Ron collapsed into an old armchair, breathing heavily. Durmstrang? Death Eaters? His father was right; it was to be expected for a school who’s old Headmaster taught his pupils Dark Arts to be a prime recruiting spot for Voldemort and his Death Eaters. But then, his mother was right; Children? He did not think Voldemort would stoop so low as to hire kids to be his bodyguards. But then, what if it wasn’t the students he was recruiting, but the graduates…
“Ron?” Hermione asked, her chocolate eyes peering from behind the letter in her hands.
He looked up from his knees. “Yeah?”
“Are you alright?” She set the letter down on her lap and looked at him wearily.
“Oh. Yes, fine.” Ron replied with a thin smile, sitting up straighter.
Hermione nodded. “Are you sure? You look a little….”
“Yup. Just spiffy.” Ron said. He stood up and walked over to Hermione, sitting next to her on the couch. The urge to explain to her what he had heard was overwhelming, but he had promised his father; the prospect of facing his father again because he had broken his promise… “So. How’s Vicky?” he asked in a determinedly casual tone.
Hermione looked as if she was trying to contain a scowl. “I don’t know. This,” she held up the letter, “isn’t from Viktor. It’s from my mother.” Ron’s mood lightened considerably at those words. “However…” she pointed to a thick scroll on the end table next to her. “That one is from Viktor.”
“I should have known,” Ron said with a weak smile, looking at the scroll. His eyes widened as he recounted their fourth year at Hogwarts. Viktor had come from Durmstrang to compete. Durmstrang. He had even used foul play to get his way. But…didn’t someone say he was under the Imperius curse…? He had gone to Durmstrang. He had been taught the Dark Arts. He could just have easily used the Arts on his own accord. There was no getting rid of something you knew, was there?
Why was he worrying? What was there to be worried about; Hermione and Krum were just pen pals, nothing more. No physical presence involved. Hermione was not in any danger conversing with a Durmstrang graduate that may or my not be a Death Eater anyway. “Go on, then! Read it, what’re you waiting for…?”
“What makes you think I was waiting at all?” Hermione said with false indignation. “The owl just came a few minutes ago. I had to finish reading the one from my mum”I have my priorities, you know.” With a smile she set her mother’s letter aside, picked up the letter from Viktor, and disappeared behind it.
Ron watched as her eyes sped from left to right and back again, all down the length of the parchment, the sunlight light danced in her chocolate colored irises, causing them to sparkle in a way he had never noticed before. Captivated by their brilliance, he jerked back to reality at Hermione’s brisk gasp. “What? What is the matter?”
Hermione looked up from the letter, beaming. “Viktor’s going to be in Hogsmeade this Saturday, and he’s asked to meet me at the Three Broomsticks!”
Something hot boiled inside his stomach so that his fists clenched and his ears turned red. Ron chewed the inside of his cheek as some sort of something clawed at the lining of his stomach. They’re going on a…date…?
“Ron…?”
He became aware that Hermione’s hand was on his shoulder and the clawing slowed a bit. “Hm? Oh! Viktor’s in town? Well, tomorrow’s Saturday, so….I guess you ought to go and uh, plan your day. What you’re going to wear, what you’re going to do …” Ron smiled weakly at her and stood, stretching lazily.
Hermione furrowed her brow. “What is that suppose to mean? We’re just meeting as old friends, you know. See?” She shoved the letter under Ron’s nose, pointing to one of the last sentences.
His scowl beginning to diminish, Ron read the thick, chunky letters Hermione was indicating aloud. “‘Oh, and I ‘ave some news that I hope vill be making you smile. This Saturday I vill be in ze town of ‘Ogsmade--”
“Stop with the accent!” Hermione said, slapping him on the arm.
Ron shrugged. “Sorry, I can’t help it… ‘ze town of ‘Ogsmade. I vas hopink that you could meet me at ze Three Broomsticks; I zink it is important for friends to be seeink each ozer time and again, yes? I await your reply excitedly. Now, back to ze matter of R--’”
“Okay, you can stop reading! I’ve proved my point!” Hermione said hastily, tugging the parchment out of his hands as Ron began another sentence.
For a moment, she just looked at him. The expression on her face was unreadable, the silence awkward. “What?” he said at last, waving his hand in front of Hermione’s face.
Hermione hesitated, then rolled up the letter. “I just…expected you to…Nevermind.”
“Expected me to be angry you’re meeting Krum? Expected me to start a row with you?” Ron suggested, a smile twitching in the corners of his mouth.
Hermione nodded guiltily. “Actually, yes… Don’t’ get me wrong, I mean…you two didn’t exactly get along the last time you met. Autograph or not…” She cocked her head and smiled in a slightly confused fashion. “How did you…?”
“There’s the ol’ womens’ intuition again…” Ron replied, dodging the moth-eaten pillow Hermione had thrown at his head.
“Hey! Who chucked the pillow?” Ginny asked, catching the cushion before it hit her face.
Hermione gave a feeble little wave. “Sorry, Gin. I was aiming at Ron, but I guess his women’s intuition told him to duck…”
Ginny cocked an eyebrow. “Okay…” Shaking her head, Ginny walked around to the back of the sofa, smacked her brother on the head with the pillow, and read the letter over Hermione’s shoulder. “Wow. So, are you going to meet him tomorrow, then?” she asked after a while.
Ron had been gawking at his sister all the while she was reading the letter over Hermione’s shoulder. “W-wait a minute. Let me get this straight--”
“Yes. We were just discussing the matter.” Hermione replied, ignoring Ron’s blabbering.
“Ginny can read the letter, but--”he stuttered before he was interrupted again. Ginny pushed him towards the other end of the couch and sat in his former spot.
“Is that where Ron’s womens’ intuition comes in?” she asked with a smirk.
Hermione laughed, nodding. “Yes, I guess it is.”
Ron stared in confusion as his sister turned to face him. “Hey, you’ve got womens’ intuition? Guess that means you’re not a bogies member anymore, eh?” she said, reaching over to peel the pendant off her brother’s chest. Ron watched as the pin quivered in his sister’s hands; he felt it reappear on his robes before he even realized Ginny’s hand was empty.
“No. Guess not…” he said with a frown, touching the pin on his chest.
Ginny put her head on Ron’s shoulder. “Aw, don’t worry Ronnickens. I’m sure you’ll get over your git-ness one day….”
“Hmm. Thanks, Gin. I can feel my self-esteem returning already…” Ron scoffed, pushing her off his shoulder. “But back to other matters; how come Ginny can read your letter, but I can’t?”
“Because, I like her best!” Hermione exclaimed with a smirk.
“Ha ha, very funny. Lemme see it,” he replied, snatching at the letter.
“Come off it, Ron!” Ginny shouted, pushing his hand away and slamming him on the head with a pillow.
“Oy,” he whined, rubbing his head. As he made another grab at the letter, Ginny released the pillow and instead smacked him in the face with the palm of her hand. “I’ve had enough abuse for today. I’ll just leave you two to talk about girly things. I’m going to….” Ron smirked and cocked his head, twirling a lock of ginger hair around his finger. “Figure out what I’m going to do with my hair for my date with Vicky tomorrow!” With a final high-pitched squeal, Ron dodged out of the den and ran up the stairs, far away from the flying pillows and couch cushions.
On the outside, he was climbing up the stairs one at a time, smiling as he listened to Ginny and Hermione laughing a few walls away. But inside, Ron was far from laughing; he didn’t know what was worse; Hermione being alone with a former Durmstrang student, or Hermione being alone with Viktor Krum.
And then it hit him:
“What if Hermione doesn’t have to be alone with either of them?”
“And just how do you plan on being there with her, Ronnickens?” Fred asked, peeking out of the bathroom door.
George nodded vigorously over his twin’s shoulder. “Oh yes! Do tell!”
A smile formed on his freckled face as the plan formulated within in mind’s eye, and Ron walked straight past his brothers, ignoring the antagonistic shrieks emitting from their mouths. It was perfect timing to do it, and the setup could not have been better; it would be a day of progress…. Closing his bedroom door behind him, Ron made a mental note to thank Viktor at one point or another.
The next morning, Ron awoke, not to the sound of his mother banging on his bedroom door, but to the echoing screams of a dream world Hermione being cursed by a hooded Quidditch player. He sat pin-straight in his bed, wide-awake. A glance out his window at the red-orange sky told him just how early it was; the sun was barely above the horizon. Ron kicked his legs over the side of his bed and stood, stretching lazily. Yawning widely, he changed into his robes, sighing with contempt as the pin appeared on his chest; the background matching his robes seamlessly, and the letters contrasting perfectly.
He carefully crept down the stairs, visions of the day’s coming events playing in his mind’s eye. Ron kept his hand in his robe pocket, partly to keep the rattling of coins from waking his family, but mostly to feel the surface of the cool metal on the tips of his fingers. He had never been awake before everybody before, and the feeling was ominous. The house was quiet; he could not remember a time in his life where everything was still and peaceful within the Weasley household...
Correction, the entire house was not quiet. As Ron passed the bathroom, he distinctly heard somebody behind the door; and the noises were not pleasant. Furrowing his brow, Ron pressed his ear against the door and knocked lightly. “Hello?”
“Bill?” The door swung open with such swiftness that Ron had nearly stumbled forward. “Ron! What are you doing up?” Mrs. Weasley asked, looking harassed; the curlers in her hair were lying pell-mell atop her head and her bathrobe was on backwards.
Ron studied his mother scrupulously. “What the bloody hell happened to you?”
A blush rising in her cheeks, Mrs. Weasley turned and rummaged around the bathroom sink. When she turned back to Ron, she held a lavender shower cap in her trembling hand. “Fred and George…”
Ron smiled knowingly. “Ah. Well, at least it didn’t catch fire this time, eh?”
“Yes, yes. Well, head on downstairs to the kitchen. I will meet you in a moment. Just let me change, and then I’ll get to work on breakfast.”
Twenty minutes and eleven muffins later, Mrs. Weasley skittered into the kitchen with a thin smile on her face. “You never answered my question,” she said, placing a skillet on the stove and pouring pancake batter onto it from the tip of her wand.
Ron took a moment to answer, allowing the aroma of the sweet batter to fill him up. “Why I’m up so early?”
“Yes. For all the sixteen years I’ve known you, Ron, not once have you been awake before your father or myself.” She paused for a moment with glassy look in her eyes, breaking out of her dream-like trance with a sigh. “Even as a baby you’d sleep from dusk until dawn….” his mother replied airily.
Ron snorted at his mother’s tone and shrugged. “Dunno. Bad dream, I guess. Nothing really.”
“Morning, Molly!” Mr.Weasley said brightly, striding into kitchen. He kissed his wife on the forehead. “How’re you feeling? Any better?”
Mrs. Weasley smiled pointedly and cocked her head, summoning a platter from the cupboard. “What do you mean, Arthur? I’m fine! Did you say good morning to your son?”
Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Bill’s here?”
“G’morning, dad!” Ron said cheerfully. His brows furrowed in amused confusion; surely his voice hadn’t deepened so much over the summer that his own family would mistake it for that of his much older brother.
“Ron? Well, you’re up curiously early!” he replied, turning on his heel and smiling at his son. Taking a cup of tea from his wife and downing it in one swig, Mr.Weasley bid goodbye to his wife and son, and apparated to the Ministry.
After secretly stuffing another muffin into his mouth, Ron turned to his mother. “What did dad mean ‘How’re you feeling?’ I didn’t know you were feeling bad at all.”
Mrs. Weasley smiled and shook her head, placing the platter of pancakes on the table. “Nevermind, dear. Don’t worry. I’m perfectly fine…No!” she finished, slapping Ron’s hand away from the pancakes.
“Oy…! Fine. If I can’t eat yet, what can I do?” he asked, taking another bite of muffin while his mother’s back was turned.
“Go to the fridge, and pull out the milk, orange juice, and marmalade.”
With a longing sigh towards the platter, Ron stood and strode lazily to the battered refrigerator. Retrieving the items his mother had instructed, along with a few other, pocket-sized things she hadn’t, he stumbled back to the table and placed the pitchers and the marmalade on the table. “There! Is that it?”
“I suppose…” Mrs. Weasley replied as she levitated several sausage links onto the large plate next to the pancakes.
“So…when do we eat?” he asked, stuffing a jellyroll into his mouth.
Molly tapped the skillet with her wand and the bacon began to sizzle. “As soon as everybody gets up. But, today’s breakfast will be considerably soon, seeing as you are already awake and dressed.”
“Who’s awake and dressed already, Mrs. Weasley?” Hermione asked as she stepped through the kitchen door, brushing her hair.
“My son,” Mrs. Weasley said with a smile.
“Really? So, Bill’s here?”
“Why does everybody think I’m Bill?” Ron cried in mock despair.
Hermione turned on her heel to face the kitchen table, catching Ron’s eye. “Oh! I’m sorry, Ron. I just…didn’t expect you to be up so early…” she said, tucking a loose strand of bushy hair behind her ear.
“Apparently neither did anyone else…” he mumbled. “Why are you up so early, then? Excited about your date with Vicky?”
Hermione shook her head and, unless Ron was mistaken, looked a little hurt. “No. I’m always awake about now….And it’s not a date, Ron. We’re just meeting as friends.”
Mrs. Weasley shot her Ron a warning look, having apparently caught Hermione’s tone and knowing, since Ron was his father’s son, that he probably hadn’t. She turned her gaze back to the bacon. “You’re meeting an old friend, Hermione? Who, if you don’t mind my asking? I’m afraid the name Vicky doesn’t ring a bell…”
Hermione sat next to Ron. “It shouldn’t, seeing as nobody but Ronald calls him that. I’m just going to meet Viktor at the Three Broomsticks a bit later.”
Ron scowled at the platter of pancakes, imagining he saw Viktor staring out at him from the doughy depths. As he felt his ears grow red, Ron slipped his hand into his robe pocket to touch the little slip of paper; Vicky didn’t stand a chance.
“Oh. ThatVicky. Well, have fun with that, dear. What time is it, I wonder…?” Mrs. Weasley replied, carrying the plate of bacon to the table.
Ron looked at his watch, using the moment to hastily swallow the biscuit he had placed into his mouth seconds before. “Half past eight…”
“The twins should be down any min--”
“Already here, mum!” George said, taking his seat at the table.
“On time, as usual!” Fred exclaimed, sitting next to George.
“Unlike someone we know…”
Mrs. Weasley smiled. “Good morning, boys. Hermione? Is Ginny up yet?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes. She--”
“Is right here!” Ginny said, bounding through the door and practically sliding into her chair.
“Alright! Everybody’s here; tuck in!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed before turning to rummage in the fridge.
“Everybody?” the twins said together.
Ginny looked at her mother, confused. “Is Charlie here?”
“Well, at least it wasn’t Bill…” Hermione said out of the corner of her mouth, smiling at Ron.
Ron laughed despite himself. “Enough talk; I’ve been staring at this food for nearly an hour, let’s just eat already!” Ron grabbed his fork and piled several Vicky shaped pancakes onto his plate. Stabbing and cutting them murderously with his knife, he found a certain pleasure in mutilating the breakfast cakes, and then suffocating them under an ocean of maple syrup. As he scooped some of the sausages onto his plate, Ron caught sight of his mother searching in the pantry. “What’re you looking for, mum?”
“Pickles…” she replied distractedly.
“Huh?” he asked through a mouthful of bacon.
Mrs. Weasley straightened up. “Hmm? Nothing. I was looking for some pickles, that’s all. I saw this delicious looking recipe in Witch Weekly last night, and I wanted to try it. But…we’re out of pickles, so…” she trailed off and took her seat at the table.
“Well, thanks for breakfast, mum!” Fred said thirty minutes later, standing up.
George stood as well. “Off to the office.”
“It’s a bit early, isn’t it” Ron asked.
Ginny shook her head. “No. They usually leave around nine on Saturdays.”
“It’s our busiest day of the week!” the twins exclaimed in unison before apparating to their joke shop.
Ron stuffed one last piece of bacon into his mouth and stood as well, stretching lazily. “If Hogsmeade is busiest on Saturdays, then I better get going. You, too, Hermione.”
Hermione picked up her plate, and then Ron’s. “Why…?” she asked, circling around the other side of the table to clear the twins’ plates.
“You have to meet Viktor, don’t you?”
Mrs. Weasley took the plates from Hermione. “I think she’s asking why you have to run off to Hogsmeade, Ron.”
“Precisely.” Hermione added, nodding.
Ron shrugged. “It’s not a crime to do a little window shopping, is it?”
“Quite a coincidence you would choose today to do it. You aren’t going to make a complete prat of yourself in front of Viktor, are you?” Hermione asked in a pleading tone.
“No. Who said I was going to be anywhere near the toerag, anyway?” Ron said, raising his voice a bit more than he meant to.
“He is not a toerag!” Hermione heaved an exasperated sigh. “I’m not going to get into a row with you over this, Ron. It’s ridiculous!”
“Run along Hermione, I’ll take care of him,” Mrs. Weasley said, shooing her towards the fireplace. With a smiled ‘thank you’, Hermione disappeared in a whirlwind of green flame. Mrs. Weasley rounded on her son. “You are not going there to make a fool of yourself, are you?” she questioned in a tone that suggested it was more of a demand.
Ron shook his head. “No, I was just going to Hogsmeade to window shop, I’ve said that.”
“And you are not going to make a fool out of anyone else?” his mother asked pointedly. “No matter what you think of them?”
Ron’s eyes flashed. “No. I am not planning to make a fool out of Krum,” he scratched his left arm and caught his mother’s eye. “No matter what I think of him,” he finished, giving his arm a final, merciless itch.
Mrs. Weasley nodded slowly. “Alright. Good boy. Off you go, then.”
Ron padded over to the fireplace, took and handful of Floo powder, and stepped under the mantle. “Hogsmeade!” he shouted, and disappeared in a gust of emerald fire.
“We ought to pick up something at the Apothecary for his itch, mum. Could be a rash from something he touched in the garden yesterday…” Ginny said, taking a sip of her orange juice.
Mrs. Weasley shook her head in a distracted sort of way. “No, no…I think he’ll be fine…”