closed: ronald fuckin' weasley

[george_goesboom]

The past few days had most certainly been, well, eventful. The Burning Man ('Men', rather) had been rounded up and charged without the courtesy of Muggle relations being able to intervene, the Burns ward at St-Mungo's had become a proper feeding ground for journalists of a more unsavory nature, and Harry Potter had taken a proper beating (both

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[whythespiders]

As unpredictable as Ron's schedule was, he couldn't actually sleep in bars or his office all the time. Plus, showers were a thing that were awesome. Ron was pretty damn fond of his shower. He was in the middle of toweling off his hair and determining if he was going to do the sleep thing when he heard the knock.

Probably for Harry. It was always for Harry. And if it was Hermione, he was slamming the door right in her snide, beautiful fucking face.

Except, no, not even close.

"You live."

[george_goesboom]

Of course. Ronald.

"Oh. You. Please, don't sound so thrilled on my account." He didn't bother waiting for an invitation, simply shoved his way past his stupid little brother (taking care to use the shoulder that wasn't still sending off occasional twinges of pain to bump against Ron's unclothed one). Even if Harry wasn't here, he remembered that he had a few choice words to share with this one. Either way, it wouldn't be a wasted trip. He did so very much enjoy getting to condescendingly address his idiot baby brother.

"Your roommate isn't around, is he?"

[whythespiders]

"I tend to be thrilled when you're not dead. Less thrilled when you're almost dead because you're all bloody stupid," Ron shrugged. He probably should have tried harder to visit and verify signs of life before George had gotten released, but Jacobs had been there every time and there was only so much Ron could deal with in a day.

"Nope," he shrugged, yanking a shirt off the back of the sofa and shrugging it on. "Probably taking care of Skylar, if I had to guess."

[george_goesboom]

"You're welcome, by the way. For, y'know, doing your job for you. No big deal. I'll be sure to leave the hostages to die next time."

George casually walked around the sofa and plopped himself down on it, stretching his legs out to cross his ankles on top of the coffee table. He raised an eyebrow, nudging the nearly empty firewhiskey bottle on the tabletop with his foot. "How's your budding alcoholism coming along?"