For Sandy the Older who wanted ron/remus, "heir, hanging, gag".

No one has to tell Ron he's been bitten.

First of all, he's not likely ever to forget the act itself, those huge jaws, the searing pain in his leg, the all too brief thought that it wasn't a wolf at all, it couldn't be, it was just Sirius, wasn't it, and then the deeper knowledge that no, no it wasn't a wolf, not by half. More than that, though, he's different now. Hermione says he's not, insists it tearfully, and Harry backs her up because he's Harry, but they're neither of them Ron, and they're both of them Muggle-raised, aren't they? Ron knows. He feels it coursing through him, strength and hunger and a million things he can't put a name to, or won't. He feels it, and he knows it, and he sees it in his mother's eyes.

Fred and George and Ginny joke about it, about how'll he'll be extra strong now ("finally you'll grow some hair, eh mate?"), and Bill and Dad watch him, talk about how he'd better take Potions now after all, but Mum is determined to act like nothing's changed, and somehow that's worst of all. Except the worst part is that he's a werewolf.

He gags on the words the first time he says them aloud, when he wakes up in St. Mungo's in the middle of the night, that first night, and Mum and Dad have been sent away but Lupin's in a chair by his beside, alert, sad, looking not at Ron but at the just-waning moon.

"I'm a were--," he says, and then, "Oh, God," and he's sixteen, isn't he, sixteen-year-olds don't cry, but he shakes uncontrollably and Lupin watches him.

The second time the words come pouring out, filled with anger, hanging in the air of the Burrow. His mum covers her motuh as if she said it, as if by clapping her hand to her lips she can pull the words back in, but Ron just wants to throw things. That, and return to Hogwarts.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will--"

"Dumbledore can't risk the school, Dad, not with everyone knowing." He flexes his fingers, which are longer now, and imagines curling them round Malfoy's wrist, watching that white skin grow even paler as he cuts the circulation off. It does wonderful things towards making him relax, and is just one more sign that he's different. "Anyway, at least the Order can--"

"You are NOT joining the Order! You get into enough trouble without. with."

"Mum," Ron says.

She sits, falling heavily into the chair. Her hands work her apron into knots. "You're just a boy."

"I'm a werewolf," he says, and this time it comes out naturally, as though it's a perfectly ordinary thing to be. And his mum wants to pretend that it is, which is how he ends up back at Headquarters, spending his days being tutored by Mad-Eye Moody and Professor Lupin.

"Better than being Heir of Slytherin," Moody offers by way of consolation. Ron shrugs--Voldemort's just a part-human like the rest of them.

* * *

Before (before being when he was fifteen and worried mostlyy about making the Quidditch Team and getting laid and whether his face looked spotty or freckled) he had thought it would be wizard, the Order, filled with secret meetings and comings and goings and code words and things like in Aurelius Altabank, Unspeakable, but it turns out mostly it's boring.

The house is empty, for starters, unless something important's going on, and then Ron's stuck in his room because the fact remains he's underaged, even if he is done with school. It's mostly just Moody adn Ron in the daytime, and Lupin and Ron at night. His mum comes by to cook a lot at first, but Ron avoids her whenever possible, as she only makes him feels worse. After a bit she leaves, and he feels even worse than before.

Lupin doesn't talk much, but Ron doesn't feel like conversation so it all works out. They sit in the library and Lupin reads reports and Ron plays chess with himself and thinks.

He didn't sit quietly before; he always fidgeted and made little noises. It used to drive Hermione crazy. Ever since the brain, though, he's found himself suddenly realizing half an hour has passed, and all he's done is write an essay or saved the world or worked out all the ways he will die so Harry Potter lives. It's this last part that gets to him, the night before the full moon, and makes him edgy.

Or perhaps he's edgy because of the moon itself, because of who--what--he is, because his blood is hot and his skin itches and he wants to throw his head back and scream.

"It gets easier."

He'd forgotten Lupin was there (how could he forget, when the man's scent is everywhere?) and he jumps about ten feet in the air.

"You get used to it." It's the first thing Lupin's told him about being a werewolf. In the hospital, he just sat while Ron lost it, and obligingly acted from them on as though Ron hadn't sobbed through his shirt despite being both sixteen and male.

"I don't want to get used to it."

"You get used to that, too."

Ron snorts, and then the moon disappears behind some clouds and he feels better.

* * *

He can't quite imagine what the change feels like without the Wolfsbane Potion, but there most be some measure of solace at least in not knowing that you're ripping your skin off and revealing the worst of yourself for all to see. If he were a Slytherin he'd scream, but Weasleys always Sort into Gryffindor so he bites his tongue until it bleeds and trots over to the hearth rug next to Lupin, who's warm. As a human he'd never burrow down next to his professor, but they're neither of them human, so when Lupin cleans the last traces of blood from his fur he only whines, resigned, and settles down beside him.

Sleep comes, with flashes of running and chasing, flesh in his nose, and the world is grey and black and the white, white moon above and Lupin beside him, loping through the woods, and then there's pain and when he wakes a second time he's naked and settled into Lupin's arms.

It should be embarrassing, but they don't need civility with each other, do they? Not when they both know what the other one wants to do, deep down where they won't admit it and even Snape can't bring it to light. Lupin knows him better now than Harry did in six years. Lupin is him. It ought to be a betrayal--Harry would think it is, but he knows Harry, and a part of him must be relieved taht Ron won't always be going along on the fights, when Ron is the first one hurt, every time. He finds that that thought hurts more than knowing Harry can't understand him, because a part of him still feels entitled to being Harry's most needed friend. But then, he's a werewolf and a Weasley, isn't he--doubly entitled to nothing.

He dresses slowly, already feeling old, feelign a stranger in his own skin.

"You get used to this, too," Lupin offers.

Because it's Lupin, Rons says the truth, "I never figured I'd be alive long enough to get used to anything."

Lupin tells him, "me too."