A/N; disclaimer; I don’t own anything you recognise but you already know that!
Chapter 3 “ Getting Real
“Ronald Weasley! Get down here now!” Mrs. Weasley bellowed from the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m telling you, Ginny; he’s the first one since Charlie to sleep ‘till noon. None of the others did it, even Fred and George. They were always up at sunrise planning some sort of prank, those two. Percy was always reading something or studying and Bill was exploring all around, searching for some kind of adventure. He’d come back at lunch everyday with an unbelievable story about a cave he found in the woods or a strange animal.”
“Mum! Don’t start again, please. You did the same speech ten minutes ago. Do you know when dad will be back from work?”
“No, but I hope it will be soon. He told me he would need just two hours and it’s been three. I don’t like it when he goes to the office on weekends,” she said while putting the dishes on the table, “Ginny, look who is finally making an appearance!”
Ron was now almost at the bottom of the stairs. His clothes seemed to have been thrown haphazardly on his frame and the hair on the left side of his head was flat while the hair on the other side was spiking in all directions. His eyes were practically shut from the light in the kitchen. He sat on a chair next to his sister and looked around.
“Where is everyone?”
“The twins are at their shop, Dad went to the office for a few hours and all the others don’t bother to come to lunch here everyday, as you know. How come you slept all morning?”
“I was up late last night,” he answered with a gritty voice.
“Well, that’s no excuse, young man.”
Ron raised an eyebrow at this. His mother had never called him that before. In fact, Mrs. Weasley had decided to change her tactic to bring back her son to his regular self. She had decided to try to get him on a normal routine, with daily chores and everything. She hoped this would bring him back to reality.
“We will all have lunch and then you will degnome the garden with Ginny.”
“But mum!”
“No ‘but’ allowed. You’ve been here nearly ten days and done nothing useful with your time. As of today, you will do your chores if you want to stay in this house,” his mother informed him while sitting at the table herself.
“What were you doing up that late anyway?” asked Ginny.
“Just reading.”
“Reading? Really?” doubted Ginny.
“Yes. I can read, for your information.”
Mrs. Weasley didn’t comment on this but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was reading his letters.
Mr. Weasley finally Apparated back from work just as the others were eating their last bite of lunch. His wife shooed the two children to their chore and put a plate full of food in front of her husband.
Ron went outside with his sister and started to bend down to catch a gnome. Ginny was doing the same a bit farther on his right. It was a nice end-of-May day and after twenty minutes of degnoming they were both a bit sweaty from the effort of throwing them as far as they could. In the old days, Ginny was a fair competitor, but now Ron was just too strong for her. His gnomes were going a lot farther than hers, so they decided to compete for precision rather than length this time. For each gnome, they had to say before the throw exactly where they predicted it would hit the ground. It made the chore much more fun.
They didn’t see Mr. Weasley watching them from the kitchen window. They only heard him as he stepped out of the house.
“How come you changed your technique, Ron?” he asked.
“My technique?”
“Yes. You’re throwing differently,” he explained.
“That’s only because of my arm. But you can ask Ginny, I still beat the hell out of those gnomes,” he replied, smiling.
“You never told us what happened to your arm,” noticed Ginny.
Ron threw another pest out of the garden before answering. “It’s not a pleasant story and you never really asked.” It looked like he was trying to find an excuse not to tell the story.
“Well, we’re asking now. Your mother is worried about it too, you know. You could tell us now.”
The Weasley’s youngest son shot a side look at his sister.
“I can take it, Ron!” she said firmly, catching him looking at her.
“I don’t doubt it. I guess it’s more that I’m ashamed of how it happened.”
Mr. Weasley sat on a bench and Ginny did the same on an old wooden box nearby. Ron couldn’t sit. Memories were coming back to him in flashes and he had to keep walking around, standing still just wasn’t an option.
“Ok. I’ll just tell it the way it happened. It started a few days before we left to destroy the final Horcrux. I went to Diagon Alley to get some potion ingredients…”
***
Ron was just outside the apothecary shop with a bulging bag of fresh ingredients for a potion he and Harry were planning to use to reach the last Horcrux. It was a rainy November day, so the alley was almost deserted. People were still considering their home safer than the streets and most were barricading themselves in, going out only in absolute necessity. The four or five figures Ron could see were all hooded to protect themselves from the rain and were walking at a good pace.
He too was eager to go back to Harry. You never knew who you could meet on the streets these days. One quick stop at the Magical Menagerie and he would be done. He was not even planning to take the time to say ‘Hi’ to his brothers. They would ask too many questions and he simply didn’t have enough time today. Once in front of the Magical Menagerie, he saw that if was closed. Wood panels were nailed to the windows and a sign on the door stated ‘Closed until ?’
Just then, a wonderful sensation enveloped him. It was as if all his worries were melting away and a gentle wave of happiness surrounded him. He hadn’t felt this good for a very long time. Ron was no longer aware that his cloak was wet and cold, and everything around him seemed blurry.
“Go back to Harry,” a voice he didn’t know commanded somewhere inside his skull.
Since that was what he was planning to do next anyway, he cordially agreed and Apparated outside the house. “Now, go inside without making any noise,” the voice said. Once inside the house, Ron found Harry in the study. The latter had his back to him and apparently hadn’t heard his friend come into the room. The tall redhead was standing in the doorframe, still holding his bag of potion supplies in his right hand.
The emptiness of his head was still blissful and he was only vaguely aware that Harry’s back seemed to stiffen a bit.
“Get your wand out, quietly.”
He reached in his pocket with his left hand and took out his wand. The voice was becoming a little more urging now, a bit more excited and that flashed a small warning light in Ron’s head. It was quickly erased as the voice commanded him to disarm Harry.
At that precise moment, Harry turned on his chair.
“Ron, is that y…”
“Expelliarmus!” is the only answer Harry got.
Harry’s wand flew away from him and landed at Ron’s feet.
“What are you doing?”
But Ron didn’t really listen to this familiar voice, it sounded all distorted in his head and he couldn’t make out the words. The only thing really clear to him was a kind of unhealthy laughter echoing in his brain. A very triumphant one.
“Now… Now, you kill him, boy!”
Ron’s wand was still pointing at Harry’s chest. The raven haired young man was now standing beside his chair, facing his friend. Comprehension seemed to dawn on him as he looked at Ron’s unfocused eyes. Ron was under the Imperius Curse and he was disarmed. He didn’t know who was controlling his best friend but he had a fair idea of what they were trying to make him do. Harry was starting to get scared; his eyes were darting from the wand pointing him to the face of the red-haired boy. His mind was racing, trying to find an escape, just a he saw a slight movement in front of him. Ron’s left elbow started to twitch lightly but his wand was still firmly in place.
Things were starting to get worse in Ron’s head. Strangely, he seemed to become aware that it was his best friend he was supposed to kill. A doubt crept inside his brain but the strange voice was fighting it with all its might. “Kill him! Kill him! Now!” it was chanting again and again.
“But he is my friend,” Ron’s own internal voice replied as his elbow started to twitch painfully. “I don’t want to do it,” he added.
Some sparks were now coming from the end of Ron’s wand and Harry held his breath, still petrified.
“Kill him! Now! KILL HARRY POTTER NOW!”
“No! I won’t! I’ll just aim somewhere else.”
“Keep your wand on this boy, I tell you.”
“No!”
At that moment, Ron’s left arm flew with an incredible force and rapidity towards the wall to his left in attempt to aim somewhere else. Harry ducked at this sudden movement but kept his eyes on his friend. He saw the limb collide forcefully with the doorframe and heard a very odd cracking sound. An instant later, Ron was sprawled on the floor with the potion ingredients around him. He was breathing heavily and muttering “I won’t. I won’t kill him.”
***
“It turned out that the doorframe was in even worst condition than my arm. Then, Harry healed me the best he could. At that point, we decided that we would leave the house only in extreme necessity and since I was not in mortal peril, going to St. Mungo’s was not an option. He did a pretty good job, thought,” Ron told his father and sister. He had stopped pacing at this point. Mr. Weasley was looking intensely at his son and Ginny was staring at a dandelion she plucked off the grass. “We never found out who put that Imperio curse on me,” he concluded.
“You could have killed him,” Ginny whispered. Her brother simply looked at her.
“Yes.”
“But he didn’t,” exclaimed Mr. Weasley. “Ron, we told you many times that we were proud of you about everything you did and this is just another example. You may not have been very cautious back there in Diagon Alley but you sure showed true friendship and courage to fight the curse like that.” He rose from the bench and patted his son on the shoulder a few seconds. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of that story; it demonstrates who you truly are.”
Later that day, after dinner, Ron went up in his room and unsealed the second letter from Hermione. This one was pretty short.
Dear Ron,
I’m just back from my career meeting with Professor McGonagall and I have to say that this meeting gave me a lot to think about. I’m still not fixed on a precise career but McGonagall told me that my marks are good enough to not pose any restriction on any job a may choose.
To get to my point; did you ever notice that we never talk about the future? There was the one time a few days ago when the career pamphlets were all around in the common room and another time at the start of the first term, but that’s it. Only two times in five years. It’s like the only future ahead of us is fighting Voldemort and keeping each other alive. By that I mean Harry, you and me. And all the others, of course, but you get my point. We have to face it; we are either going to die doing it or survive and have a life.
What will happen when that time comes? Are we all going to go separate ways? Is one of us going to leave the country to pursue a different career, like two of your brothers did? Will it be the end of those great years? I certainly hope not.
I want you to promise me, Ron, that we will always stay in touch, that we will see each other regularly and that you will remain my friend. You can become a famous Auror if you want to, but I’m asking you to always keep a little place in your life for me. As I will always keep one for you, and Harry.
Your friend,
Hermione
How could she have ever doubted that he would push her out of his life? She was, and remains, one of the most precious gifts Life gave to him. He never told her or Harry but he thought of the future too, back then. He remembered that he still hadn’t come clean with his feelings towards her at that time but he knew he couldn’t stay far from her for an extended period of time. He just had to think of the weeks she spent in the hospital wing, petrified, in second year, to remember the feeling of loss he had felt. And back then, his sentiments towards her were still really innocent.
Ron was still sitting at his desk with Hermione’s letter in front of him. His hand mechanically stretched to grab the third letter. He ripped open the parchment envelope without even thinking about it.
Happy New Year, Ron!
Even though I’m not at the Burrow with you and Harry, I wish you all the best for this New Year. I wanted to start this year by clearing out a few things, so here goes.
I am not ashamed to admit that I thought a lot about us during this vacation and one of the main conclusions I reached is this: each time we take one step forward, we end up going two steps backward a few days (even hours or minutes) later. Let’s face it; we are not going to end up very far if we continue on this path. Hence, I decided to step up and admit that I have feelings for you. Maybe I won’t state it clearly to you but at least I admitted it to myself and this is, in my opinion, a good step in the right direction.
At some point earlier this year, I thought that you were ready to start to test the ground with me, especially after I invited you to Slughorn’s party but judging from your reaction later on, I was wrong. Don’t worry, I’ll wait for you. I’ll give you the time you need.
That ‘rebound’ thing you are currently having with Lavender is hard to cope with. I won’t say it’s jealousy per se but it’s definitely bugging me. I’ll say it clear and plain; I sometime wish your hands were on me instead of her. I have even imagined what our first kiss would be like. Thought I have to say, I would prefer if it would be a little less ‘intense’ than some of the lip-locking matches you have with her these days. Oh, when I look at your lips… But I shouldn’t get there; I must stay out of that zone.
That reminds me of another thing I thought about during this vacation. Do you ever think of me as a girl? I mean, apart of the times when Viktor is mentioned in a conversation, of course. I guess I will never know unless you tell me.
Of course, my own behaviour wasn’t exactly perfect. I invited McLaggen just to get a little revenge on you and I realized through the party that it was a complete mistake. I spent almost the entire evening hiding from him. Not exactly my idea of a pleasant evening. I guess I can be a bit dumb sometimes.
That’s it for now. Mum is calling me, dinner is ready. I hope I get the chance to tell you all this in person some day, some day soon preferably. Have a lovely year.
Hermione xx (kisses on the cheeks, of course!)
Ron stayed completely still for a moment, not sure how to react to theses words dating from their sixth year at Hogwarts. He re-read some sentences randomly. Did he ever think of her as a girl? Oh yes. Loads of times.
He particularly liked observing her when she was writing. The way she would sit with her back straight. Her hair would be tucked behind her ear on the left side and her head bent slightly to the right. Sometimes, she would be frowning in concentration, her eyes fixed on the parchment so that you could barely glimpse the gold in her hazel eyes because they were hidden by her dark brown eyelashes. Unless they were in plain light or in the sun, they looked black to Ron.
Occasionally, she would look up to stare in the space, maybe in search of some inspiration or a better way to formulate a sentence. When he was sitting beside her, a curtain of hair masked the rest of her features but he sometime stole a glimpse at her mouth. It’s like it was calling him from time to time. The colour was a shade of peachy-pink and it appeared to be so soft. Her bottom lip was a bit fuller than her top one, which was aiming with an angle toward the inside of her mouth. So inviting and hypnotizing, he was having a hard time trying to concentrate on anything else, let alone his homework, during those blissful minutes. But the thing he liked the most was her hand.
The way her wrist would rest against the table, narrow and fragile looking. The smooth skin draped around it stretched gently with each movement. Her fingers were pressed firmly against the quill, directing it like a conductor. When she was in a very inspired frenzy, white spots would appear on her fingernails from the increased pressure on the quill. Her writing style was fast and precise. She looked so beautiful.
This picture was clearly engraved in Ron’s brain, probably because he saw it so often. If he had some talent in drawing or painting, he was positive he would have been able to recreate this image down to the last detail. Gorgeous.
Yes, of course he thought of her as a girl when Krum was mentioned in a conversation. He couldn’t bear to imagine those knobbly fingers on her and when Lavender and he were finally done pretending, he came to the conclusion that she was a girl, yes, but he would like her to be his girl. The fact is that a voice somewhere in his brain told him that he would have liked it for quite a bit of time, now.
The human brain is a strange thing. Sometimes it seems completely empty but at other times, it’s unstoppable. One thought brings a memory back and that memory brings back another one and things start to speed up like an infinite spiral. This particular reaction was happening to Ron just now. His head was full of Hermione and it was a slippery slope. He still hadn’t reached the point where he could think of her and be happy. Up to now, every time he let himself think of her too long, or too deeply, he ended up in tears or even punching whatever object close by, in frustration from the injustice of her departure.
This letter was just another proof that they would probably have had a chance at a happy life together. Ron wiped a tear from his face with the palm of his hand and got up. He didn’t care how dark or how late it was, he needed to go outside, to breathe fresh air, to walk. He grabbed a sweater and swung it over his head while stepping out of his room. He met nobody going downstairs and the kitchen was dark and empty.
Once outside, he inhaled deeply, smelling earth and grass. He walked down the road a good half hour before stopping and murmuring to the sky; “I miss you.”
A/N: Another sad chapter, I know. But the next one will be more cheerful. I can’t say why just now, you’ll find out soon enough. I just wanted to precise that I know that Ron is right-handed, I just didn’t want to wreck his right arm… Again, reviews are highly appreciated and a motivation to pursue writing this one and other stories.