False Fate

By MD1016

Part I: Cup of Oaths

Chapter 3 – To Be A Man

That night was a series of sleepless stretches of time for Ron interspersed with hatred of Harry, then Hermione, and then himself. Over and over he saw that kiss – The Kiss – played out in excruciatingly slow motion, always followed by Hermione's collapse and the welling of fear and anger deep in his belly.

When morning finally came in the form of diffused grey light, Ron dressed and went back down to the dining room that had yet to recover from the previous evening's excitement. With new purpose, Ron went to the fireplace, picked up a hand of Floo Powder, and stepped inside.

The Leaky Cauldron was murky and dark even in the early morning, and the barkeep didn't bother to look up from his counting of Knuts and Sickles when he said with a monotonous voice, "We're closed."

Ron hurried out into Diagon Alley, where there were the beginnings of people moving about: guiding brooms to sweep the front steps, opening shades on shop windows, and the like. Ron brushed the ash from his hair and clothes as he made his way down to Fred and George's joke shop at number 93. The sign on the door said that they opened at ten. Ron knocked anyway, and then again.

"What's the matter with you?" the sign squawked. "Can't you read? I'll read me to you! 'Opens at ten a.m.!' Not six fifty-three! Now go home and stop bothering me!"

Ron pounded on the door. "George! Fred! Open up!" Somewhere inside, a door slammed open.

"Do you think you're better than everyone else?" the sign asked. "That the rules don't apply to you? Are you special? Hmm? Think the world will start its day whenever you please, do you?"

George peered with bleary eyes out from behind the door's shade, obviously fresh from bed. He scowled, puffy-red-faced, at his brother.

"Oh, sure, ignore the sign," said the sign. "I'm only doing my job, you know. It's not as though I hang out here for the fun of it, day in and day out, in all kinds of weather."

"What is it?" George asked, once the door was cracked open. Ron didn't fail to notice he hadn't been invited in.

"I need a job."

"A job?" both George and the sign asked together.

"Well," the sign continued, "one would certainly think employment inquiries could wait until business hours!"

"Let me in," Ron said.

George considered him, then stepped back to let him pass. "Yeah, all right."

Fred appeared at the bottom of the stairs in his pajama bottoms, naked from the waist up. The right side of his hair stood straight out. "Who's died?" he asked. "Someone better have bloody well died."

"He needs a job," George told him.

"What? At seven in the morning?"

"Seems," George said with a shrug. "But I was thinking–"

"I know, I know. But is he up to it?" Fred shoved the heel of his hand in his eye and rubbed vigorously. "He'd be mostly on his own, you know."

"What are you talking about?" Ron demanded.

"We've been thinking of expanding," George explained. "A Hogsmeade branch, and then maybe in Edinburgh, as well."

"But we don't want to have to work the new storefronts," Fred cut in. "Hell, we don't want to have to work the one we've got."

"No, our genius is in development and testing of goods, not in the actual sales. We need someone who can manage the store, help the customers, take orders, that sort of thing."

"It's not brain work," Fred warned. "It's tedious and boring, and you have to watch out for the kids who'd rather not pay. Adults too, for that matter, though they're not quite as clever."

"But the hours are good. And it's not as ifough you've got to really do anything. Our stuff sells itself."

"Uh, right, then," Ron said with a shrug. "I could do that."

"Yeah?" George asked, appalled at Ron's lack of enthusiasm. "Is that all you've got to say?"

"What do you pay?"

"Pay?" Fred questioned, and then looked at his brother. "We didn't…did you think of that?"

"Not…as…such. No. What's the going wage?"

Fred shrugged. "Don't know."

"Doesn't matter," Ron said, and then sighed. "Just give me something to put in my pocket so Dad won't nag." He took a seat on the stool behind the worktop and glanced around the cluttered shop. So this was his life. Selling jokes. Ron thought he should've been more disappointed than he actually was.

"I don't need much," he added.

"Fred," George said, his eyes glued on Ron, "does he look right to you?"

"Just about," Fred said, now staring at Ron as well. "What are you on about?"

"Looks a little gray to me," George said. "Down in the dumps. Did you have a fight with your girlfriend?"

"How is Hermione?" Fred asked. "She's turning into quite the little treat."

"Shut up about her," Ron said, and kicked at a box at his feet. "And she's not my girlfriend."

"Yeah, you should do something about that, mate," Fred said. "Girls are like flowers; they need tending."

Ron rolled his eyes. "If you know so much about girls, why aren't you two–?”

"Who says we're not?" Fred asked smugly. He exchanged a knowing look with his brother, and the both of them glanced up the stairs.

"Sisters," George said with a grin from ear to ear. "Twins."

Ron forced his gaze away from the stairs and the new knowledge that his brothers had lady friends in their rooms. He shook his head. "Everybody but me."

"Hey now" – George leaned on the counter across from him – "it can be you, too. If not your friend Hermione, then why not someone else–?"

"There's no one else!" Ron snapped, then instantly regretted it. He hadn't meant to give so much away, and he knew that he had when George leaned back and looked over at his twin.

"So…what's up, Ron?" Fred asked in a weak attempt at sounding casual. "Mum tells us you moved into Headquarters. How's that working out?"

"Fine," Ron said through gritted teeth. He needed to get out of there, and quick. He had what he came for, so there was really no reason to stay. Except for the fact that he didn't want to go back to the manse, and he didn't have any money.

"Have a row with Harry, did you?"

Ron shook his head. "When can I start the job? It's in Hogsmeade, you said?"

"Come on," said George. "We're your brothers. I mean, sure we'll take the mickey, but we're bound to help in any way we can."

Fred added, "You've always been our favorite brother, haven't you? Best of the lot."

"You mean better than Percy," Ron quipped. "Gee, thanks."

"So what is it?" George prodded. "Is it Hermione, then? Did she turn you down?"

"That's rough, mate. And quite a shock, I must say. Always thought she had a thing for you."

Ron's brow wrinkled. "You did?"

"But there are other birds, Ron."

"No," Ron said. "No, there aren't."

The twins looked at each other, regrouped, and then Fred pulled a couple of Zombini's from a small hidden compartment behind the counter. With a flick of his thumb the tops flipped off and a strong smell of earthy alcohol filled Ron's nostrils. Fred pushed the bottle into his brother's hand and said with all seriousness, "Care to tell us about it?"

Might as well, Ron thought. They weren't going to let him off the hook. He swallowed and waited a moment for the fizz to settle in his stomach before letting out a ripping belch.

"We were Fated," Ron said at last, and surprisingly he felt a little better.

"Fated? You and Hermione? No!"

"He means True Lovers, does he?"

"Yes." Ron took another swig and gave off another belch. "Her and me. Fated."

"That's wonderful!" George exclaimed while Fred gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "Have you told Mum? She'll get her knickers in a bunch over this one. One of her brood Fated? She'll die from happiness."

"I said we were," Ron told them. "As in past tense."

"How's that?"

"'Didn't think it worked like that."

"Not supposed to–"

"No, it's not." Ron felt the anger again, twisting through the beer. "But it has. We were hexed."

"Oh, bloody–" George said, his face suddenly solemn. "That's awful."

"I didn't know that could happen anymore. Didn't the Ministry ban those particular spells?"

"Yes," Ron said. Another drink, another burp.

Then, as if on cue, Fred and George headed up the stairs.

"Hey!" Ron protested, but Fred turned and gave a reassuring grin.

"If there's a way to break the hex, you know we're the ones to find it," he said. "Oh, and you start tomorrow. We'll send you the address by Errol. Don't worry, old chap, we'll get this all sorted out."

"It's not that easy," Ron called after them. "Now she's Fated to Harry."

Both brothers froze on the stairs. "Noooo!" George whispered.

"That is a problem," Fred agreed.

"Harry and Hermione? Do they know?"

"He does," Ron said. He had a bitter taste on the back of his tongue that had nothing to do with the beer in his hand. "I don't know that he's told her yet."

"But she must know. She must! If I were in Love with a bird, and then suddenly wasn't, I think I'd know something was up."

"But wait–" George said, putting out an arm to calm his excited twin. "If you're not Fated to her anymore, Ron, then why are you still mooning over her?"

Fred cuffed his brother on the back of his head. "Stupid question. Because he still fancies her! Just because he's not her True Love any longer doesn't mean the underlying love emotion-thing is gone." Then Fred turned back to Ron. "We are using the L-word, now, aren't we? We're not going to be coy, are we?"

Ron shook his head miserably.

"Then wait…she must still love him, too! I mean, it only goes to reason."

"Well, sure she does if she ever did, but remember, unlike Ron here, she's Fated to someone else. So yes, she's got this lovely little love for Ron, but she's got big fat Love for Harry."

"Huh," said George, "Not quite so simple as we originally thought. And to be honest, I don't know enough about this stuff–"

"No, neither do I. We'll need some outside help."

"Definitely."

The two of them gave Ron a look that seemed more pity than anything else. He took another deep drink, letting the pungent liquid pour down his throat, knowing he hadn't even had breakfast yet and not really caring.

****

Ron was completely drunk by the time he made it back to number 12. He managed to make it up the stairs – no thanks to the insults and jeers of the hallway portrait of the Widow Black – mostly on his feet, and then into his room, only scuffing his shoulder against the door jamb. Bed. Sleep. Then maybe a shower, he told himself. Or maybe not. It seemed a lot of hassle with the knowledge that he was just going to get smelly again later. On the way to the big bed, Ron kicked off his shoes, tugged his shirt off over his head, and unzipped his jeans. Each motion seemed more laborious than the last. It was too much to ask his legs to balance while he tried to step out of his trousers, and when he had them down halfway, the floor seemed to suddenly swing up and slap Ron in the face.

"Stupid floor. Who put you there?"

"I must say, young man, you don't look at all well," said Lucy the mirror.

Ron rolled over, but sitting up seemed a bit much for him at the moment. He opted for kicking his jeans completely off, and then busied himself with trying to remove his socks with just his toes. It took a long time.

When Ron woke, he felt less numb and more sick. It took some effort, but he manage to lift himself from the floor, and with his hands steadying his head, he turned and found Hermione in the doorway, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

"Sorry," she whispered, then shot from the room.

It was another couple of moments before Ron registered that he was wearing nothing but his gray briefs and a tube sock that hung off his right foot. She was going to have to learn to knock, he decided, unable to get anymore worked up than that fleeting thought. With his head pounding, his stomach miserable, and the rest of him hating life, Ron crawled onto the bed without bothering to get beneath the covers.

****

Supper was again a bust. This time Harry produced cheddar and loaf of bread.

Ron stared down at his plate with a scowl. "This is just wrong. Harry, you've got to get a house elf or something."

"We don't need a house elf," Hermione protested. "It's just food. If you don't want this, I'm sure there's something else in here we can eat."

The three of them began to go through the cupboards, but it seemed that no one had recently been to the grocer. There were some dried beans, a couple of tins of stale biscuits, and not much more.

"I need more than just cheese and bread," Ron whined. "These are prison rations!"

"If we're going to live here," Harry said, once the last of the cupboards was raided, "then I guess we're going to have to set up house. Fend for ourselves."

"Makes sense," Hermione reluctantly agreed. "Only, I lost my position today at the flower shop. It seems I overslept…by a number of hours." She glanced at Harry self-consciously from the corner of her eye, and then, as if she just realized what she was doing, she gave Ron a guilty look.

"So," she sighed. "I'm still penniless." She sat down heavily at the table and ran a fingernail over the scratched surface. "I wonder if, perhaps, my parents were right. If maybe I'm in over my head here."

"Of course not," Ron began, but Harry brushed past him and took a seat on the bench next to her.

"Do you want to go back to Hogwarts?" he asked. "The year has only just started; it would be easy to make up what you've missed."

"What I've missed? Not we?"

"I can't go, Hermione, you know that. I've got to find the Horcruxes and Voldemort–"

"I don't know what I was thinking," she said with a self-conscious chuckle. "Of course we can't go back."

But Ron knew. She was thinking if they could just slip back behind the thick castle walls they could pretend for one more year that they were still children with nothing more to fear than the next Potions exam. The allure was there, yes, but they all knew it wouldn't be that way any longer. Dumbledore was gone now. Voldemort was alive and thriving. Ron had become a murderer. Their Hogwarts days were best behind them, where those memories could be kept safe and treasured. Whether they were ready for it or not, life had dragged the three of them forward.

"You can go, Hermione," Harry said, barely above a whisper. "One more year. Think of all the things you could learn. Yes, you should go."

She turned a suspicious eye to him. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

They were too close together. Any doubt that had been in Ron's mind previously was completely erased now. Their bodies, their faces, all far too close. Ron cleared his throat. "I'll cook," he announced. "But I'm not cleaning."

Harry smirked at him. "Does that mean you're not thinking about going back to Hogwarts, either?"

"Hell no. I've got a job that starts tomorrow," Ron told him. "So don't worry about the money thing, Hermione. It's not that important. We're a team, right? Harry's got money, and I'll have a least a little income, and I'm sure you'll find something else before long. After all, you're tons more employable than me, and I talked Fred and George into letting me manage their new Hogsmeade store."

"Fred and George have a Hogsmeade store?" Harry asked.

"You're going to manage?" Hermione asked.

"I'm as surprised as you are," Ron told them. "But I reckon if Fred and George can do it, how hard can it possibly be?"

****

Lupin showed up not long after that, and with empty bellies they all retired to the drawing room and pushed the furniture against the far wall.

"Hex on you all!" Lady Black called after them when they passed her in the hall. "Haven't you filthy little mongrels destroyed enough of my home?"

"Gather round," Lupin said, and they circled up in the middle of the room. "Now then, I thought tonight we'd work on our Patronuses. It's N.E.W.T. level magic, but I'm sure you two will master it just as well as Harry has done."

"Actually, Profess – I mean Remus – we already have Patronuses," Hermione proudly announced.

"You do? Corporeal Patronuses? I didn't realize your Defense Against the Dark Arts class was so advanced."

"It was more Harry than a class," Ron said with a shrug. "Dumbledore's Army, you know?"

Lupin became very serious. "Was it now? Well, then, let's see what you've mastered."

"Have I – did I do something wrong?" Harry asked.

"Not really, Harry, no. But you must realize that advanced magic can be extremely dangerous, particularly among those who are not prepared to take it on. Let us see what you all can do before we worry too much."

The next thirty minutes were spent in creating Patronus after Patronus. Hermione had the most difficulty coaxing her otter to retain its shape, something Lupin attributed to the drama from the previous evening. Harry by far had the strongest patronus, and he was years ahead of both Ron and Hermione in being able to control it and direct it, which was only to be expected. He was, after all, the only one of them who'd ever had to use the spell in battle, and they all knew it was a spell at which he excelled.

Ron, however, was still quite pleased with what he was able to create. His little dog was fast and nimble, and able to do a back flip by the time Lupin called an end to the session.

They had begun to move the furniture back when Lupin asked, "You all right, Hermione?" Ron turned to see she had tears in her eyes.

"Yes," she said quickly, and gave him a watery smile. "I can't believe how tired I am. I slept all night and half the day."

"Why don't you get some more rest, then? Ron and Harry can finish up down here."

"Uh…Remus…. Do you think…I have some questions…." She was nervous and fidgety, and she motioned to the door with her elbow. All very un-Hermione-like.

"Of course," he said, not seeming to find this odd in the least, and quickly followed her from the room.

Harry raised his brows at Ron. "What was that?"

"Got me."

"You don't think it's about us, do you?"

"Us? You mean you and me? Or you and that kiss you smothered her with last night?"

"I…." For a moment Harry was speechless, and Ron felt the now familiar anger begin to creep up from his belly. "Ron," he said, "that…that was an accident."

"No, the fire was an accident. Kissing Hermione was not."

Harry looked away, his nostrils flared. "Look, I Love her–"

"No!" Ron yelled. "It's a curse, not Love! It's not real!"

"To me, it feels real. Like True Love. It's amazing, the most amazing–"

"Well, to me it feels like a huge gaping hole has been punched into the middle of me, and my two best friends are standing around snogging while I bleed to death in front of them!"

"I know, I'm sorry–"

"Are you?

"I didn't want it to happen this way!" Harry's arms flew up in exasperation. "You were there, Ron, you know I didn't want to have to…."

"Steal my Love?"

"Oh, come off it! I saved her life! We both did! And besides, you two may have been Fated from birth, but you never once acted on it. You had years with her and you never so much as held her hand–"

"We were children!"

"And maybe some of us still are!"

Without thinking, Ron pulled back and punched his fist into Harry's nose. Blood and snot flew everywhere, and Harry landed flat on his back in the middle of the carpet, his glasses crooked and broken over his head. "Ow," Harry carefully said from the floor. "Ow. Ow."

The regret was instant and resounding, and more disturbing than the anger had ever been. "I'm sorry," Ron mumbled, pulling his wand from his pocket. "Harry." He pointed the wand at his friend's face, and Harry's eyes went wide.

"R'n, don'!" He curled into a ball and rolled on to his side.

"I broke your nose," Ron told him. "I was going to fix it."

Harry peeked back at him and, deciding Ron was sincere, rolled flat onto his back once more.

Ron snorted. "So much for trust," he muttered.

"Ye boke m' n'se!"

"It was an accident," Ron said flatly, and then took aim. "Episkey!"

The blood didn't vanish, but the pain must have because Harry sat up, then sprang from the floor just as Lupin came back into the room. He stopped short when he saw the state Harry was in.

"Is there a problem?" Lupin asked.

"No," Harry said casually. He picked up the pieces of his glasses. "No problem." Then he breezed by Lupin and up the stairs before any questions could be asked.

Ron shrugged at his former teacher and followed, only to retreat to the sanctuary of his room.

End of chapter 3