Ron marked the spot in his head as he watched the gnome and owl fall into the forest. He turned on his heel, running past the twins who had started arguing again and towards the house. Yanking open the door, he ran straight by his mother and raced up the steps, two at a time, narrowly missing Percy as he rounded the landing. Finally, he reached his room, throwing open the door as he stormed inside. He strode straight to his closet, tossing out shirts, pants, robes and hats, looking for his broom. When he couldn’t find it there, he dropped to the floor by his bed, pushed aside the dusty ruffle, stuck his head beneath the bed frame and began to pull out the laundry that had been lying beneath it for the last month.
“Ron?” asked a concerned voice from above him. “What in the world are you looking for?”
“My“ow!” he yelled, raising his head and having it meet with the underside of his mattress. “My broom,” he answered shortly, emerging from beneath it, his head spinning. “Have you seen it?”
“It’s in the broom closet, where it’s supposed to be,” she answered. “But“”
“Thanks,” Ron said and dashed from his room.
Minutes later, he was inching over the trees, anxiously looking for a sign of the owl. Pointing the nose of his broom down, he glided over the ground, hoping the owl hadn’t been badly hurt by its fall and cursed the fact that his broom wouldn’t go any faster. He was about to turn around, defeated, when he heard a feeble hoot.
Landing clumsily, he jumped off his broom, pushing aside fallen leaves to uncover the owl, unable to help but notice the bulky parchment letter tied to its leg. Careful not to startle it, he slowly dropped to a crouch, gently picking it up. As he brushed dead leaves from its feathers, he noticed that the owl’s left wing was bent at an unnatural angle. Even more careful now, Ron laid the owl in the crook of his arm and, after untying the letter, pocketed it. Getting onto his broom, Ron rose, cautious and careful not to brush to owl’s wing against anything.
When he was finally in site of the front yard, he screamed down to the twins, “Call Mum!”
“Why?” Fred yelled back. “What’s up?”
“I am, you prat!” Ron yelled back, irritated. “Why the bloody hell does it matter?”
“Jeez. Keep your pants on. I’ll get her,” Fred said, sounding peeved, dashing towards the house, George in hot pursuit.
Ron slowed his broom so that he could land as gently as possible. He dismounted, watching his mother run across the yard, making the chickens cackle as they scattered, her apron flying behind her.
When she placed the last bandage on the owl’s broken wing less than half an hour later, she still looked disturbed. “Owls weren’t covered in Care of Magical Creatures so I can’t be sure, but I think he’ll be okay. There’s just one more thing.”
“What?”
“Well,” she said slowly, “its wing is badly broken; it can’t possibly fly back to wherever it came from until it’s healed and that’s going to take some time. The only way it can back is if someone takes it back or if it gets help from another owl. And,” she said with a slight smile on her face, “since Errol can’t carry a letter past the dresser, I think he’s stuck here. Now,” she continued, sticking her hand out, “can I have the letter?”
“What letter?” Ron asked innocently
“The letter it was delivering,” she said with a sigh and a look that said, Don’t play this game with me now.
“It didn’t have a letter on it,” Ron said with a shrug. “It must have fallen off it was delivering one. I didn’t see one.”
His mother stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“I said I didn’t see a letter,” Ron repeated.
She gave him a calculating look. “Are you sure? Fine then,” she continued when he nodded. “If that’s what you say.”
“That’s what I say,” Ron said stubbornly, sticking his hands in the pockets of his pants, careful not to crumple the letter.
“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “In that case, go upstairs and clean up. You’re a mess. And I expect you to help finish de-gnoming the garden when you’re done.”
Ron mumbled an answer and headed up the wooden steps, his nearly broken, second-hand Shooting Star thumping on the steps behind him.
He pushed Scabbers off his pillow and collapsed on his bed, laying there, his eyes closed and breathed deeply. Bracing himself, he slipped the letter out of his pocket, careful not to ruin the already torn letter any more. His breath quickened when he saw the red wax Hogwarts seal: a lion, snake, badger and eagle intertwined over the legs of a giant H. Nervous, he turned the letter over, his heart beating faster when he saw his name written on the front of it in emerald green ink:
Ronald Weasley
Attic Bedroom
The Burrow
Ottery St. Catchpole
Slowly, he broke the wax seal neatly and slipped two pieces of heavy parchment folded in thirds out of the envelope. He unfolded it and began to read:
Hogwarts School
Of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief
Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Weasley,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September first. We await your owl no later than July thirty-first.
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
As if in a trance, Ron put the letter and envelope down at his side, his heart slowly resuming its normal pace. It’s finally here! he thought excitedly.“It’s really here! “Or is it?” he asked out-loud and pinched himself. “Ow!” he yelled, but then smiled; he wasn’t dreaming It really was here!
Hold on, he thought, his excitement coming to a screeching halt at a sudden realization. How was he going to tell his mother? She’d bury him alive if he told her he’d told her a bald-faced lie. What was he going to do?
He jumped off the bed and started pacing the room, kicking aside the piles of clothes he had pushed out of his closet earlier. “What to do? What to do?” he muttered to himself, thinking furiously. “I can’t tell her it fell in pocket; she isn’t that stupid.”
Then it hit him. Snapping his fingers, he carefully put the letter back into its envelope, stuffed it into his back pocket and grabbed his broom from the corner. He eased his bedroom window open and lay his broom on the ledge, thanking God for big windows. He sat on the ledge, swinging one leg over the handle of his broom. He settled himself as comfortably as he could, closed his eyes, and pushed off.
It took a few precious seconds for him to get the broom straight, seconds where he tried to get comfortable as well and almost fell off. But when he did, he pointed his broom in the direction of the forest once again and rose slowly, wanting to get as far from sight as possible.
Suddenly a voice cut through the air. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Ron turned to face his mother, hoping he was too far for her to see how guilty he knew he must look. “Umm...I’m going back to the forest to see if I can find something. I might have missed the letter. And...and it could be something important.”
“Alright,” she called back, uncertain. “But be careful, will you?”
“Sure!” Ron called back, relieved and amazed that he had gotten off so easy.
Now that he didn’t have to worry about his mother, Ron was able to enjoy the leisurely speed of his broom; even the butterflies were passing him. He rose again as he looked around, watching the clouds move lazily across the late summer sky. He loves being fifty feet up in the air, completely alone. It was as if he was above it all: people, responsibilities, his brothers...the world. The only thing higher up that him were those Muggle flying machines. Spotting one in the distance, he forced a spurt of speed from the old broom and entered the forest.
Streaming between the branches, he startled a group of fairies. They rose from their leaves, chattering at him angrily, shaking their tiny fists at him. He whipped past them, the breeze whistling through his hair. He ducked under a branch and stopped suddenly. About thirty feet in front of him was a dark shadow, moving in his direction.
He hovered in place, trying to get a good look at the person, but the trees blocked him. The shadow moved around a tree and revealed its owner: a tall, cloaked man coming into view. He followed the man with his eyes, noticing that he wasn’t walking well. He was limping horribly, practically dragging his left leg behind himself.
Quietly, Ron began to follow the man’s confusing, but obvious path to the Burrow. He lost him for a moment behind a dense group of trees, but found him again by listening for the swearing and exclamations of pain.
Suddenly, the man tripped over a protruding root and fell face first onto the ground, dropped something and cursed loudly and fluently. Ron hung back, not sure whether he should fly down and help him. He stayed where he was, the deep distrust in strangers his mother had instilled him winning out. But he was still a well-brought up boy, and he needed to make sure the man was okay.
He landed on one of the huge trees, running nimbly across a wide branch until he was right above the fallen man’s body. He stared down and saw that the hem of the man’s robes had gone up, revealing the cause for the man’s limp: he had a deep, ugly gash that seemed to end near his ankle. He didn’t know where it started; it went in a jagged line up to his knee, disappearing under his robes. Slowly, and clearly painstakingly, the man lifted himself up, shook down his hem and re-adjusted his hood so that none of his features showed.
Muttering under his breath, the man looked up at the sky, grumbling something about the time of day. He bent down, starting to push around the branches at his feet. Without warning, the man let out a viscous growl, looking up at the sky. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to find it in a forest?” he yelled at the rooftop of trees, shaking his fist as his hood fell back.
Ron almost fell off the tree. “Charlie?” he blurted out.
Charlie took a startled step back, looking around wildly. “Ron?”
Ron grinned as he got back onto his broom and floated down to the ground. “What are you doing in the forest? What did you do to you leg?”
Charlie winced. “A dragon felt the need to gash my leg just before I left, which is what I’m doing here. I can’t concentrate enough to Apparate. I forgot what a pain in the neck it is to travel. I’ve been trying to get home for days.”
“Why didn’t you get it healed? Or try to get home through a fire? Or use a broom? Or“”
“Because I’m an idiot and I thought I would fall into the fire and off the broom.”
“But you could have splinched yourself!” Ron exclaimed, referring to what happened when a wizard tried to get somewhere and left parts of him or herself where he or she had started.
“Yeah, but there’s always the chance I would have left my leg behind,” Charlie answered with a smile. “But now I dropped my wand and I was never any good at non-verbal spells so I can’t summon it. You wouldn’t want to help me find it, would you?” he asked hopefully as he sat down on a stump.
“Quite brilliant of you,” Ron said as he dropped to his knees.
Charlie rolled his eyes.
“What kind of wood is it anyway?”
“Oak.”
Ron laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Why?”
“You haven’t been away from home that long, Charlie. Idiot, the whole forest is oak ”
Charlie’s mouth fell open. “Oak,” he whispered. “Merlin’s Beard; I forgot. We’re never going to find it. Damn. What am I going to do?”
“How should I know?”
Charlie sat quietly for a moment and then suddenly snapped his fingers. “I know!”
“What?”
“Bring me a pile of branches ”
“Umm...why?”
“Because my wand is the only magical branch in the forest, right? So, I’m going to swish and flick them. Whichever one reacts is my wand, right? What?” he asked as Ron stared at him, wide-eyed.
“It’s amazing that you graduated, know that?”
“Why?”
“That’s going to take forever ” Ron yelled. “Why don’t I just fly back, get Mum and she can Apparate here and summon it ”
“Nah. This’ll be faster, I promise. Especially at the speed your broom doesn’t go.”
Ron scowled at him, but handed him a branch.
“Charlie?” he asked after a moment.
“Yeah?” he answered, tossing a branch over his shoulder.
“How did you choose your wand?”
“I didn’t. It chose me.”
“It“what?”
“It chose me. Or at least, that’s what Mr. Ollivander said when I went to get it. Then he measured me“”
“He measured you? For a wand? Why?”
“I have no idea. Anyway, then he took down boxes filled with wands. I barely had each in my hand before he snatched it away. But when he put my wand in my hand, I knew it was the right one. My hand went all tingly, like when it falls asleep, and then my whole arm went warm, and when I flicked it, sparks shot out.”
“Cool,” Ron said.
“Yeah,” Charlie agreed, throwing another branch away.
One wouldn’t have thought there could possibly be so many fallen branches on the floor of the forest, in the middle of the summer, all near where Charlie had fallen. But there were. They had gone through what felt like thousands of sticks and branches and...nothing. Ron was so bored by watching Charlie swish branches through the air, that he had started doing it too. He lost patience abruptly when they each threw another branch. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said sharply, “we each go one more time and then I’m going to get Mum.”
“But“”
“Listen,” Ron said severely. “If you’d like to sit here by yourself, be my guest. The whole forest is yours. But I’m starting to get impatient and hungry. Now pick one up.”
“Jeez,” Charlie said, sounding peeved. “No need to get pushy.” He sighed, leaned over to pick up a branch, and gave it a pathetic shake. Nothing happened. Angry, Charlie stood up and kicked the looming pile of branches behind him, then swore again.
“Your turn,” Charlie said through clenched teeth as he sat back down, massaging his throbbing leg.
Ron got up, brushing off the seat of his pants as he looked around. He pointed at two branches.
“Pick one.”
“Hmm?”
“Pick one. Right or left?”
“Right.”
“Okay. Come and get it.”
“Pass it to me.”
“Excuse me?” Ron said, starting.
“Pass it to me.”
“Why? Since when are you completely incapable of doing anything?”
“I’m not. It’s just“You’re closer.”
Ron stared at him. “Are you kidding me!” he finally yelled. “How can you even try that?” He glared at his older brother, his face turning red. “I’ve been waiting here with you while you look for your wand. Sorry. While I look for you wand. All you’re doing is flicking your wrist. But Merlin forbid you should get up and lift a branch I’m so mad I could hit you!” he yelled, brandishing his broom at Charlie.
“You’d attack an unarmed wizard?” Charlie asked meekly, cowering under Ron’s rage. “An injured, unarmed wizard?”
“Would I?” Ron shouted, causing the group of fairies that had been watching them to rise and fly away in fright. “Would I?” he asked again. “Of course I would! In fact,” he continued as he glanced down at the two branches, “I think I will. Right you said?” he asked as he bent down and picked it up. He brought it down on Charlie’s head with as much force as he could manage. He hit him so hard in fact, that the branch broke, revealing a wooden center straight through, no magical core.
“Well,” Ron said slowly, “that wasn’t it.” And he quickly grabbed the other branch before Charlie could.
Ron felt his fingers grow warm as he closed his fingers around the branch“no, the wand. Raising his arm, her then brought it swooshing down at Charlie’s head. Sparks flew out of it and right into his own face, burning his hand.
Charlie burst out laughing. “You’re“holding“it“backwards!” he managed to wheeze.
“Are you laughing at me?” Ron asked darkly. “I just found your blasted wand!”
Furious, Ron grabbed his broom again and mounted it, rising in front of Charlie, who had slowly stopped laughing. “Maybe,” he continued thoughtfully, “if I’m so hilarious, I can’t help you get home. You know. You might fall off the broom because you’re laughing so hard.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Charlie asked, struggling to get up.
“No,” Ron said shortly. “I’m really not.”
“You’d leave me, an unarmed, injured wizard, alone in a forest?” Charlie asked, a worried look crossing his face.
“I just hit him, didn’t I?” Ron asked. “But no, I’m not,” he said, the creases of worry easing from Charlie’s face. “I’m leaving my injured brother alone in the forest.”
A panicked look settled itself on Charlie’s face.
“You can’t!” Charlie yelled. “Mum’ll kill you!”
“I’m sure you’ll Apparate home. Eventually,” Ron said. “I’m leaving now. Goodbye.”
Charlie called after him as he flew away, but Ron didn’t turn around, or give any indication that he had heard his older brother.
He entered the kitchen a few minutes later, giving his mother a cheerful hello.
“Hello dear,” she answered, not looking up from the paper she was reading.
“What’s for lunch?” he asked, sitting down at the table.
“I’m not sure,” she answered, looking up at him. “What are you holding?”
“This?” Ron said, stopping himself just in time from absently waving the wand. “It’s a wand.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Really? How do you know?”
“It’s Charlie’s.”
“And why do you have it?”
“Because I don’t feel like giving it to him.”
She stared at him, then blinked. “Hold on. How did you get it? Where’s Charlie?”
“In the forest.”
The eyebrows went up higher. “What’s he doing in the forest?”
“He’s been trying to Apparate home, but he’s been having trouble concentrating because a dragon took a swipe out of his leg before he left and he was too stupid to go to a Healer.” He picked up an apple from the bowl at the center of the table. “Can I have this? Thanks.”
His mother continued to stare at him, shocked. “And you just left him there?”
“Uh huh.”
“Without his wand?”
“Yup.”
“And you didn’t help him?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“Because he pissed the he“”
“Ron!” his mother said sharply.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, turning pink. “But you get the point.”
She waited a moment before saying, “What did he do to upset you?”
“He dropped his wand and I stayed in the forest with him for half an hour helping him look. And then I picked one up and swished it down and sparks came out in my face. And he laughed. So I left him there.” It sounded stupid even to him now, out loud.
“Oh. I wish you wouldn’t have done that.”
“Yeah. Well, he’ll be here soon.”
His mother looked at him, clearly tired. “I am too tired to yell at you now,” she said and a rush of guilt went through him. “What happened with the letter?”
“Which letter? Oh!” he said, clapping himself on the forehead. “That letter.” He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She snatched it, turning it over to see the broken seal. “Oh Ron!” she exclaimed happily, standing up and rounding to the table to grab him in a hug.
“Mum?” Ron said in a strangled whisper.
“Yes dear?”
“The letter doesn’t do me any good if I suffocate to death.”
“Oh. Right,” she said, letting go abruptly.
“How did you know I was accepted?” Ron asked after he caught his breath. “You haven’t even read the letter yet. I could have been rejected.”
She looked at him like he was crazy. “Ron, you know better than that. Or you would if you paid attention.”
“I would?”
“Of course. If you listened, you would know that there’s a book in the Deputy Headmaster or Headmistress’s room. Whenever a child with magical potential is born, a quill writes their name in. Every year it’s checked, and the children that are going to be eleven before term starts are sent letters.”
“So?”
“So you don’t get a rejection letter. You’re either in and get a letter or you’re not and you don’t. Besides,” she said with a smile, “how can you rejected if you never applied?”
“Oh,” Ron said, blushing pink.
“Now,” she continued matter-of-factly, “let’s see what supplies you’ll need.” She took the letter from its envelope, separating the two pages. She looked down at the list, muttering to herself.
“We have that. We’ll need that. You can have Percy’s old robes, they should fit you.”
Ron walked over to his mother’s chair, beginning to read over her shoulder:
A History of Magic: Bathilda Bagshot
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them: Newt Scmander
“Ron?”
“Yeah?” he asked, looking up at Percy who had just walked into the kitchen.
“Have you seen my“” He stopped short, spotting the letter in their mother’s hands. “What is that?”
“Ron’s acceptance letter,” she answered for him.
“Oh,” Percy said as he sat down. His face suddenly lit up. “You know what, Ron? I must admit, I had my doubts, I really wasn’t sure you’d be accepted. You’ve never shown any unconscious magic. But Fred and George were positive you would be, although I couldn’t imagine why. I mean, obviously now I know you must have some aptitude for the craft. But...you pulled through! Good job!”
“You what?” Ron said, glaring at him.
“I had my doubts,” Percy repeated. “Again, I mean to say that it’s because you never showed any magical potential.”
“I what?” Ron said, envisioning his hands around Percy’s throat.
“I said“” Percy began again, sounding irritated at Ron’s inability to understand what he clearly thought was such a simple concept.
“I remember something Ron did,” their mother broke in, tearing her eyes away from the list.
“You do?” Ron and Percy said together.
“Yes. I’ll never forget it.”
“What did I do?” Ron asked eagerly.
“You were born in five minutes. Easiest and fastest labor I went through. I had more than my share of them.”
“Mum!” Percy groaned.
“Seriously,” Ron begged.
“Alright,” she laughed. “Let’s see,” she said thoughtfully.
“What magical thing did Ron do?” She drummed her fingers against the wood table as she thought.
“Well?” Ron said, impatient.
“Calm down,” she said, “I’m thinking. “Wait...wait...
wait....I’ve got it!”
“What?” Percy asked, his eyebrows raised, skeptical.
“This must have happened when Ron was maybe...one and a half years old; it was right after the down-fall of You-Know-Who. I was cooking dinner and I heard you crying upstairs from your crib. And I couldn’t get to you.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s see. Fred and George had latched themselves onto my legs, Percy was reading me a book, Charlie was showing me a wounded bird he had found in the yard and Bill was shoving some stuff he had dug up into my face.”
“What does this have to do with Ron?” Percy asked.
“Well, there I was, unable to get to you, wishing you would stop crying or just come down on your own, when suddenly, there you were. You came floating down the stairwell, a huge smile on your face“”
“Mum?” Percy interrupted.
“Yes, dear?”
“That can’t possibly be true.”
“What do you mean?”
“You probably summoned him. Wizards haven’t invented a way to fly unaided yet; not more than levitation anyway. He couldn’t have done that.”
Ron scowled but his mother only smiled. “You always were smart,” she said before standing up suddenly. “I’m going to tell your father. While I’m gone, I’d like you to make yourselves presentable. You can even change.”
“Why?” Ron asked.
“Because...this deserves a lunch out ”
“Really?” Ron asked in disbelief.
“Of course. You didn’t think that you’d be an exception, did you?”
“Exception to what?”
“We’ve always gone out for a meal after each of you received your letters.”
“We didn’t go out for Fred and George,” Ron said. “That was only two years ago; I would have remembered.”
“Oh yes we did!” his mother disagreed. “And it was one of the best meals your father and I ever had.” Her handbag floated into the room and she snatched it out of the air. “You better hurry up, we won’t be long,” she added, and vanished.
“I’m going to tell Fred and George,” Ron said, stepping away from the table. The door flew open as he started towards it, and Charlie stormed in as best as he could.
“You“you“you,” he stuttered, his face turning red as he pointed his finger at Ron, trying to find a word to adequately describe what he thought Ron was.
“Guess what!” Ron yelled.
“Huh?” Charlie asked, a confused look crossing his face.
“Guess what!” Ron repeated.
“The Queen is dead,” Charlie said, sullen.
Ron balked. “She is?” he asked, his eyes growing wide.
“No you moron,” Charlie said, “I was guessing.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And now I’m giving up. What?”
“I was accepted!” Ron exclaimed, finally saying it out-loud making him giddy.
“You what?”
“Hogwarts, you idiot,” Ron answered, scowling again.
“Wow! Good for you mate!” Charlie exclaimed, stepping closer to tousle Ron’s hair.
Ron ducked out from under Charlie’s hand. “I’m not two,” he muttered.
Charlie didn’t really look as though he cared. “I“” He stopped short.
“What is it?” Percy asked.
“Shh.”
“Why?”
“Just shush,” Charlie said, bringing a finger up to his lips. They fell silent, all straining to hear what Charlie did. And then it came, footsteps. The door between the living room and the kitchen swung open, Ginny standing behind it. She spotted Charlie, stopped still, and then ran at him full force, shrieking his name as she grabbed him in a tight hug.
“Hey Carrot-top,” he answered, tweaking her nose. “How are you?”
“Well,” she said, thoughtful, “I was doing okay. But now my nose kinda hurts.”
Charlie laughed. “And the rest of you?”
“You tell me,” she said, stepping away from him and twirling around. “Have I grown?”
“Not since yesterday,” Percy said, his voice dead-pan as he walked across the kitchen, his back to Ginny, who stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m going to change,” he announced to the room, and left.
Ron rolled his eyes as Charlie and Ginny both turned to him. “Change for what?” they echoed one another.
“I got my letter,” Ron explained. “Mum went to get Dad and we’re going out for lunch.”
“Really?” Ginny asked.
“Yep. We’re going out for lunch.”
“No. Did you get your letter?”
Ron scowled. “Yes,” he said darkly. Why didn’t anyone think he’d get accepted? “Well, here’s the letter,” he said, stretching over the table to hand it to her. “And we are going out for lunch.”
Ginny’s eyes shown. “I’m going to wash up,” she said, turning for the stairs.
“Wait ” Charlie said, catching up with her in two painful looking strides. “I’m coming with you. I want to hear everything I’ve missed since Christmas.”
Ron headed out to the yard, a silly smile plastered to his face. Today had turned out so much better than he had thought it would Charlie was home, he had gotten his letter, he’d gotten out of de-gnoming the garden and it was nice outside (What good was good news if it was pouring outside?)
Shaking his head, he walked right through a tree without realizing it and continued into the grove. Realizing where he was just before he walked into a real tree, he stopped and looked around at the grove their parents had built. Originally meant for their ‘flying’ as children where Muggles couldn’t see them, they had turned it into a mini Quidditch pitch when Charlie had joined the Hogwarts team. The whole family had helped him practice, and it was no surprise that he had become Captain and that the twins were now on the team as well.
All around a wide grove of real trees, their mother had placed an illusion of fake trees, placed so tightly together that if they had been real, they would have been impassable. Then, she had used some more magic to make the natural trees grow a little higher (alright, a lot higher) until they were closer to a hundred feet tall. A professional pitch had it’s goals at fifty feet and players needed the extra height to move around it. Lastly, their father had placed another illusion over the break in the trees where any Muggles flying could look down and see them. Now, anyone looking down would simply see an empty grove, everything within their grove was invisible to anyone above it.
Together, their parents had then (magically) constructed ladder that extended to the height the climber needed and built platforms on the trees. The boys (and recently, Ginny) used these to leave sweets, comic books and anything else they needed to keep themselves occupied when they wanted to get out the house; including hundreds of differently shaped balls for practice. It was like having a giant tree house.
Bending, Ron pushed aside the leaves that had buried the naturally only ten feet long ladder and propped it against a tree. He glanced at the twins as he climbed. Fred was tossing stones at George who was hitting them back with a heavy club. Well, trying to anyway; he was missing most of them.
“Hey, George!” he called up, now half-way up to the lowest platform.
“What?”
“How did you get on the team if you can’t even beat back stones? What kind of Beater are you?” he asked, referring to the twins’ positions.
Typically, a Quidditch team had seven players. Keeper, Seeker, three Chasers and two Beaters. It was the Keeper’s job to protect the goals from from the other teams’ three Chasers who scored ten points every time the Quaffle (a bright red ball, about the size of a soccer ball). The Beaters played with the Bludgers, two ink black balls that flew around the pitch on their own. They passed between the two teams like the one Quaffle and the Beaters used them to distract the members of the other team by hitting them at the players. On their own, they flew around the pitch, trying to toss riders off their brooms. It took fast flying to get past them and a strong arm to use them to your advantage, beating them away from your own team and towards the other. The last player was the Seeker. At the start of each game, a tiny winged ball called the Snitch was released on the pitch, where it whizzed by and around everything: Keeper, Chasers, Beaters, Quaffle and Beaters. The Seekers job was to catch the Snitch, earning his or her team another one hundred and fifty points and ending the game. Games could go on for months before the Snitch was caught. And the Beaters tended to hit Bludgers at the Seeker to keep him or her away from the Snitch. Thus, Fred and George’s frantic practice; school was starting in less than a month and they had clearly gotten out of shape since the summer had started.
George gave him a furious look and the next time Fred knocked a rock at him, he hit it forcefully with his club in Ron’s direction. It hit his cheek and he let go of the ladder in surprise and pain; he couldn’t believe he’d actually hit him The ladder started to tip backwards and Ron screamed, trying to lean forward so that the ladder would be back against the tree, but it wasn’t working. The ladder was swaying dangerously now and Ron was nearly fifty feet above ground.
“Do something!” he practically screeched, panicked, feeling a trickle of blood drip from his face and down his collar.
“It’s too heavy!” Fred said through clenched teeth after they had both flown down and each grabbed one side of the ladder, trying to push it back. Beaters had strong arms, but not that strong. “I can’t upright it!”
“It’s no use,” George said, his white face turning red with strain. “Take him onto your broom.”
“Come on Ron,” Fred said, re-positioning his broom so that he was alongside Ron, leaving most of the weight to George.
Careful and shaking, Ron slowly turned, and the broom tilted downwards another inch. He screamed, grabbing the top of the ladder and holding on for dear life. The twins struggled to keep the sturdy ladder from falling back, their faces turning from red to purple.
“Ron,” Fred said slowly, “when I say so, you’re going to swing onto my broom, okay? George will put the ladder back against the tree.”
“Kay,” Ron whispered, his knees turning to jelly.
“On three, then,” Fred said. “One...two...three!” he shouted. In the space of a moment that felt like forever, Ron swung a leg over Fred’s broom. They sped towards the nearest platform as the entire weight of the ladder fell onto George, who kicked it against the tree.
“Oh my God,” Ron wheezed, rolling off Fred’s broom and onto the blessedly stable broom. “I thought I was gonna die.”
George landed beside him a moment later, his face white as snow. “I’m sorry Ron,” he said, sticking out his hand to help Ron up.
Ron didn’t want to get up and he didn’t want help from George.
He took a few deep breaths. “Are you crazy?” he finally managed to gasp. “You almost killed me and all you can say is you’re sorry? What did you think was going to happen, throwing a rock at my face? You could have blinded me or cracked my skull open if falling wouldn’t have done it! Oh God,” he said again, getting shakily to his feet, Fred grabbing his elbow to steady him.
“I’m really sorry?” George said, his face still white.
“Yeah. Like that’s going to make a difference,” Ron bit back.
“Umm...so why’d you come anyway?” Fred said, sounding nervous as he broke the silence.
“I got accepted,” he said flatly, his near death having taken all the excitement out of the news.
“And“”
“Finally,” Fred cut in.
“What do you mean, finally?” Ron asked, suspicious.
“We always knew you’d be accepted,” George said.
“What do you mean, you knew? How’d you know?” Ron said, starting to get excited, and not in a good way.
“We found the book,” Fred explained.
“Which book.”
“The book.”
“Which book?” Ron yelled. “Don’t talk riddles!”
“The book that records the kids eligible to come to Hogwarts.”
“How long have you known?”
“Umm...since about the second week of our first year?” Fred offered. “Something like that, right George?”
“Yep,” George said, almost sounding proud. “We were stuck waiting for McGonagall in her office and“”
“You’ve known since your first year?” Ron asked quietly.
“Uh huh.”
“BASTARDS!” Ron yelled. “You’ve known for two years and I’ve been sitting here for two months, near losing my mind?!?”
“Umm...” Fred said.
Without a word, Ron grabbed Fred’s broom from where it lay, knocking over the ladder as he flew off the platform and away from the tree.
“Is that all you came to tell us?” Fred yelled after him.
Ron stopped short, turning around. “Nope. We’re also going out for lunch. Mum went to get Dad and we’re leaving when they get back. See you soon,” he said with a smile as he waved to them and sped back to the house.
A/N: Okay, I know, this ends exactly like the last one, but the truth is that Ron is a character that from the start (ie: Book One through Six) has pretty much been ruled by his anger. Something annoys him, upsets him, whatever...and he just stops thinking like a logical human being. (See there, he does have feelings ) And, I have to tell you, if I found out what he did in the last two chapters, I’d have also left my brothers where they were. Think about it, you’re eleven, obviously going through a pretty early puberty (remember, he’s already taller than the twins?) and your nervous, anxious and terrified. Everything is a challenge because you feel like everyone is challenging you. And I would figure that its that much worse for boys. So.... Anyone whose still annoyed by this or has an idea for an alternate ending to either chapter can feel free to post a review. Thanks
A/N2: For those who didn't know (like me, until I typed this) 'mugwump' actually is a word. It referrs to someone who is a neutral or uncommitted person; specifically in politics. Good word for Dumbledore, no? Lol. Enjoy!