need to because I don't need a best friend anyway!" He unceremoniously dumped his armful of candy into a basket and left it there by the counter, storming out of the shop without making any purchases.

Outside, Ron jabbed his hands into his pockets, walking past all the crowded area of the village and away form it, off toward the path that led out to the Shrieking Shack. It was far less crowded on the wooded pathway, though it was rather cold, the autumn air nipping at his nose as he stepped over exposed tree roots to the clearing that overlooked the Shack from the fence. He stood there, staring off at the old house, grey and rotting-looking. He leaned against the fence, folding his elbows and resting his chin on his forearms.

Had it really only been about five months since they'd been inside that very Shack, discovering the truth about Sirius Black and listening to him and Professor Lupin tell the story of Harry's parents? Ron remembered how tears had glimmered in the corners of Remus Lupin's eyes at the chance to embrace his old friend, Sirius, for the first time in twelve years.

What would it be like, Ron wondered, not to talk to somebody who was your best friend for twelve whole years? He worried that it might turn into twelve years before he and Harry were able to make it up with one another - given how long it was taking Harry to realize what a prat he'd been... and what if Harry never apologized? Would Ron take it upon himself to apologize for having done nothing except being left out?

He had thought Harry would never leave him out.

"Ron?"

He looked up at the sound of the familiar voice and turned 'round to see his brother, Bill, ducking under a large branch that overhung the path. His brother was wearing grey trousers and a button-up shirt that he hadn't buttoned up all of the way, but left part of his chest exposed. His hair was long and flowing and his boots were laced all the way up to his knees, and he had on a coat of gray wool that he'd left opened.

"What're you doing way off here, away from the rest of your classmates?" Bill asked, stepping over the last of the logs that had fallen over the path and then sitting down on it. He was carrying a brown paper bag and a couple bottles of butterbeer.

"I'm having a good think," Ron answered, then, "But me? What about you? Aren't you supposed to be in Egypt?"

Bill said, "I've taken some time off to come and watch the Triwizard Tournament."

"Oh," said Ron. Then, "And what're you doing here? At the Shrieking Shack?"

Bill chuckled and opened his bag. "I'm having lunch," he said, which didn't really answer Ron's question at all. He patted the log beside himself, turning to straddle the thing so it would double as a table. "You want to split my sandwich?"

Ron, whose appetite was rather insatiable and whose stomach was growling a right storm up already, nodded, and loped over, settling down opposite Bill, who pulled out a fantastic smelling roast sandwich, which he tore in half. He handed Ron the bigger half. Bill's limbs were so long that his legs had to bend funny - like a frog on a lily pad - in order for his bum to meet the log. His broad shoulders were twice the width of Ron's as well and Ron wondered what it was like to have gotten that particular portion of the Weasley genes? He'd gotten mostly the narrow, scraggly bits. He reckoned he might end up with some of the height, but never those shoulders.

If he did have those shoulders, Ron thought, and he'd been able to get his name in the Goblet, like Harry had done, then he betted his name might've been picked. If he was as handsome as Bill or as strong and brave as Charlie or as smart as Percy or as funny as Fred and George and as - well Ginny was the only girl in a brood of boys so of course she stood out in every way. But if he was "AS" as any of his brothers, then maybe - maybe he might've gotten the attention of the cup and maybe he might've won and maybe then his Mum would notice him more and his Dad would remember which brother he was and then people would want to be his friend and be talking about him in the corridors at the school. Then Rita Skeeter would be taking his photograph and interviewing him and girls would be simpering after him in the Library, like they were doing over Viktor Krum, and maybe that pretty Veela girl would notice him, too, and maybe instead of being jealous of Harry and Hermione liking Harry more than Ron and being Harry's girlfriend and all - maybe then Harry would be jealous of Ron for once and maybe Hermione would be jealous of that Veela girl and maybe, just maybe, then Ron would --

Would --

Would what? What did he want from Hermione that he didn't already have? Even during this row with Harry Hermione hadn't fully abandoned him. Sure she'd been taking up Harry's side a bit more than his, Ron's, but she made a point to spend some time with Ron, too, hadn't she? But that was mostly homework stuff she was doing, wanting to make sure Ron was passing or else showing off that she was so much smarter than him, probably. Probably Harry had told her how stupid Ron was and probably she just didn't wanna be friends with someone who was stupid...

Right?

He hated the way the thought turned his stomach, and the way the thought of Harry and Hermione made him madder than whatever it was him and Harry had been having the row about in the first place had done.

He hated that he'd had several dreams where Hermione just yelled at him that Harry was right and Ron was stupid.

"So what are you having a think on, Ronnie?" Bill asked. His brothers all called him Ronnie. Bill and Charlie were the only ones that he didn't hate for it.

"I've had a row with a mate," he said, trying to shrug it off.

"Ah." Bill said, "I see. That explains why you're out here exuding terrible energy."

Ron looked at Bill questioning what he meant.

Bill didn't explain, though, he just leaned back a little bit, looking so cool that Ron found himself tugging at his coat - a hand-me-down from Percy, who'd probably gotten it from Charlie or Bill himself, and was made of worn brown corduroy. He looked down at his trainers, scuffed at the toes, and suddenly wasn't sure he was as hungry as he'd thought he was a moment before.

"So what was your fight about?" Bill questioned around a mouthful of food as he chewed.

"Just - you know - stuff," Ron said, who wasn't even sure anymore how to describe what it had been about. It was nearly a month prior now and he wasn't sure he even remembered the exact details of the argument - only that it had ended with Harry saying Ron was stupid and then refusing to apologize for it.

Bill said, "Well, it must be really worth fighting about, whatever it is, if it can only be categorized as stuff then, hey?"

Ron wasn't sure how to answer to that.

Bill picked up the butterbeer bottles and Ron watched in mild awe as he popped the bottle cap off with his belt buckle, then handed one to Ron and opened the second one up, taking a swig out of it. "Rosmerta's butterbeer's the best, I swear," he said, sighing with satisfaction as he lowered the bottle from his mouth.

Ron nodded, taking a sip, too.

The two brothers sat and ate quietly, neither saying anything, Bill watching Ron and Ron staring off at the Shrieking Shack across the field. After a long time of silence - in which Bill was actually waiting, hoping Ron would talk some more about his row, since it was obviously bothering him, but to no avail - Bill finally said, "You'll never guess who's staying at the inn just across the hall from me."

"Who's that?" Ron asked.

"Oliver Kent."

Ron's eyes lit up, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I bumped into him yesterday morning when I was on my way out, seemed in a rush or I would've tried talking to him, but I'm hoping I'll get a shot at it before he leaves out," Bill said. "If I meet him, I'll ask him for an autograph for you."

"Brilliant!" said Ron excitedly.

"Heard he's been training with Cedric Diggory - he may even be 'round the castle, if you keep an eye out," Bill winked.

"Cedric Diggory has a trainer?" Ron asked. "I thought that was against the rules?"

Bill shrugged, "He's helping him train for Quidditch. Apparently Diggory fancies going Pro. Guess he let beating Harry Potter at it go to his head a bit more than he was letting back at the World Cup, 'ey?"

Ron nodded absently, feeling stung by the mention of Harry's name. "Yeah, I guess so," Ron muttered.

Bill eyed Ron. "You know Charlie's staying in the village, too?" he asked.Ron looked up. "What's Charlie doing in Hogsmeade? He's supposed to be in Romania with the dragons."

Bill shrugged. Then, "Hey... You know, you should, uh, tell Harry Potter... about Charlie being in Hogsmeade."

"I told you I've had a row with Harry," Ron said.

"Yeah, but... I reckon the information would be really interesting."

"What? That Charlie's in Hogsmeade?" Ron asked.

Bill raised an eyebrow. 

Ron raised his right back.

"Ronnie," sighed Bill, "Charlie. Our brother. Who works with Dragons. Is in Hogsmeade. For the First Task. And you ought to tell Harry Potter because he would be very interested. Interested in that information."

Ron nodded, "Alright, I will." Whenever Harry got around to apologizing, Ron added silently.

Bill stared at Ron for a long moment, then sighed and stood up, vanishing the paper bag and two empty bottles of butterbeer with a flick of his wand. "I love you Ronnie, but you can be really thick sometimes," Bill said, shaking his head.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, flaring up.

Bill shook his head. "C'mon, I thought I saw Fred and George pass by just now, I'd like to go and say hullo to them, too. We ought to go on and catch them up."

"Yeah, alright," Ron replied, and he followed Bill back up the path to the village, glancing back over his shoulder at the Shrieking Shack and thinking about how lonely it must've been for Remus Lupin all those twelve years - being the friend who was left behind.