One of the many rotten things about living in a Muggle oriented world was that Ron felt like he couldn't advance. Yeah, all right, he could help prevent the apocalypse and defend the mates that he'd made her fine and well to the best of his ability, but there were certain situations in which Ron knew that he'd never be able to move forward. Specifically, when it came down to what he did with himself on a regular basis. Working around food all day, serving it up to hungry, demanding customers - it wasn't what Ron wanted to do with himself for the rest of his life. Of course, that pessimistic side of himself had long since deemed it entirely impossible that he live long enough to do anything else even if there were something else for him to do, because if the demons didn't kill him first, the aftermath of that future that they'd all been sent into certainly would. That didn't stop Ron from wondering. Where would he be now if he were back home? Would he still be fighting in the war? Would he be going back to Hogwarts once You-Know-Who had been defeated? Or would he simply be seeking out a position of employment someplace about the Ministry, finally fulfilling his dream of becoming a full time Auror?
Tiredly, Ron rubbed at the back of his neck, boots crunching against the snow as he walked. He was only just getting off from another day of bustling about the restaurant (his managers didn't believe in snow days, it seemed), so the only particular thing that Ron had in mind as he walked was shoving off into the apartment complex, kicking into something warmer than his work attire, and passing out tucked away all nice and warm in his and Steph's bed. That and, of course, finding some way to keep himself from thinking about his very likely fate of forever being a server versus ultimately up and getting himself killed by the apocalypse. Hmm. Decisions, decisions. Which would be less painful? Tending to angry, bitter customers for years on end or being ripped apart by demons, zombies, or even the Devil himself? As of now, Ron was fairly convinced that they were both equally matched by way of comparison.
Gloomily, Ron tugged up the zipper to his jacket, blue eyes darting upward to skim at his surroundings as he walked. The apartment complex was slowly falling into his line of sight with every step that he took, right along with a bob of ginger hair moving about alongside it. Briefly, all of Ron's moody thoughts about his career, future, and even the damned cold of winter itself went out the window and was quickly replaced with a hint of mischief. He may not have been as high up on the prank war scale as his twin brothers, but Ron was still a Weasley. He still knew how to have a good laugh, should the opportunity present itself. It was brilliant, having his brother around again, and Ron knew that if anything in the world could make his dreary evening brighten in the slightest, it would be actually accomplishing to one-up his older brother. Grinning, Ron dropped down to a knee and scooped up a ball of snow with a pair of gloved hands. He tossed it upward and caught it, pleased that it was firm enough to be thrown without falling apart. Then, quietly, Ron ducked to the side, dropped down behind a nearby tree, and waited. When Fred had his back turned, Ron took aim, pulled his arm back, and let the snowball spiral out across the stretch of space between them. It spiraled fast, soaring directly for the back of Fred's unsuspecting head.