Did I miss something?
As Ron climbed up the staircase to his bedroom, those words wafted through his tired mind endlessly. He was not the least bit sleepy, not in the physical sense, but there really wasn’t very much else to do now that everyone else had gone to bed. He climbed up the rickety stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible, his blue eyes glued to the wood, counting the stairs out of boredom.
“…Twenty eight…twenty nine…thir”oy!” Ron grimaced as he collided with someone wearing a light purple nightgown and slippers; he guessed that it was not one of the twins he had run into. Rubbing his head and looking down, he saw Hermione grinning up at him. “Oh, hullo ‘Mione. Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to knock you over…”
“Its alright, Ron! Its okay…” she said from her spot on the floor.
Ron extended his hand to help her up, smiling dumbly. “There. Now we’re even! Spit in the face verses a hit in the face.”
“Okay, I guess that’s fair.” Hermione laughed and allowed Ron to pull her up.
Ron nodded and smiled. “Well, you should get off to bed then, before Ginny sends out a search party or something.”
“Right. Erm…Ron?”
“Yeah?”
“I need my hand back.”
“Oh! Oh, right, sorry…” Ron blushed and let go of Hermione’s hand, tucking his now free hand into his robe pocket. “Good night, then…”
“Good night!” Hermione called as she made her way down the stairs.
Ron watched as Hermione disappeared into Ginny’s bedroom door, chewing the inside of his cheek. With a sigh, he continued his trek up the stairs. Thoughts of the letter were still surging through his mind. It wasn’t like Hermione to keep secrets…or at least he didn’t think it was. What sort of letter would cause such a reaction from Fred and George? Surely she wasn’t doing anything illegal…No. He had to draw the line there. Maybe he was just making a big deal out of nothing. The letter was probably a personal one…that’s it. It was probably to her parents or something. It wasn’t any of his business, anyway.
“Hey, Ron!” Fred called from his bedroom door just as Ron passed it.
“Yeah?” Ron asked, walking back towards his brother.
George stuck his head out the door, beaming. “I need my hand back!” he squealed, and the twins burst out laughing.
Ron’s ears turned red as he stepped into their room. “Mind your own business,” he hissed.
“Oh I think you’d better be nicer to us, Ron!” barked Fred.
Ron sat carefully on one of their beds. “Why should I? You two set my knickers on fire.”
“Because we know who the letter’s to,” the twins declared in gleeful unison.
Ron’s face fell. “Well…its none of my business, so why should give a hippogriff's hide?”
“I think if you knew, you’d care a lot, Ron. More so than even our dear Hermione knows…” proclaimed Fred in a knowing tone.
“And why is that?” asked Ron, becoming rather annoyed.
“Because of how you acted at the Yule Ball…” George said with a sigh.
“Yule Ball? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything, our dear little brother,” Fred cooed. He stood and waved his fingers in a mock mysterious fashion in front of Ron’s face. “Think…. Remember…think…”
Ron bit his lip and thought back a year and a half. The Yule Ball was part of the Tri-wizard Tournament tradition, he remembered. But what was the significance of that…? “I’m drawing a blank….”
George rolled his eyes, “Do we have to spell it out for you? Do you remember who Hermione went with?” Ron’s eyes narrowed and he nodded. “And how did that make you feel…?”
“Outrageously angry and jeal--” he eyed his brother suspiciously. “What are you getting at?”
Fred sat down on the bed beside Ron and put an arm around his shoulders. “Ron, please tell me you really aren’t this thick! The letter is to Krum! K-R-U-M!”
Ron shrugged off his brother’s arm. It took him a moment to comprehend his Fred’s words, but as soon as he did, Ron froze. He was stone still, staring at a pair of ‘Neon Knickers’ strewn upon a work desk in the corner, his face turning scarlet. Krum? The letter was to…Krum? “Then why doesn’t she just say so?” he said at last.
“You truly are a hopeless case,” said George, shaking his head mournfully. “Do you remember what happened at the ball, young sir?”
“Do the words ‘fraternizing with the enemy’ and ‘hasn’t he asked you to call him Vicky yet’ mean anything to you?” continued Fred.
“And didn’t you two get into a row about a letter to Vicky before, anyway?’”
Ron’s ears blended perfectly with his hair now. He could not believe he had been so dumb. Of course, the letter was to Krum…why shouldn’t it have been? She was probably arranging for him to whisk her away off to Durmstrang palace for the summer holidays…
“So you see, dear brother,” Fred said, standing up to lean against a garbage covered dresser. “Your dear Hermione didn’t want you to find out it was to Krum, so as to avoid another row with you, understand? She hates it when you are mad at her, you know…”
Ron nodded, having stopped truly listening several words ago. “But…why would I start another row with her over a letter?” he exclaimed, laughing nervously. “And to think…I thought she was committing a crime or something…” Ron stood and strode steadily out the door and up the stairs to his bedroom. But now that he knew the truth…why did he still feel like she was commiting a crime?
Fred leaned towards his twin with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “It’s killing him, isn’t it…?”
“Oh yeah…” George replied with a smirk, staring after his brother.
Ron closed his bedroom door and sat down on his bed with a silent sigh, the creaking bedsprings the only noise in the dark room. Chudely Cannon players zoomed across the walls through their posters, tossing the Quaffle this way and that, dodging Bludgers and smiling at Ron. He stripped off his robes and changed into his green pajamas. The new fabric felt rough against his skin, but the sensation was a welcome change to the tattered hand-me-downs he was used to. A recent growth spurt had more or less forced his mother to get him a new set of robes and a pair of pajamas from Hogsmade. True, they weren’t top of the line”but new was new either way.
As he looked out the window, past the frog in the tank and above the spreading branches of the tree at the ebony sky, Ron’s mind raced. The letter was to Krum. Heh, that’s not a big deal. So what? Hermione had made it clear that they were just pen pals--nothing more to it. Why did she”and Fred and George, for that matter”worry so much about his reaction? Why did they think it would bother him?
Because it did.
He sat on the edge of the mattress, hands trembling for some unknown reason. What if she was arranging to visit him? Well…it was her choice, wasn’t it? Ron crept to his door and peeked around the corner, checking if the coast was clear. Satisfied, he shut it quietly, and turned the lock. Ron padded to the chair on the other side of the room and got to his stomach so that he was flat on the floor, head under the rickety stool. He had peeled back a floorboard with great care, when the sound of footsteps echoed outside the door. Ron lifted his head, successfully banging it against the wooden chair. He cursed and froze, listening. The footsteps stopped outside his door, and all was silent for a moment until whoever it was seemed satisfied and made their way back down the steps.
Relief sweeping over him despite the locked door, Ron proceeded to peel the loose floorboard from its resting-place. In the crevice where the board no longer lay was exactly what he was looking for. Ron lifted the tin box from its hiding spot and crawled out from under the chair. He stepped carefully back to his bed and sat down. Opening the lid with trembling hands to expose his few cherished possessions: a picture of Harry, Hermione, and himself taken by Collin Creevey during their third year; his omnioculars; a piece of paper with a twelve digit number on it; and several galleons. He stared at the contents for a moment, letting his temper cool. With a newly steady hand he lifted the picture from the box and placed it on his bedspread, followed by the enchanted binoculars, so that all that was left was the paper and the money. He lifted the little scrap from the box and examined it; shriveled with age and stained from something or another, it appeared merely a useless piece of paper. But he knew better. He knew that the twelve-digit number was a product code from a shop in Diagon Alley. He had torn it out of his mother’s issue of Witch Weekly summer before fourth year, two breakfasts before the World Cup, and he’d been saving up ever since. Ron counted the galleons carefully, wondering if this would be the year he’d be able to get it…
“Bloody Hell…” he said in an undertone. “Thirteen galleons…” Lifting the ticket to eye level and squinting in the dim moonlight, he examined the last two digits of the number. A smile seethed across his face uncontrollably. He had done it; it took nearly two years, but he had done it”and with some gold to spare.
With a light head, Ron returned his belongings to the tin box, closed the lid with a satisfying snap, and placed the little box back beneath the floorboard. He tiptoed back to his bed, crawled beneath the Quaffle laden bedclothes, and drifted into a land that only the mind of a redheaded teenage boy could create.
Ron awoke eleven hours later to the sound of his mother rapping on the door. “Ronald Weasey! It’s noon! GET. UP.” The doorknob jiggled dangerously while the door stayed tightly shut. “Open this door, Ronald Weasley! Before I”oh, what am I saying? ALOHOMORA!” The lock turned to the right in a flash of blue light, and the door swung open. Ron lifted his groggy head to stare at his mother.
“Wha…? Why are you smiling like that?” he said, sitting up.
Mrs.Weasley shook her head. “You know, a pillow is for your head, dear, not your feet…”
Confused, Ron blinked in the sunlight streaming through his window. It took him a moment, but when he came to, Ron realised that he was laying in his bed backwards”his feet at the head of the bed, and his head at the foot. “Urgh…Sorry mum. I didn’t sleep well last night…”
Mrs.Weasley’s smile turned from that of amusement to understanding. “Oh, I see…” she took a seat at the foot of his bed, “You have nothing to worry about, Ron. It’s perfectly normal, you know?”
Ron cocked an eyebrow, “Really?”
“Oh yes. I admit, I had a little trouble sleeping over the exact same matter.”
“You…did?”
Mrs.Weasley nodded and hugged her son tight. “Yes. It is perfectly understandable. That sort of news would come as a shock to anyone. To be honest, I am a little releived that I’m not the only one who took the news a bit hard. Your father found to it hard to swallow as well, of course. Nevertheless,” Ron lifted his head from his mother’s shoulder, confused. “It’s a dilema we’ll just have to face with the ol’ Weasley spirit, you know?”
“Y-yeah…”
“I mean, sure. It is a bit intimidating to have your brother ruling Britain’s magical community, but--”
“Oh! Percy. You’re talking about Percy…”
“Of course, dear. What did you think I was talking about?” Mrs.Weasley asked with a thin smile.
“O-oh. I thought you meant”nevermind. I’m just very confused at the moment.” Ron stuttered, trying to untangle himself from his comforter.
“Aw…” his mother cooed. Mrs.Weasley stood and straightened her robes, kissing her son on the top of his head. Before she turned and disappeared out the door she said over her shoulder, “And get dressed. It’s time for lunch…”
Ron shook his head in confusion and kicked his leg out from the tangle of bedclothes. Eyes dazzled by the mid-day sunlight, he shut the door and made his way to the dresser, pulling out a pair of dark gray robes.
After he had changed and put on a pair of socks, Ron trudged lazily down the long staircase, passing empty bedroom after empty bedroom. Now that the dazzling sunlight was out of his eyes, his mind had unclogged and visions of his early morning nightmares swam before his mind. He leaned against the splintered walls as Viktor Krum showed up at the front door of the Burrow, as Ginny moved into his room and Krum into Ginny’s where Hermione still slept. Ron banged his head against a closed door as Hermione climbed upon the back of that Bulgarian butthead’s Firebolt, suitcases trailing in the tailwind, and flew through the air to some castle in the sky.
“Umm…Ron?” came a feminine voice from around the corner.
Ron lifted his head and took a stumbling step forward, craning his neck around the corner. Several Ginny’s were spinning at the bottom of the stairs; heads cocked to the side and amused smiles on her many faces. “Oh, hello, Ginny…”Ron said in a slur.
“What was all that banging?” she asked, climbing the stairs to steady her brother.
“Oh, I…I tripped and fell down the stairs….”
Ginny nodded. “Right. Come on down for lunch, Ron. Everybody’s waiting for you. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Fine. Oy…Is that…?”
“Chocolate cake? Yeah. Mum just finished icing it before she went upstairs.”
Ron’s vision cleared instantly and a smile crossed his face. “What’re we waiting for, it’s time for lunch! I’m starving…” he bounded down the remaining stairs and skidded into the kitchen, Ginny laughing at his heels.
“Finally!” George cried. “It took you long enough. Can we eat now?”
Mrs.Weasley nodded, forcing a smile, and pointed to an empty chair. “It’s about time. Sit.”
“Gladly!” Ron said as he took his seat at the table across from Hermione. He reached to his right, snatching a plate of ham and lettuce sandwhiches from his little sister, and slapped three onto his plate. Setting the platter back on the table and ignoring the amused protests from his siblings, Ron piled cauliflower and pudding onto his plate as well. Satisfied, he picked up his fork and began to eat his lunch like he had been stranded on a desert island with nothing but coconuts and saltwater for several weeks.
“Slow down!” Hermione said, watching him gobble his food like a pig, disgusted and amused. “It’s supposed to go in your mouth, not on your robes…”
Ron looked down at his gray robes to find an assortment of crumbs and mustard on his chest. He looked at Hermione, smiled carelessly and shrugged, returning to his sandwhiches.
“Just be grateful you’re out of spit range of these two...” Ginny moaned, pretending to wipe bits of food off her face.
“Schug ub!” George growled, mouth full of pudding and scrunching his face up to resemble a short-tempered pug.
Fred nodded, smirking. “Yeah, what he said.”
Ron looked up at George to see why his sister was laughing so much. He caught glimpse of the angry pug look on his brother’s face and started to laugh as well.
Hermione gently placed her fork on the table, looking from Ron to Ginny in confusion. “What’s so funny?”
“Look at him! He looks like that Slytherin girl!” squealed Ginny, pointing at George, who made the face again for Hermione’s benefit.
“What was her name?” Ron croaked, “Daisy…? Violet…? It was some kid of flower that doesn’t suit the broad at all…”
Hermione covered her mouth to hide her laughter, eyes wide. “You mean Pansy? Oh my gosh…” she examined George’s face more closely.
Ron nodded. “Only you have to look a bit more simple minded George, like you think two plus two is five. There we go!”
Ginny stared at her brother. “You look positivley revolting…”
“Then it’s a perfect match!”
“Ron!” Hermione and Mrs.Weasley said together, both giving him eerily similar looks of revulsion. Mrs.Weasley sent a spatula from the kitchen to smack him on the back of his head.
Swatting at the murderous cooking utensile, Ron kept a look of confused innocence on his face. “What? What did I say?” He cast a hopeful, pleading look at Hermione. “Can you help me over here?”
“Sorry, ”she said with her hands raised in front of her, “I’m not of age, therefore I cannot do anything of use to the spatula. Besides; I think you rather deserve it.”
“For”ow”for what? What did I say? Ginny was comparing George’s ugly mug to Pansy as well! Why isn’t she”hey! That hurt!”why isn’t she getting beaten up by a ruddy spatula?”
“I already told you!” Ginny exclaimed through her giggles. “It’s because they like me best!”
“Ginny…” Mrs.Weasley said warningly.
“Sorry.”
“Oy, mum, ” said Fred, “I think you ought to let up before you cause the poor bloke some serious brain trauma.”
“Oh, that’s not possible!” George asserted, taking a final bite of his sandwhich and standing up.
“How so, brother dearest?”
“Because he doesn’t have a brain to damdage!” George howled, soon followed by his brother, but by the time Mrs.Weasley’s army of attacking kitchen utensils had caught up to them, the twins had apparated to their shop.
Releived of the antagonizing spatula, Ron devoured the rest of his lunch with gusto, pausing only to suggest that Hermione finish up so that they could floo to Hogsmade and send her letter.
“Oh, I’ve already sent it,” she said with a smile. “But thanks for considering!”
“You’ve already sent the letter to Krum?” Ron sputtered through his cauliflower.
“Yes. While you were still sl”how did you know it was to Viktor?” Hermione asked, her eyebrows raised and a blush rising in her cheeks.
How could he have been so thick as to let it slip? He couldn’t rat out the twins, that wouldn’t be fair to them. Ron’s mind raced, trying to think of an excuse. At last, he shrugged. “Guess it’s just my womans’ intuition.” Heaving an internal sigh of relief as the questions stopped and Hermione shook her head the way she always did when he said something out of the ordinary”rolling her eyes but smiling that smile”Ron offered to clear the table.