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Muggleborns Know Best

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The only person who understood the Muggle game Monopoly was Harry, and even then, that boy couldn’t be bothered to sit down the whole time. And yet, it was him who brought it with him from his aunt and uncle’s place - it was his cousin Dudley’s once upon a time before he’d discovered the Sony PlayStation - and then all the Weasley’s in the Burrow were sitting in to play. First to read the rules was Mr Weasley, but then when he couldn’t understand the fake paper muggle game money, he handed the rules to Ron.

The problem with playing a muggle boardgame with your boyfriend? He thinks he knows everything.

Sitting in the lounge room with the little table moved out of the way was you, Harry, Ginny, Ron, George, Charlie and Hermione. Harry decided to be banker, and Ginny decided to oversee the real estate cards after she realised just how easy a job that would be. Currently, George had scammed his brothers out of three properties, and somehow made rent almost $500 monopoly dollars more than the amount it was supposed to be. Hermione had bought out all the yellow and red properties, and when you bought the third blue-grey card from Ginny, it was then when Ron decided to pipe up.

“You can’t mortgage, that’s not a real word,” he said, huffing hard enough to make his longish red hair fly from out of his face.

“Er, Ron, a mortgage is a muggle thing, like this game is,” you reply. “and I’m doing it with this property,” you turn to Ginny, passing her the card back to go through with the action.

“It’s not,” he cried out, almost sounding aghast. “You’re cheating!”

George tidied his hotels on the dark blue properties, ignoring Ron. Charlie scratched at the stubble by the corner of his mouth, counting his muggle monopoly money nervously. Hermione glanced to you, almost waiting for the pin to drop for her to lay into him.

But you didn’t give her a signal.

“Okay wizard -,” you narrow your eyes, “go on and lecture the muggle-born on muggle things,” you retort.

You’re beginning to feel hot under the collar as the rising anger that comes to warm your face with a tinge of fury. You look at the card of The Angel Islington card that you had in your hands and tossed it into the centre of the board along with the free parking money that’s mostly Charlie’s.

“________, don’t -,” Harry starts to say.

You round on him too, feeling the anger monster stirring at him too. “You prats keep playing.” You get up, and march out of the room, only turning to say, looking into Ron’s eyes, “Screw you.”


Mrs Weasley didn’t understand just why you were volunteering with helping cook lunch, but it helped to be away from Ron while your anger simmered. You? Cheat? Hardly! You’d been playing that game for years before you even knew about Hogwarts and all the other wizarding games. If it wasn’t you who knew it best, you’d wager that Hermione knew it like the back of her hand too. Halfway through peeling the potatoes by hand - yes, you were that angry - Ginny joined you, rolling her sleeves up.

“Just so you know, I’ve got the balls in the family. But what you did?” she grinned, digging her elbow into your ribs playfully. “Legendary.”

After lunch, you decided to take your portion outside, sitting with your knees to your chest and lunch eaten. A few gnomes from the garden took the leftovers from your plate, and you didn’t mind at all. Nobody joined you, and you were glad. When you heard the back door open, you walked off, not bothering to check who it was before grabbing the Shooting Star from beside the house and flying away from confrontation.

Who knew that taking time away from getting into trouble at Hogwarts would lead to making more trouble out of it?


The next morning, you woke up in Ron’s room.

Unless someone levitated you into his bed in the middle of the night, you were sure that non-magically, you fell asleep in the Burrow’s lounge room the night previous. There was enough decorative pillows on the older couch to keep you comfortable, and Fred had donated one of his blankets to you so you wouldn’t freeze; he hadn’t been a part of the mess, and after checking the blanket wasn’t jinxed in anyway, you accepted it gratefully.

Except, you weren’t on the couch. You were under the blanket’s in Ron’s room, and beside you, he slept on, the touch of sunlight that broke through the gap in the blinds filtering across his face. Sleeping, he looked so sweet; his hair fell over his eyes, freckles vibrant after the latest season of Quidditch. You realised after he shifted that his arms were around you, and your hands were tucked against his chest. Under your fingertips, you could almost hear the thumping of his heartbeat, as if he was a puppy, and the beat was a tail wagging in earnest.

Whatever he was dreaming of, it was something pleasant.

“…how?” you whispered. Your voice was so soft, it was barely even spoken.

You tried to shift from the embrace, feeling the anger coursing your veins from the day previous once again. But no matter if you could apparate or not from your boyfriend’s bed, you were so entangled that it was impossible. It was either your movement, or because you’d spoken, but Ron stirred, and you met his eyes with your own.

“’morning,” he said.

Despite the anger, your heart beat a little faster at his words. “How did I -,”

Ron shifted, the blankets falling from his chest. Even though sometimes you’d sneak into the Gryffindor boy’s dormitories when Filch and Mrs Norris weren’t so attentive, it still made you like a heart struck first year every time you inadvertently see Ron without his shirt. In the moment you were still, Ron scooched closer, his blanket-warmed body scooping into your side, spooning you. Ever since his last growth spurt, he had no clue how to use all his limbs, but for once, they worked in unison, holding you close.

“You’re right, I was a prat,” Ron started to say, voice low, apologetic. “and I deserved to be screwed over. I really don’t know much about muggle things,” he said.

“Is this an apology?” you asked him.

Ron nodded, a sad look on his face. “Yeah. It sucked so bad after you left. Hermione made me read a book on muggle laws or something and the twins gave me shit for talking to you like that.” He swallowed, and, a beat passed, before he said, “I’m sorry I accused you of cheating.”

You huff, slightly less worked up. “Thank you,” you whisper, and moving in the embrace, you place your head against his chest. “…it wasn’t just them which made you do this, yeah?” you asked Ron, looking up into his eyes.

He paused before answering you. His face flushed crimson, easily done with his pale skin. “I…I missed you,” he started to say. “I couldn’t sleep, and…I carried you up.”

You reached up and pecked him upon the lips. “You’re such a prat,” you laughed softly, cradling his face in your hands.

“Yeah…” he agreed. “But I’m your prat.”