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The weeks after.
It was still hard to walk up the stairs past Fred and George's old bedroom, but it was getting easier. He died for the war, he did it willingly, he told himself numerous times, but that didn't make it any better that one of his brothers was dead and was never coming back. Having Harry and Hermione around made it easier, though; somehow, they helped to ease the pain. Now that the war was over, they could go back to discussing things like normal--but had they ever really discussed normal things ever since they had known each other? Truth be told, now that the war was over, they didn't have much to talk about. For the past few years it had been all about the war, save for the random moments of happiness they shared by the lake or on the Quidditch Pitch.

Ron was ready to get back out on the Pitch; he was ready to play with his brothers and sister and Harry once more--but they would be short a beater, and it all came back to the overwhelming hole that was present and looming over their heads.

His room was becoming one of his only places of refuge. At the present moment, he found himself flipping absentmindedly through the most recent issue of Quidditch Monthly, glad that there was still that bit of normalcy in his life. Today was one of the better days; he hadn't heard his mother crying once yet, and Ginny was currently trying to plan out a family tournament of Gobstones, Exploding Snap, and Wizard's Chess to happen within the next week, instead of comforting Molly. He flipped the page from one article about the season nearing its end; they were gearing up for the next World Cup soon, and Ron was hoping to go.