“To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead” “ Bertrand Russell
10 years later
Screaming. He couldn’t stand anymore screaming. He couldn’t stand waking every day to more screams. Groaning, he rolled out of bed and dragged himself across to the window and opened it.
“Go away!” he yelled hoarsely. “Leave me alone!” After yelling a few choice swear words at the gaggle of hormone-infested teenage witches outside his apartment building, Ronald Weasley crawled towards his bathroom, through the mass of beer bottles and pizza boxes that seemed to amass more and more every night. Particularly the beer bottles.
Not like he couldn’t afford it. As Chudley Cannon, England and now Europe goalkeeper, he could afford anything he liked. The only problem was that he had nobody to share it with. True, he’d had his fair share of girls. More than his fair share. But none he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He couldn’t stand the thought of it. Every time he looked at his latest girlfriend, Heavenly-Paige Shuffle-Gordon, he saw her fake blonde hair transform into frizzy brown curls and her vacant blue eyes become brown and earthy. He could never love anyone the way he’d loved Hermione.
She’d kept her promise. She’d written once a month to both him and Harry, and had recently told them that she could add Wizarding European Ballroom and Latin Champion to the numerous Muggle titles she had already won. Harry wrote back with news of his and Ginny’s wedding, and subsequent birth of young daughter Charlotte. Hermione had not been able to attend the wedding, due to a competition in Belgium. Ron thought whether this was a good or bad thing. Perhaps it was best she hadn’t seen his drunken display on that particular occasion. Or any occasion since. Hm.
It really was useful, Ron thought, that he was now the face of Healey’s Happy Hangover Cure. Before being supplied with dozens of boxes of the stuff free of charge, he’d had to make do with puking his guts out every morning before forcing down his own home-made remedy of ketchup, ice cream and gherkins. He now grabbed a bottle from his plentiful supply and took an enormous swig, feeling his headache and nausea disappear almost at once. He looked at the clock. He would be late again. Not that it mattered: his coach wasn’t about to sack the ‘greatest goalkeeper that ever lived’. Or at least that was what the Daily Prophet called him. The same Daily Prophet that so stupidly printed his address in the paper only a week previously. Hence the screaming fan girls outside his apartment morning till night. Ron frowned out the window at them, then even more at the mess that was his flat. He was a complete wreck.
Sighing, Ronald Weasley changed into his Quidditch robes and Apparated to his training ground.
~~*~~
When he returned home at half past four, Ron was dismayed but completely unsurprised to find his flat exactly the same as he’d left it. He manoeuvred his way to his phone to find six messages waiting for him from Heavenly-Paige, each more sickly-sweet than the last. There was one final message left for him, which turned out to be from his agent, Estelle.
“Ron, it’s me, Estelle. Just thought I’d remind you that it’s the Masquerade Ball tonight to celebrate Wizarding Sports Personality of the Year, for which, I might remind you, you are an honorary guest with a chance of picking up Sportsman of the Year. So you will be there at half past six, and you will not get drunk until after receiving your reward. There’s something else I want to talk to you about, but I’ll wait to tell you in person. See you there.”
Ron groaned.
~~*~~
“And the winner is,” the blonde haired Quidditch Seeker announced, “Ronald Weasley!” Booming cheers and storms of clapping erupted as Ron got up to graciously accept his award, smiling as falsely as he could.
“Thank you, thank you, it’s very kind of you all, thank you so much,” he uttered, before taking the award back to his seat and wiping the grin from his face once he was sure no cameras were on him. Estelle was sitting beside him.
“Nice acceptance speech,” she said acidly.
“Oh whatever, just pass me a beer,” Ron muttered. Estelle sighed, but obliged. Soon the award ceremony was over, and everyone was ushered into a huge room decorated with enormous silver drapes. They all adorned masks and thus the Masquerade Ball began.
Ron, of course, made for the bar.
“One large vodka,” he ordered of the pretty bar girl. “And whatever my good friend here is having,” he added, as a tall girl wearing a long sparkly red dress appeared beside him. She looked appraisingly at him.
“I can get my own drinks,” she told him, curtly.
“Yes, but I can get your drinks too,” he told her, wagging a finger.
“Yes, but I don’t want you to buy my drinks for me,” she pointed out. Ron stared at her. No girl ever turned down an offer of a drink from him.
“Don’t you know who I am?” he asked, incredulously.
“No,” she replied. “You’re wearing a mask. And I don’t want to know, thank you.”
“Tell you what,” Ron said, raising an eyebrow. “I won’t buy you a drink. I won’t even talk to you for the rest of the evening. Just give me one dance.” At that very moment, the DJ began playing Chris de Burgh’s ‘Lady in Red’.
“Come on, they’re playing your song!” Ron said enthusiastically. He could just see one of her eyebrows raised.
“Fine,” she said, getting up and stalking over to the dance floor. “Come on then.” He hurried over to her and put his arms around her, and they began moving in time to the music. Ron tried to look into her eyes, but they were firmly fixed on a point over his shoulder.
“You’re a good dancer,” he said, hopefully.
“Thank you,” she replied, the eyebrow raising once more. “But how can you tell, when all we’re doing is moving from side to side?”
“Er…” He supposed she had a point.
“How do you know Muggle music, anyway?” the girl asked, clearly looking for some conversation.
“This girl I used to like played this song all the time,” Ron admitted, thinking of Hermione.
“It is a nice song,” the girl admitted grudgingly. Then, for the first time, she looked into his eyes.
There was something about her eyes. He couldn’t say what it was, but some kind sparkle glittered in the bright brown eyes behind the mask. Neither of them spoke again until the end of the song; the girl appeared to be lost in thought.
“So,” Ron said hopefully, leading the way back to the bar, “what about that drink?”
“I’ll have a small Fire whiskey, then,” she said, finally. As the bartender went to fetch their drinks, a man appeared between them, placing his hand on the girl’s shoulder.
“Oh,” she said, suddenly startled and a little flustered, “this is Alex,” she told Ron. “My long-term boyfriend.”
Ron looked Alex up and down. He was shorter than Ron, but had deep blue eyes, spiky blond hair and a strong jawline. Dammit.
“Long term?” Ron asked sourly. “Why don’t you just go ahead and get married?”
“I don’t believe in marriage,” the girl said quietly.
“Come on, love, let’s go and dance,” Alex said, pulling the girl away. Ron caught one last fleeting glimpse of her brown eyes behind the mask before suddenly she was gone.
“Best make that a large one,” Ron told the bartender bitterly, indicating the girl’s untouched Fire whiskey. “It’s going to be a long night.”
~~*~~
By the time Estelle found Ron several hours had passed. He attempted on several occasions to try and count the numerous beer bottles lined up in front of him, but they had an irritating habit of moving from side to side so he lost count.
“I thought you’d be here,” Estelle said reprovingly as Ron downed half a bottle in one gulp.
“Eh? Oh, it’s you!” He pulled her into a tight hug. “You’re not gonna leave me, are ya? Cosh, everyone does, but you are like, my best mate, yeah? Whoa!” Ron nearly toppled off his stool but grasped the bar top for support.
“You’ve got an invitation to appear on a reality TeleWizion show,” Estelle said slowly. “You’ll have to dance, and-“
“Dance?! I love dancing!” Ron proceeded to show off his ‘dancing’ skills, but merely succeeded in falling flat on his face with a groan. Estelle suppressed an eye roll, as nearby photographers hurried to get yet more shots of the plastered Quidditch star making a fool of himself. Yet again.
“So you’ll do it then?”
“I’m in!” Ron shouted gleefully.
“Great, you start tomorrow. Now let’s get you out of here, so you can fall into your drunken stupor in private.”
~~*~~
When they reached Ron’s apartment, he was singing loudly, accompanied by the odd giggle and occasional loud belch. Estelle enlisted the help of the taxi driver to heave Ron, whose feet appeared to have failed him, up to his apartment.
Once Ron was safely inside his flat, Estelle and the cabbie left. Inside, Ron staggered about drunkenly until he found his bedroom and, with a final thought of the mystery girl, passed out on the bed.