"The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved - loved for ourselves, or rather, in spite of ourselves." - Victor Hugo
Ron remained in hospital for the following day, inexplicably receiving no visitors, after the influx of them during the night. Several of his brothers sent messages, mostly letting Ron know what an idiot he was, but adding that if he ever did want to talk then they were only an owl away. Even Fred and George wrote and told him to drop into the shop whenever he felt like it (although they said that this was only because they wanted a new test subject, Ron knew their true meaning, and was grateful for it). The Fibilius Fig remained untouched on his bedside table; Ron was rather unsure as to how to approach eating it, and for the moment preferred to stick with the hospital food.
Despite his having no visitors, Ron’s day was far from quiet, largely thanks to the hoards of screaming witches running through the hospital, trying in vain to find his room. His Healer told him that all the staff had been warned not to let on where Ron was staying, but nonetheless his fans kept coming, often cursing themselves to give them an excuse to go to St Mungo’s. Ron tried to apologise, but the Healer merely laughed good-naturedly.
“Don’t worry about it, dear boy,” he said, clapping Ron jovially on the shoulder. “The only inconvenience is having twice as much work to do, and the occasional turfing-out of over-enthusiastic groupies, but apart from that…”
“Well, I’ll be out tomorrow, so you can have some peace and quiet again,” Ron said, rather glad that he himself would get some of the same.
“As much as there ever is at St. Mungo’s,” the Healer remarked wryly. “Well, I’ll check you over before you leave tomorrow, but for the moment, could I ask you a favour?”
“Sure, name it “ you saved my life after all,” Ron said with a grin.
“Would you mind signing a picture for my daughter? She’s a huge fan.” It was the Healer’s turn to look sheepish now, but Ron merely laughed and reached for the picture he was proffering. It showed Ron making his most spectacular save, against Ecuador in the last Quidditch World Cup. “Her name’s Abigail,” the Healer added helpfully. Ron signed the picture and handed it back, and the Healer pocketed it gratefully.
“Thanks for everything,” Ron called as the Healer backed out of the room, waving cheerfully.
Ron laid back on his pillows and looked out of the window at the London skyline. The sky was a bright blue, with a few clouds scudding across it, and the sun shone brilliantly onto the silvery roofs of central London offices. His thoughts turned to an idea that had occurred to him early that morning, and began to explore it in more detail. He had been thinking about how he would be moving back to his flat the next day, back to the lonely, dirty flat that now probably smelt horribly of stale beer. The thought depressed him greatly. Consequently, the idea of buying a new flat, perhaps even a house, was becoming more and more appealing; he could get a house in the country, not too far from Harry and Ginny’s. Due to his ‘accident’, as the press were calling it, he would not be returning to work for at least three months. The club said that it was because they wanted him to recuperate fully, but Ron knew that they were considering sacking him; they had tolerated their star player’s drinking for as long as they could, but a drink-fuelled suicide attempt was a step too far.
Perhaps it was for the best, Ron mused. He had a sufficient amount of money to live off for a good while, and the stress of having to constantly perform, along with travelling around the world, had contributed greatly to his drinking problem in the first place. He could retire from international and league Quidditch, and instead maybe train younger witches and wizards during their summer holidays. If he bought a house with large enough grounds, he would be able to set up a training ground where Muggles would not find it. The more he thought about it, the more Ron knew that this was the right course of action. He would announce his retirement before the club could sack him (the best thing for the images of himself and the club), buy a country house with lots of grounds, and advertise for his holiday Quidditch training scheme before Hogwarts broke up for the summer.
The only thing that threatened to burst the happy bubble that had welled inside of him was the thought of Hermione. He would simply have to learn to live without her, Ron supposed glumly. Perhaps he would occasionally owl her, let her know how he was getting on. And besides, he had Harry and Ginny, and maybe he would even one day find someone for him. For the moment, however, Ronald Weasley was merely glad to be alive.
*
Ron sent an owl to Harry and Ginny within ten minutes of arriving home the next day, letting them know of his plans, and asking them to keep a look out for any houses for sale near them. Only an hour after having sent it, however (during which Ron shoved the numerous beer bottles into bin bags with a slightly nauseous look on his face), there came a banging at his front door, and, upon opening it, Ron discovered the pair of them standing on his doorstep.
“What are you doing-”
“You are coming to live with us,” Ginny announced happily. “Until you find a place of your own; you will not spend another night in this hell hole, Ronald Weasley.”
“Come on, I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” asked Harry, suppressing a laugh with difficulty. “The old Ronald Weasley never minded kipping on my floor, usually after nights out when you were in no fit state to get home or refuse, yes, but nevertheless…” Ron grinned sheepishly.
“If you’re sure?”
“Ron, I am not asking you if you would like to come and live with us,” Ginny told him sternly, pushing past him into the flat and rolling up her sleeves. “I am telling you that you will come and live with us, from this very day. And when are you going to get the hang of cleaning spells? Scourgify!” The spilt beer on the floor disappeared, Ginny waved her wand again and the rubbish all over the floor flew into the bin bag Ron was still holding. Harry and Ron both watched, half-amused, half-slightly ashamed, as Ginny strode over to Ron’s closet, yanked out a tatty suitcase, waved her wand around the room, making all Ron’s clothes and possessions fly neatly into it.
“Does she do this at home?” Ron muttered to Harry, who nodded gravely.
“I am afraid so.”
“I have to do it at home,” Ginny interrupted loudly in a very Mrs. Weasley-ish way, making both boys jump, “because, due to some apparent genetic defect, males of the species are incapable of looking after themselves and tidying up, and unfortunately this defect even extends to the saviour of the world, better known to some as my husband.” Harry looked suitably abashed, but Ron spoke up.
“That’s untrue and unfair, Ginny, not all males are untidy and messy; Luna says that Colin’s very domesticated.”
“Yes, and he always cleans up after Tiberius,” Harry interjected helpfully. Ginny rolled her eyes, now attempting to close Ron’s suitcase.
“And Bill is very neat and tidy,” Ron added.
“True, although that’s because he doesn’t dare get on the wrong end of Fleur’s temper,” Harry admitted. “Anyway, I got the worst deal; I’m the one married to a female Weasley, your brothers don’t have to suffer the famous Weasley temper from their wives, but as for me “ OW!” Ginny had thrown a shoe at him. “As for me,” Harry continued hastily, “I get the joy and blissful happiness of being married to the love of my life, who is absolutely wonderful in every way and never, ever loses her temper with me, especially when fuelled with pregnancy hormones.” He smiled winningly at Ginny, who merely threw the other shoe at him and tossed some Floo powder into Ron’s grate.
“Love you!” Harry called after her as she and the suitcase disappeared in a whirl of green. “And you can stop sniggering!” he snapped at Ron, who struggled to obey.
“Should I take the furniture?” Ron asked finally, once his fit of giggles had subsided. Harry surveyed the tattered cupboards and shelves around the room, then shook his head.
“You can always get some more, and we can’t have all this round our house anyway, not now we haven’t got a store room,” he told Ron.
“How come you haven’t got a store room?” Ron asked curiously. Harry shrugged.
“All the junk in the spare room is going in there to make room for a nursery,” he said pensively. “A nursery that I’m supposed to be decorating, when I get a spare moment from hunting down Dark Wizards, apparently. Well, according to She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, namely my wife, your darling sister.”
“Nothing like being under the thumb, eh?”
“Shut up.” The pair of them took a final look around the flat, checking cupboards and boxes to make sure that nothing was left behind. Finally, Harry threw more Floo powder into the grate and disappeared. Ron followed swiftly behind, holding the shoes that Ginny had thrown at Harry and, with a final look at the flat where he had been so miserable, was swept up in a flurry of green fire.
Moments later he came skidding out onto the stone flags of Harry and Ginny’s kitchen. Ginny was nowhere in sight, but Ron could hear her huffing about with his suitcase somewhere in the house; Harry, meanwhile, was brushing ash off his sleeve and straightening his glasses.
“Shouldn’t you be moving the suitcase?” Ron asked Harry, not without a trace of accusation. Harry stared at him as though he was mad. “She is pregnant,” Ron pointed out.
“Exactly,” Harry replied cryptically. Ron frowned, then decided to go after Ginny himself. He found her in the living room, attempting to drag the case across the room to slide it behind the sofa.
“Don’t you want me to do that, Ginny? I mean, shouldn’t you be taking it easy?” he asked helpfully. Behind him, Harry shook his head emphatically, but it was too late.
“I’m pregnant, Ron, I’m not an invalid!” She looked so fierce that Ron physically took a step backwards onto Harry’s foot.
“Alright!” he said hurriedly (he distinctly heard an ‘I warned you’ from Harry, along with numerous curses as he cradled his injured foot). “Well, can I get you anything? A cup of tea or something?” Ginny stared at him, and he could practically see the steam coming from her nostrils. He braced himself. Then suddenly, inexplicably-
“Oh, yes please, Ron, if you wouldn’t mind. Actually, could I have a banana with it, please? I think I’m going to like having you around, you’re far more use than that husband of mine,” Ginny said, beaming warmly at him. Ron stood frozen on the spot, mouth slightly open, then decided that it was probably best to just do what she said. Harry’s face, Ron saw when he turned round, was one that indicated that he was far too used to this behaviour by now to be surprised by it.
“That husband of yours that’s standing right here?” he called to his wife who had flopped down onto the sofa.
“That’s the one,” she shot back pointedly, her arms folded as she stared determinedly ahead of her.
“That husband of yours who’s offering to take you out to dinner tonight?”
“Yes, that one too,” Ginny replied, her voice softening. “That husband of mine who puts up with me and all my mood swings and is really quite wonderful, all things considered - do you know him?”
“I believe we’ve met,” Harry grinned, and he sat down on the sofa next to her. Ron returned a few moments later carrying three cups of tea on a tray and a banana. Ginny accepted the latter with a look of utter delight on her face, and proceeded to gobble it down as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Ron put her cup of tea down on the coffee table, passed Harry his, and then sat back on an armchair with his own.
“So what are you planning to do with your life?” Ginny asked her brother, struggling to swallow a rather large bit of banana. Ron explained all about the Quidditch training programme.
“What do you think?” he asked apprehensively. Ginny nodded appreciatively, her mouth full of banana, and gave him the thumbs up.
“It sounds like a great idea, Ron,” Harry said encouragingly. “I’m sure you could get McGonagall to advertise it at Hogwarts, and you could set up a Floo network to get the kids to you easily. I’ll help you out when I’m not busy.”
“You mean when you’re not busy hunting down Dark Wizards, finishing the nursery, and looking after the newest member of the Potter clan?” Ron said, chuckling. “You can come down as a celebrity coach for a time if you like. Ginny, you could come too, if you like. Maybe Fred and George too, then we’d have expert Chasers, Beaters and Seeker, plus me.” Ron’s face became more excited and alive with every passing moment, and this did not go unnoticed by Ginny and Harry.
“Harry, you wouldn’t mind getting me another banana, would you?” Ginny asked, smiling hopefully at her husband. Harry sighed, then heaved himself off the sofa. Ron jumped to his feet suddenly, spilling a few drops of hot tea down his t-shirt.
“I’ll help you,” he offered, hurrying to the door.
“Er, Ron, it’s one banana, not the whole tree,” Ginny shouted after him, but he merely waved in reply and disappeared down the passage to the kitchen. Harry shrugged and followed him, leaving Ginny alone in the living room. Ron waited until Harry was inside the kitchen, then hastened to shut the door behind him.
“Ron, what are you doing?” Harry asked curiously, reaching for one of the several bunches of bananas that lay on the kitchen work surface. “I can manage a bunch of bananas by myself.”
“Ginny said she only wanted one,” Ron pointed out; Harry was carrying six or seven bananas. Harry gave him a look that said, ‘Trust me, I know what I’m doing’, and Ron nodded wisely.
“So what’s going on?” Harry asked, watching Ron closely. “Is everything alright?”
“Oh, yeah, everything’s grand,” Ron said, his voice lowering to a whisper. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
“Er, ok…”
“Why don’t you and Ginny go out tonight, and I’ll pay,” Ron suggested, fishing in his pocket for a bag of Galleons.
“Ron, it doesn’t cost this much to go out to eat, even in London,” Harry said, trying to hand the bag back to Ron, but Ron was still talking.
“Stay in a posh hotel after, just don’t come home until tomorrow at noon,” Ron said, pushing the bag back at Harry. Harry took the bag, but was scrutinising Ron very closely.
“Why?”
“Ginny deserves some time to herself, and so do you,” Ron shrugged. Harry was still staring at him.
“Ron…” he began with a sigh. Ron looked questioningly at him. “Ron, don’t do it. Haven’t you learnt by now that it doesn’t do you any good?” Ron opened his mouth to interrupt but Harry held up a hand and went on. “If you do, and Ginny finds out, it will break her heart, and you won’t be able to stay here anymore. Ron, just-”
“I’m not getting you out of the house so I can drink, Harry,” Ron said quietly. Harry looked slightly embarrassed.
“Oh,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, it’s just that… well, I know it’s the semi-final tonight, and I thought you might… you know…” his voice trailed off. Ron was not angry, instead he felt acutely embarrassed and ashamed.
“Natural reaction,” he muttered, waving away Harry’s apology. “No, there’s something I want to do to say thank you to both of you, but it’ll take me a while, so I’m just getting you out of the way, right?”
“Alright, but promise me, no alcohol?”
“I swear on my life.” Harry looked pointedly at him, and Ron realised that had probably not been the best phrase to use. He opened his mouth to attempt to rephrase it, but it was Harry’s turn to wave him aside.
“I trust you,” he said simply, then he left the kitchen, pocketing the bag of Galleons and carrying the bunch of bananas with him. Ron, on second thoughts, took another bunch of bananas, just in case.
*
Ginny was suspicious of Harry’s motives when he told her that he was taking her to a swanky hotel. His feeble excuses did not seem to cut the mustard with her and, in the end, Harry ended up practically forcing her out of the front door, carrying an overnight bag and patting his pockets for Ron’s bag of Galleons.
Ron waved cheerily as they left the house, and watched them all the way down the road until they rounded the corner. As soon as they were out of sight, he grabbed his jacket and hurried out of the house, locking the door with the spare key that Harry had given him.
He ran down the road in the opposite direction to Harry and Ginny, following the directions Harry had given him that led to the 24 hour hardware store. The clerk at the desk looked surprised to see him burst in, but, after a brief look up and down to check that Ron was not about to rob the store, he returned to his newspaper. Ron, meanwhile, was hurrying down the aisles, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. Upon the paper was a scribbled plan: Ginny’s plan for the nursery (he had seen it tacked to the wall in the empty spare room, and slipped it into his pocket). Below the plan was a list of items that needed to be procured “ paint, carpet, curtains and so forth. Ron found the aisle full of paint, and quickly found the specific shade that Ginny had noted down on the piece of paper. Then he darted around the rest of the shop, gathering up various items, before paying for them with some Muggle money borrowed from Harry. He spent the next hour visiting various shops and purchasing all the things that Ginny wanted, plus a few extra of his own choosing. Finally, he headed back home, laden with bags and thinking that he would probably have been best buying the carpet first and taking it back to the house before buying everything else.
Eventually he made it back, and lugged all his purchases up to the spare room. Just as he was staring around, pleased with himself, he heard a sharp tapping on the window. Ron jumped and looked up: there was an owl rapping at the window, a large package tied to its brown legs.
“Excellent,” he muttered, hurrying to the window to let the owl in. Taking a scrap of paper, Ron scribbled, ‘Thanks’ and attached it to the owl’s leg, removing the heavy package as he did so. The owl hooted in an efficient sort of way, and took off again, soaring into the night. Ron closed the window, and opened the parcel to reveal a large, heavy spell book “ ‘Charming Rooms’. He knew that Hermione would have had some kind of book on the subject, and she had not disappointed.
Ron set to work, charming paint onto walls, carpet onto floors and flat-pack furniture together. While he was waiting for the paint to dry, Ron wandered downstairs to get some tea. He noticed that Harry appeared to have taken several bananas as a wise precaution, and suddenly he remembered what Harry had mentioned earlier. It was the semi-final today. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Ron noticed that he was just in time to catch the end of the programme. He hurried to the living room and switched on the TeleWizion, where Bruce’s cheerful face beamed back at him. With a slight pang, Ron realised that he’d been in that very studio only one week before, with Hermione by his side.
“So you, the public, have voted for the three couples that you want to see in the final next week, but now we have a twist to announce!” Bruce seemed so pleased and excited he looked as though he might burst. “The lines are now open for you to choose your Wild Card Couple, that is, the one couple from the whole series that you want to see in the final next week! Yes, from the couple sent home in the first week to Gabi and Michael going home tonight, you, the viewers, have the power to vote one couple back into the competition! We’ll be back in one hour to announce the results!”
The closing credits began to roll, but Ron did not move. He was staring in horror at the set, thoughts coursing through his head, emotions colliding in a confused tangle. One couple was going to be voted back into the competition? Would it be… No, it couldn’t be him and Hermione, it simply couldn’t be. Besides, it wasn’t like they had done a great last dance the week before; their rumba had been terrible. Ron didn’t even think he wanted to be back in the competition, after all, the situation between Hermione and himself had only just settled, and he couldn’t face it all again. And yet…
Ron sighed, and mechanically switched off the set. Forgetting all about his dinner in the oven, he walked as if in a dream back to the spare room, the walls of which were nearly dry. Absentmindedly, Ron waved his wand around, generating a breeze in order to dry the paint more quickly. Once it was dry, he set to work on the rest of the room, laying the carpet and arranging the furniture. Finally, the sound of the smoke alarm reminded him of his dinner, and he hurtled downstairs before he set the house on fire (he didn’t think that Ginny, especially a pregnant Ginny, would take too kindly to returning home to a pile of ash). Twenty minutes until the results. Ron cleaned the mess that he had made of Ginny’s oven, then made himself a sandwich instead. As the clock chimed to say that it was time, he moved slowly to the living room, afraid of what the result would be.
“Welcome back to our semi-final!” Bruce beamed.
“Shut up, Bruce, and get on with it,” Ron muttered darkly.
“We now have the results in, and can tell you who your Wild Card Couple is! A very popular couple, both on and off the screen, with drama and passion in their dancing and in their own lives off the floor. This couple has seen more ups and downs than the rest put together, and surely this last twist will prove the greatest of all. The couple coming back to the competition for the final next week is…”
Ron buried his head in his hands. He had a horrible feeling…
“Ron and Hermione!”
“Oh no,” Ron groaned aloud, collapsing onto the sofa. Whatever happened, this would not go well.
Strictly Ballroom by goldenprincess
Chapter Notes: Ron finally gets a grip on his life, and accepts that he must move on without Hermione, without dancing, and without alcohol. With help from Harry and Ginny, he begins afresh, but a spanner is about to be thrown into the works…