False Fate
By MD1016
Part II: Trial of the Century
Chapter 12 – Grief In Five Stages, In His Father's Shoes
Christmas night Ron lay on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling, contemplating his full belly and the rest of the Yule Log that was waiting downstairs for someone to eat it. In years past that his been his father's domain – the polishing off of the Yule Log. It was hard to accept that there was still half a cake down there, and would be come morning.
"What do you think they're talking about down there?" Harry asked, from his perch on the other bed. He stared down through the floor as if to see through to Ginny's room two levels down.
"Don't know," Ron said, and he didn't much care, either. Now that the sun had gone down and Christmas was pretty much over, his father's absence was more sorely felt. And the guilt was stronger. It just didn't seem right somehow that Ron could lay there, whole and intact, his stomach happily digesting away, his Fate back in its rightful place, and Hermione safe, while his father's body lay in suspension until his funeral the following week. It was hard to think beyond that; beyond the grief and guilt and his father never tucking in to another Yule Log.
"Girls talk about blokes, don't they?" Harry didn't really expect an answer, did he? Apparently not, because he carried on with his conversation without one. "And Terry Boot. Dating him is near on dating Neville, isn't it?"
"She dated Neville," Ron reminded him. "Yule Ball, Fourth Year."
"Shut up."
"And anyway, what's wrong with Neville?" asked Ron. He sat up, stretched his legs across to the other bed, and stuffed a pillow between his back and the wall. "He's not much to look at, granted, but then neither am I. Girls aren't as shallow as we are, lucky for us, or else I'd have no hope."
"No hope," Harry said with a huff. "What are you on about? You're Fated."
Ron shrugged. He didn't see why that would help him if Hermione decided she wanted a pretty face. In fact, he didn't see why Harry would assume anything about Hermione and him just because they were Fated. Harry had been right when he'd said that Ron had spent his entire life Fated to Hermione, and not once had he so much as held her hand. Of course, now he'd kissed her twice, but those hardly counted, as she was Harry's at the time. Ron liked knowing Hermione was his now, as long as he didn't actually have to do anything with her. He was too overwhelmed with everything else at the moment to even think about Hermione like that. And whenever he caught her staring at him it was as if she expected him to do something or say something, but there was nothing in his head anymore except his mum crying and his dad on that table in St. Mungo's, under the sheet.
Harry shook his head in frustration. He was still in his own teenage thoughts. Suddenly Harry seemed too young and immature. "I just reckoned," Harry said, "given all the blokes Ginny could go out with, she'd choose someone…"
"What? More like you?" Ron asked, irritated. Why didn't he just shut up?
"No!"
"Less like you, then?" Ron needled.
"No!"
"Well, don't bite my head off – I'm not the one snogging Terry Boot!"
Harry threw a shoe at Ron, and then dove for his bag under the bed. Ron watched as he rummaged through it. He wished Harry would just lie down and go to sleep so Ron wouldn't have to talk anymore. Or think. Instead, Harry tossed aside clothes and a belt before he pulled out his Christmas gift from George and Fred - the newest model Extendable Ears. Unlike the previous incarnations, these Extendable Ears didn't have a long, fleshy cord that was likely to get knotted and tangled. Instead, there were two small, pill-shaped ear pieces and a homing ear that crawled along the floor or walls until it found its target.
"You're going to listen in on Ginny and Hermione?" It seemed a childish thing to do.
"Listening to you is getting me nowhere," Harry darkly quipped.
He put one of the ear pieces in, but Ron reached out to stop him. Someone was going to get hurt, and Ron didn't think he'd survive that conversation. "Are you sure, mate? What if she says something you don't want to hear?"
"Like what?" Harry demanded.
"Like she's bagging Terry Boot."
"She's sixteen!" Harry insisted. "She's not bagging anyone!"
"Well, then," Ron said, changing tactics, "what if she says she's over you?" It was an entirely possible and ugly reality to face on Christmas night.
This gave Harry pause. "Then, I suppose, it's best if I know," he said, though Ron wasn't quite sure he meant it. Harry offered Ron an ear piece, and he hesitated before taking it. Harry was looking at him, and Ron couldn't let him eavesdrop alone. No bloke should have to hear bad news on his own.
For a long moment there wasn't any sound at all, and Ron wondered if Ginny had thought to put a Silencing Spell on the door. Would a spell on the door cover the gaping hole above it that had never been fixed? Then, one of them coughed a little – Ron thought it was probably Ginny – and there was a sigh.
"It doesn't really matter," Hermione said quietly, sadly. "It's not like I'm…well, like I was. I'm more or less a Squib now. A Muggle, really. And I can't imagine Ron ever wanting a Muggle. I don't think it would even occur to him. And I can't really blame him."
"Well, I bloody well can!" Ginny snapped. "He was all over you before, when you and Harry were…you know."
"Well, he's not now.
He won't stay in a room with me long enough to even talk, and…I don't
know, Ginny. I just think, maybe I don't
belong here anymore. I can't do
magic. I'm useless. It might be better for everyone – easier – if
I went back to
"What?"
"Listen. There's so much going on right now, and going to be going on, and Ron's in the thick of it because of his Smisurato abilities. And he's got your dad's passing to deal with, and I'm sure he blames me a little for that–"
"No!" Ginny insisted. "None of us do! That's not even open for discussion."
There was a moment of silence.
"Thank you," Hermione said. "Oh, Ginny, I'm so sorry about him. Honestly, I…"
There was a muffle of moving bedclothes and squeaking beds and the wet sound of runny noses and crying. Ron pulled his Extendable Ear out, unable to take any more emotional outbursts when his own emotions were so raw. And anyway, Hermione would never live like a Muggle again. A witch as brilliant as her living without magic? Who did she think she was kidding? Not that he'd mind if she'd take holiday for a week or so, just to give him a little breathing space for a while. The hearing had left her clingy, and in the worst sort of way. Just like with Ginny now, Ron realized, she needed constant reassurances that the old Hermione never needed.
Yes, he was glad Hermione was free and safe, and he was relieved that Moody was around to protect her and the rest of the family, but Ron would much rather have them all go away so he could be by himself. Interacting with people, even his favorite people, was just a bit more than he thought he could handle at the moment. He stared at Harry just feet from him, and wished him away as well. Which wasn't really fair, as he knew that the Burrow was the closest thing to a real home Harry had ever known, and if Harry weren't kneeling with his fingers pressing the ear piece further into his ear on the other bed in Ron's room, then he'd be alone at number 12, and on Christmas, which would just be cruel.
Well, Ron was feeling a little cruel, he reckoned, though generous, too, as he didn't say anything and Harry got to stay. Ron congratulated himself on this.
Harry pulled his ear piece out and looked at it glumly. Then he considered Ron. "Do you blame her?" he asked. It was a simple question with a very complicated answer.
"What?" Ron asked, stalling.
"Hermione. Do you blame her for what happened to your dad?"
"Oh. No," Ron said. "That wouldn't be reasonable, would it?" He blamed himself. He was angry at himself, and Draco. And yes, perhaps at Hermione, too. And he was mad at his dad, he decided. If Moody or Kingsley had Polyjuiced up that morning, surely they would've been able to deflect the curse. Surely. And even if they couldn't…well, Ron would still have his father. And more importantly, his mum would have him, too. And then Ron wouldn't mind that there were so many bloody people around because he wouldn't want to be by himself; and he wouldn't feel the guilt gnawing him from the inside.
"You've been avoiding her," Harry said, now looking at his knees and playing with the Extendable Ear piece. "When she gave you your gift this morning you ran out of the room."
"I never ran!" Ron indignantly insisted. "And anyway, I had to use the loo."
"Today when we were straightening up, when she was on the ladder, you saw her wobble, I know you did because you reached out to steady her legs, but then pulled your hands away at the last second and didn't touch her."
"She didn't fall, did she?"
"What's going on with you? Just a few days ago you were itching to see her–"
"Nothing," Ron said again, now more petulant. If Harry was going to stay in his room, the least he could do was be agreeable. He didn't pressure Harry, why shouldn't Harry return the favor? "I know! All right? I…I just don't know."
"You Love her, Ron. We all know it. You don't have to pretend–"
"Who's pretending?" Ron demanded. "Just…what are they saying now?"
He didn't care, really, but anything to get the conversation off him. If Ron didn't want to touch her, or stand around while she looked at him, expecting him to kiss her, it was nobody's business but his own. And she did expect things now that she knew they were Fated, which wasn't fair at all! They'd never really been dating, after all, and he'd never asked her to be his girlfriend. Ron didn't want a girlfriend. He wanted everything to go back to the way that it was. At Hogwarts. When they were children. He didn't want to miss her so desperately when she wasn't close, and he certainly didn't want to notice how good she smelled as she walked by, or that she hardly ate at supper when his father would never eat supper again.
Harry stuffed the ear piece back in his ear. Ron followed his lead.
"All I'm saying is…" This was Hermione's voice. "If you fancy Harry, and you know now that Harry's, well, available, then–"
"No!" snapped Ginny. "I'm always picking up the pieces when it comes to him. If he wants me he knows where to find me. Until that time–"
"You're going to get your oats from Terry Boot?"
Ginny giggled. "Well, he'd like to. We've got close a couple of times, but, well…"
Harry's eyes went wide, and the blood drained from his face. Ron thought he might be sick for a couple of moments. "She almost? With Terry? Terry Boot? How close is close? What does that mean?"
"Give Harry another chance," Hermione urged. "He's worth it. And he's really very good, you know…worth the effort. Knows all the right bits, if you know what I mean. He does this thing with the back of your knee–"
"Hermione!" Ginny gasped, scandalized, and then the both of them dissolved into giggles.
Harry went red and made to pull out Ron's ear piece, but Ron was too quick and he held it up just out of Harry's reach. "Come on! I'm not listening! Like I want to hear about your sexual exploits with my girl."
"Right!" said Harry, abandoning his attempt at getting Ron's ear piece. "She's your girl! Hermione is your girl! So, why are you so stand-offish around her? Can't you see it's breaking her heart?"
"I'm not!" Ron said, and collapsed down on the bed. Harry dropped on the other, and they glared at each other. "She expects things, all right? Because we're Fated, she expects me to – I don't know – be her boyfriend or something. I don't like that."
"You expect her to be your girl."
"No I don't!"
"You just said she was your girl!
"Piss off!"
"Maybe if you just talk to her–"
"I don't want to talk to her!" Ron shook his head. "Have you ever come out ahead when talking with Hermione? She's sharp as a razor, that one, and she'd have me planning a wedding before she'd even need to come up for air."
Harry cocked his head to one side. "It's not because of her wand, is it? Because this is Hermione we're on about."
"Enough!" Ron snapped, and flopped backwards on his bed. Harry obviously didn't understand.
Harry slid down into a slouch against the wall and turned the ear piece over and over between his finger and thumb, probably contemplating whether to listen some more. "You know, you're only punishing yourself. Because she knows some good bits as well. Some very good bits. Must've found some books or something…"
Ron jumped up screaming and lurched on to Harry. He attacked him with pillows and blankets and a barbarian yelp until Harry called for mercy, and they were both breathless and exhausted. When at last they sank back into their respective beds with Harry laughing softly, Ron closed his eyes and sighed.
"I'm no good at Love, Harry. I don't want to be. Don't ask me to be."
"How could you not be? You've been surrounded by it your entire life. You're Love Fated. It doesn't make sense."
"No," Ron agreed. "It certainly doesn't." But there it was.
***
The funeral was surreal as a nightmare. Hundreds of people attended, more than Ron thought his father could've possibly known. Order members were discretely helping to funnel the press away, but occasionally Ron would catch a flash from the corner of his eye. He didn't really care.
The sun was out, which seemed wrong, because the bitter chill in the wind cut through his clothes and hair. The trampled foot of snow that had fallen the night before crunched under Ron's shiny black shoes – his father's shoes. He'd been horrified when his mother had produced them, but she clucked at him for being silly. After all, Ron's dress shoes no longer fit, and these were perfectly lovely shoes only worn once at Bill and Fleur's wedding; and anyway, his father had adored the shoes and would want Ron to have them. He stared down at them, the black against the white, wet and cold and stiff. They fit perfectly.
McGonagall spoke, said some kind things about his father, as did Bill and Shacklebolt and Tonks. Tonks was the only one who didn't cry. Ron's mum throughout the service was stoic, and while a few tears did escape the corners of her eyes, she hadn't allowed herself to crumble. Ron knew she wanted to – he wanted to – but she remained strong. It was hard to appreciate as a child what an incredible woman his mother really was; now he was grateful. Not having to take care of her meant he could close himself off from the service a little, shield himself from the gentle, apologetic hands and whispers. After the service, once the crowd got up to pay their respects, Ron moved to a back row to be by himself. He avoided looking at the coffin, at the flowers, at the faces of his friends. He sat slumped on a chair, huddled against the winter, and waited for someone to come along and tell him it was all right to leave.
Ginny sat a few rows ahead of him. She cried all morning long, and her fair face was flush and swollen from the tears and the wind. Harry did his best to comfort her, though she was clearly inconsolable. Ron suspected this was the first real good cry she'd allowed herself. Knowing Ginny, it would probably be the last.
Hermione sat by herself a couple of aisles away. She wore a distant, sad expression, and Ron watched as she sighed and rose and shuffled to his father's coffin with a dozen dark purple grief orchids. She placed them gently next to the garden's worth of flowers slowly freezing on the polished oak lid. She whispered something, touched her fingers to the coffin. Then she turned and met Ron's gaze. His heart beat a little faster. She sat down right next to him. At least she wasn't crying.
"I've decided to move back to number 12 – give your mother some space. You're dad died defending me, after all. She doesn't need me there as a reminder," she said quietly, staring straight ahead at the others who had gone up to the coffin to pay their respects. "Moody will be at the Burrow for a little added security, and Tonks said she was going to move in for a couple of weeks for moral support. For your mother," she added unnecessarily. "She asked what you were going to do. I told her I didn't know."
Ron didn't know, either.
"Ginny's got another week before her holiday is over," Hermione continued. "She was considering taking this term off, but I think your mum and I convinced her that would be a bad idea. It will be hard for her at Hogwarts, I'm sure, but staying home won't make the grief any easier to work through." She turned and considered him for a moment, and then looked back out over the people. A gust picked up her hair, and she pulled her dark cloak tighter around her. "How are you holding up?" she asked, sheepishly, as if she wasn't sure how he'd react to the question.
"Oh, I'm fine," he said. Grief, he decided, was an odd creature. It came and went. At the moment all he felt was cold. And he wanted to be alone.
"You can talk to me…you know? Ron, if you need–"
"I don't need anything," he said quickly, not wanting the conversation to get any closer to feelings or crying or anything remotely personal. "I don't want anything."
"Yes," she said, almost to herself. "You're making that abundantly clear." She sighed, wiped at her cheek, and then said, "I'm sorry, Ron. For everything, but mostly for your dad. It's horrible, and I'm sorry."
Ron shrugged. "Me, too."
She got up then, and before she left she kissed him on the cheek. His chest tightened and a lump lodged itself in the back of his throat. Tears flooded his eyes. He grabbed her shoulders roughly and pressed his mouth to hers. He almost instantly regretted it. The passion and sexual charge from the last kiss they'd shared at Headquarters was missing, and in its place was a confused sort of need. She pulled away with a look of concern on her pale face. He let her go, and she reached out to touch his chest, but he flinched away from her. Fated or not, it had been a mistake to have kissed her there at his father's funeral. He didn't even know why he'd done it. He wished he hadn't. Miserable and cold, he hung his head and slouched again. Hermione walked away.
***
Later he Apparated back to the Burrow with his mother, Tonks, and Moody. Every surface of the kitchen and den were covered with pots, cauldrons or platters of food, or else flowers: the badges of mourning.
"I suppose we won't have to cook for a while," his mother said, though the prospect didn't seem to cheer her. "Don't know where I'll put it all."
"I'll take care of it, Molly," Tonks said. "Why don't you go have a lie down and let me straighten things up down here? Then we'll have some tea and see if you're ready to eat something."
"Yes, all right," Ron's mum said. "And Ronnie, you'll help, yes? Don't let her pick up anything too heavy."
"I'm fine," Tonks assured, but Ron nodded to his mother anyway.
Moody went out to secure the perimeter – conveniently, Ron thought – and so for the next hour he helped Tonks clear out the downstairs.
Supper was a pot of spaghetti and crusty bread, and treacle pudding for dessert. Ron excused himself when the Firewiskey was pulled out. The last thing he wanted to do was drink when he felt like he did. Odds were he'd end up in a crying jag that would outlast the alcohol. Instead he headed up to his room, but stopped to peek into Ginny's. He knew Hermione's stuff would be gone, but still, it was something of a relief to see its absence. The thought of dealing with her, after what he'd done at his father's funeral, was more than he could handle at the moment. But with her at Harry's, well, he'd have some space. And she was safe enough there. Ron just couldn't be responsible to her. Not now.
He went back down to the den where his mum and Tonks had retired, each wrapped in a soft blanket, and asked where Ginny was. It hadn't even occurred to him that she hadn't followed them home from the funeral until now.
"Harry's, I think. Said she wanted a little room to breathe before she came back here. Why don't you join them, dear? Be with your friends for a while."
"I'll be here," Tonks assured him.
"Don't worry about your mum.
But do try to get Hermione to talk a little. It will do her a world of good."
"But I don't want to talk to her," Ron said.
"Have another row?" Ron's mum asked. "Honestly, Ron, she's delicate these days. After everything she's gone through, and now she's grieving, you'd think the least you could do is be nice to her."
"I'm grieving!" Ron insisted.
"She'll be worrying about where she fits in now that she doesn't have a wand, you know," Tonks added. "And she'll need reassurances from you."
"About what?"
"About what?" his mother echoed, incredulous. "Honestly, Tonks, sometimes I don't think I did right by these boys. Not a stitch of empathy in the lot of them!"
"Tell her you don't care that she can't use a wand anymore," Tonks said. "Let her know you still Love her."
For a moment Ron stared at Tonks without blinking. "That's none of your business," he said bluntly, then turned and left.
***
Ron let himself in to the manse, and immediately froze. A pain-filled groan floated in from the
parlor. Ron held his breath, and another
moan followed. He whipped out his wand,
and as Ron crept toward the half-closed doors his heart hammered in this
throat. Number 12 was supposed to be the
most heavily, magically protected building in
The sight that greeted him was more horrific than he'd anticipated. Harry was half naked, as was Ginny, who had her bare legs wrapped around his middle. The two of them were going at it, kissing and groping and thrusting all at once. Ron yelped.
"Get out!" Harry barked through gritted teeth. He was flushed and sweating, and he didn't look like he was about to stop.
"Out!" Ginny echoed, and then groaned again, though it was apparent now she was in anything but pain.
Ron fled, and not able to think yet, took the stairs. A flicker of firelight created shadows outside Hermione's room, and Ron wandered dazed in that direction.
She was sitting in the overstuffed chair, quill in hand, scratching away at Viktor's book. Ron began to shake. Harry and Ginny downstairs, and Hermione and Viktor up here. His head began to throb. He needed to get as far away as possible.
"Oh. Ron." Hermione slipped the book between the cushion and the arm of the chair and then stood. "They were talking things through downstairs, so I thought I'd come up to give them a little privacy."
"You gave them too much," he said. His throat was oddly tight and his voice scratchy.
"They're not getting on, then?" she asked with a frown.
"They're shagging!" Ron blurted.
"Oh! Well, then, I reckon they worked everything out."
"You reckon?" Ron repeated with disgust. "She's sixteen! You should've stayed down there! You know how Ginny fancies him! Sixteen!"
Hermione shrugged. "Harry's seventeen. They're only a couple of months apart, really."
"Thirteen months! And…and what if…if he knocks her up?" They shouldn't be having sex, Ginny had a bloke already! She and Harry were broken up – had been for months! "It's not right!"
Hermione rolled her eyes and waved a dismissing hand. "Ginny's prepared," she said. "After all, she's been seeing Terry, hasn't she?"
"What?" No, no, no, his mind was screaming. It didn't want to know any of this. Ginny had not bagged Terry Boot. Almost, she'd said, but that wasn't the same thing! His stomach knotted, and Ron thought for a moment that he was going to go and beat the living magic out of Terry. Or vomit.
"But you're right," Hermione continued. "No protection is completely fool-proof. What if he did manage to get her pregnant? Would that really be so bad? It wouldn't be the end of the world, now would it?" Her gaze was steady, defiant.
"Yes!"
"Oh, come now," Hermione said. "Harry's got money, he's got a house. He wouldn't abandon her. Your mum's supportive. And Ginny, she's nearly done with Hogwarts–"
Ron interrupted her. "I don't want babies!" His whole being was humming with anger and frustration and shock. He didn't know where the words had come from, but the thought had been bouncing around inside him ever since that morning down in the kitchen when he thought Hermione was going to kiss him. He was trapped in this relationship dictated by the Fates. And it irked him that Hermione didn't seem to mind; one would think after the fiasco with Harry she'd be a little perturbed about being Fated.
Hermione froze for a moment, and then turned and considered him. "Ever?" she asked. "You don't want babies, not ever?"
"Not ever." He was fairly sure that wasn't what she wanted to hear, but it was best to have it out there anyway. Best to tell her how it was going to be.
"Well," she said slowly, carefully. "Well, I reckon that's your choice." She turned now, looked up at the books lining her shelves, then over at the wide bed wedged into one of them. "I do want a baby," she told him. "A whole house full of them. Not now, of course, I don't want to be a teen mother. Maybe in ten or fifteen years. After I've an established career and a husband. After Voldemort." She looked at him now, imploring. "But I do want them. Very much."
"Not mine."
"Clearly."
He turned to go, but then remembered what was happening downstairs. He was trapped – with Hermione. Blast it all! It was all wrong! Why didn't anyone else see that? Why didn't she see it? "They're not even Fated," he grumbled.
"What good is being Fated? Not like it's done us any favors, has it?" she said, a sharp edge to her voice. She plopped angrily back down in her chair and pulled out the history of Azkaban once more. "But Fated or not, Harry loves her, and she loves him. They should be together!"
"Love," Ron said with a sarcastic huff.
"You were certainly singing another tune when you kissed me those times," Hermione bit out, her face red with anger.
"Yeah, well." He'd been daft and jealous, and the hole in his soul had made him a bit mental. And then she'd been gone and he'd been so very worried for her, terrified really, but now she was safe and standing there looking at him like he was made of rubbish. "I never said anything about love."
Hermione's face went scary blank, and her voice was low and steady when she said, "No. I see now that you didn't."
He'd gone too far. He
knew it almost instantly. He'd wanted to
push her back a little, to give himself some breathing room. Babies, she'd said! She wanted his babies! He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets
and glared at the floor. "You only
expect me to snog with you now, and be all soft, because we're Fated. It's not fair. If we weren't Fated–"
"We are Fated, Ron Weasley. And I don't expect anything from you. Not anymore. So, you can just go back to being your own guest of honor at that pity party you're throwing!"
"My father is dead!" he screamed at her.
"You think I don't know that? You think I didn't watch him die while he was there defending me? You think that I have to be reminded that I'm the reason your mother's a widow?"
"It's not about you! It's about me!"
That shut her up. But only for a moment. "Funny, but I'm pretty sure your mother feels differently about that. And Ginny, downstairs. With Harry. I doubt she thinks it's all about you."
"You just shut up about them!"
"And why should I?" she challenged.
"Because I'm not him! I'll never be HIM! I DON'T WANT TO LOVE YOU!"
He expected her to burst into tears, or to yell at him some more – call him a selfish what-not. He didn't expect her to take a deep breath, like she was breathing in the cold winter air outside, and he didn't expect her to meet his eyes when she said, "I know," as if she was almost relieved to hear him say it. She didn't turn away, didn't waver in her stance, and it drove Ron from the room.
He went down the hall, and into his old, dark room. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, pale as a ghost, and scowling. He looked in pain. "You're a sorry git," he told himself.
"Good to be honest to yourself, at least," Lucy said happily. "But try smiling, dear, it'll make you look younger."
"Sod off," he told the mirror. She only chuckled.
***
Ron woke in the morning, still fully dressed. The manse smelled of strong coffee, and it pulled him down stairs to the kitchen. Harry was in there with Moody and Lupin. Breakfast hadn't been started, but when Ron dropped down at the table Lupin poured him a large, steaming mug.
"We thought we'd resume lessons tomorrow night," Lupin said conversationally. "If you think you're up to it?"
Ron realized that Lupin was talking to him. "Oh. Right. Yeah, it's fine."
"And, we've got to find the last of the Horcruxes," Moody told them, his voice still gruff from sleep. "They've been put off far too long. Thought I'd put Hermione to that task."
"Finding the Horcruxes?" Harry asked, concerned.
Ron leaned close to Harry. "You told him about the Horcruxes?" Harry waved him away.
"Hermione can research," Lupin said with a nod. "Without her wand, she won't benefit any longer from our evening lessons. She'll be a distraction."
Harry didn't seem at all pleased with this. Ron, on the other hand, felt relieved. Their row the night before still had him twitching.
"Have you told Hermione?" Harry asked.
"We should discuss it," Lupin agreed. "Is she upstairs?"
Harry shook his head. "I reckon she's gone back to the Burrow. With Ginny," he added, and a wide, dreamy grin grew across his face.
Lupin noticed, but it was Moody whose brows furrowed. Ron pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes in an attempt to drive the image of Harry on his sister away. It had been a horrible night all around.
"Then let's head that way. I want to see Tonks anyway. Odd how we come to miss them so very much." Lupin eyed Ron when he said this. Then, he finished off his coffee, and the rest rose with him.
***
They Apparated at the Burrow, just outside the magical bounds of Moody's Protective Spells. They could hear the raised voices from there.
"But you can't go!" This was clearly Ginny, though very distressed.
Then Tonks: "Hermione, be reasonable. His father was just murdered, he's not at all himself–"
"That doesn't change the fact that in his eyes I'm nothing more than a Squib. A Muggle-born Squib! He doesn't have any use for me anymore."
"Honestly!" This was from Ron's mum. "You're not! And you can't believe that would make a bit of difference to him, even if you were! I never raised any of my children like that!"
"Mrs. Weasley." Hermione's voice was a little calmer, and Ron had to hurry forward to catch what she was saying. "I know he's not like that. But I also know that you can't imagine him living like a Muggle any more than I can. And I don't belong here. Not any longer. I'm useless to all of you. Worthless to the Order…"
"But you can't go!" Ginny insisted again.
"You're Fated!" Tonks reminded.
"I know. Believe me, I know. But it doesn't seem to be enough, does it? He's made it very clear that he wants nothing from me anymore. He doesn't want to Love me. It's no good. I can't stay!"
It was at this point that Hermione came barreling out of the Burrow in a heavy coat, with a shoulder case stuffed full of her things. She stopped short when she saw Ron, and he stopped not three feet from her. Behind her, his mum, Tonks, and Ginny were frozen as they waited to see what would happen. Ron's heart was in his throat. It felt like a stone.
"You're leaving." He said it, and his voice shook. It was impossible to believe. She wasn't leaving the Burrow, or number 12, she was leaving completely. It didn't make any sense. Where would she go? To her parents' to be a Muggle? Ridiculous! She was bluffing. She was just sore about the night before and was trying to get back at him.
"I am," she said, jaw raised.
"Yeah, right. So, you're leaving just because you're pissed at me? How can you do to everyone? Look at Ginny. Look at Harry! Why are you doing this to them?"
"It's for the best," she said.
"Selfish bint. So, you're back to your parents, then? Back to the Muggle world?" He scoffed. He would call her bluff yet.
"Viktor has asked–"
Ron didn't hear another word. Blood rushed to his brain where it set up a pounding rhythm. Viktor. Viktor. Viktor. He should've seen that coming. All thought stopped at that one name, and red-hot fury began to churn in his belly. He couldn't look at her, couldn't stand to be in her presence. "Leave now and don't come back!" he yelled as he passed her. "Good riddance!" He stormed into the house.
"No! No!" he heard his mother cry out. "You can come back anytime, dear. Do you hear me? You always have a home here!"
Ginny ran in after Ron, and pulled his arm to prevent him going up the stairs. "Damn you, Ron! Go after her! Stop her! You can't let her go! This is serious; she's not playing–"
"If she can leave, let her go, I say. If we mean so very little to her–"
"You mean everything to her, you idiot! Don't you see?"
But he didn't see. If he meant everything, then what about Viktor? She was leaving him – leaving all of them – for him. "Let Vicky have her!" And he would, of that Ron had no doubt. He would have every inch of her. Ron yanked his arm from his sister and ran back to the door.
Harry was out there pulling Hermione by the hands, trying to talk her down, but she shook her head. "Please!" Harry said. "Just wait long enough to cool off–"
"You can't just go with him, can you?" Ron called out, clinging to the door jamb. "No, of course not! He wants something! He wants you!"
"Yes!" she shouted at him. "Yes, somebody wants me! And that rankles you, doesn't it? Even though you don't want me, it kills you to know someone else does! But you don't want me, Ron. You should – the Fates demand it – but you don't," she called back. "You've made yourself perfectly clear."
"Fine, then! Go! Marry him and have his babies! I wish you dozens!" His chest heaved; his eyes began to stream hot tears. He could see she was crying, too, and he was glad for it. "Now I know, Harry, how you could throw her out of your house–"
"Let's all take a breath," Lupin began, but his attempt was weak, and their emotions were boiling. Moody pulled out his wand.
Harry turned and shoved Ron back. "She's not betraying you, Ron! Think, mate! Tell her you Love her, that's what she needs to hear! Ask her not to go!"
"Love her? I hate her!" Ron cried, and she recoiled as if he'd hit her. He'd hurt her, and only a very small part of him regretted it. The rest of him relished the knowledge that she felt a little of what was coursing through him. "After everything we've sacrificed for her, after everything we've lost – MY FATHER! If she can leave us, turn her back us – on me – and run to Viktor…shag Viktor–"
"Oh, don't worry, Ron. I intend
to," she said, though it was difficult to make out the words over the wind
that his risen. She pulled away from
Harry, and in the next instant there was a deafening CRACK. She Disapparated.
"She can't do that!" Ron yelled. "She doesn't have a license anymore! She can't!"
"It hardly matters," Harry said, and Ron realized the anger on Harry's face was directed at him. "She's gone!" Moody grabbed his arm before he could lunge at Ron.
"Good! Brilliant!" Ron kept looking back to where she last stood. His brain hadn't yet caught up to what had just happened. The anger in him was starting to cool into fear, and he fought it. The anger was easier, more comforting. "But…but where did she go?"
"
"
Ginny's wand was out before Ron knew it, and she Bat-Bogey
Hexed him. "It's still
***
For days Ron didn't see any of his family or friends. He lived in the room above the shop, just as it was, and worked downstairs when he was able to force himself off the small pallet he'd made from a couple of blankets and a flat pillow. When he slept he dreamed of blood and pain and killing. When he was awake, it felt like a dream.
Lupin came by, but Ron couldn't concentrate on what he said. Something about the Order. It hardly mattered. Harry hated him now. He'd said he'd never forgive him. Ron knew they all felt that way, though Harry had been the only one to say it to his face. In fact, it had been the last thing Harry had said to him. Ron tried not to care. She was the one to blame, not him. She was the one who left. She was the one who abandoned them when she realized she wasn't going to get her way. She was a selfish trollop! A tart! They were all much better off without her! Ron knew he was. And that's what he told himself over and over as he lay on the floor staring up at the peeling ceiling from between the rows of inventory boxes in his flat at night. He was glad she was with Viktor, because that meant she wasn't there with him. He didn't have to deal with her; didn't have to think about her, not even for a moment.
Every once in a while he would find his hand absently
clutching at his chest, looking for the gaping hole that wasn't there any
longer. All he ever found was the scar
he got in the
How could she still be with him while she was with Viktor? How could she be with Viktor at all? How could she not miss him when he ached with missing her?
Moody was the second to hunt him down. Ron was just about to close the shop when the music announced another customer. Ron began to sweat a little because, if truth be told, Moody made him a little uneasy. He waited for Mad-Eye to make the first move.
"So, abandoned the Order, have ya'?"
"What? Uh – no! Of course not!"
"You've missed a fortnight of lessons."
"Oh. Well…I didn't think I was really wanted."
"You mean by Harry?" Moody asked as if surprised by Ron's response. Then he smiled his unsettling smile and his magic eye zoomed in on Ron. "No, he doesn't see much use in you."
"Well, then," Ron said, somewhat upset to know that Harry didn't miss him either. Of course, Harry would probably stay true to his word and never forgive him – not that there was anything to forgive. Hermione had been the one to leave. She was the one tupping Viktor.
"He needs you, though, doesn't he? Sometimes we need what we don't think we want at the moment." He said this with a point to his tone and a narrowing of his good eye. "How the war ended up in the lap of teenagers is beyond me." He turned abruptly and limped around the shop. "Potter needs you, Weasley, and the Order needs Potter. Not a pretty story, but there it is. You will put aside your trivial hysterics and stand up to the challenge, will you not?"
"Trivial?"
"I daresay you've messed things up but good, and now it's time for you to be the man your father knew you to be and set things right." Moody stopped, appraised Ron with his magic eye, and scowled. "The Fates must be laughing their arses off right about now, knowing they put the key to our success inside you."
"Hey, now! There's no need to be insulting."
Moody lunged for him, and caught Ron by the front of his shirt. He pulled Ron up so high that despite his long legs he was straining across the sales counter. "Listen here, you little pimple! For how you treated that girl I should hex you into tomorrow! So, don't you dare to get all huffy with me. Maggot! Simpering, grotty, wanker! You gormless, sniveling, selfish little toad! Waster! Wart!"
"All right!" Ron shouted and pulled away from him.
"I could go on all night, really," Moody said lightly.
"I dare say," Ron replied, straightening the front of his shirt.
"We all could, believe me. Twit! Shit-for-brains!"
"But I didn't do anything!" Ron insisted. "It's all her–!"
Moody's wand was out and aimed at Ron before he got another word out. "I don't think you want to complete that thought, lad. I really don't."
Ron clamped his mouth shut.
"I'm going to say this now, because I know you're still mourning, and because I know from experience that before this war is out you will become intimate with grief and loss. I don't care that you're young. I don't even care that you're a dim-witted, coddled arse-wipe. You are Fated to that girl. Period. That means in the grand scheme of the world you get off easy. In your whole life, you've only got to do one thing to be a complete man. Only one thing! Be good to a woman. And just one woman! That's it. If you do nothing else at all, you've done what you were set on Earth to do. Love one woman. End of story. And you've fouled that one up but good."
"Now, wait. I've got to be Harry's Smisurato–"
"That's a choice, not Fate!" Moody insisted.
"How do you know?" Ron countered. "How do you know that I'm not equally Fated to Harry as his Smisurato as I am Love Fated to Hermione? You said the Fates put the key to your success in me–"
Mad-Eye's mad eye focused and then refocused on Ron. "Waster! Pimple! Sniveling, grotty, manky wally! Bevel boggie!"
"Oi!" Ron said, and stepped away just in case Moody thought to grab him again.
"It's the key to our success, you little pissant."
"Even so…"
"Everything else you can choose whether or not you want to do it, but with Hermione – she's your True Love! You two were meant to be together!"
"Well, it's not very good of her, then, to be running off with Viktor–"
Moody Ear-flap Hexed him. Ron's ears grew ten times their normal size and began to flutter around his head like a drunken butterfly.
"Perhaps you didn't hear me properly, pimple. Let me rephrase. You drove that girl away. You pushed her, just like you've pushed the rest of us, and given the circumstances it might possibly be understandable if you hadn't pushed so hard and so far, and if she wasn't your True Love! But she is. She's the one person in the world – the only person – whom you must keep close. At all times. Idiot! She's your confidant, and you're hers. She needs you just as much as you need her, but you blew that one out of the water, didn't you, pimple?"
Ron grabbed his dropping earlobes and yanked them down to keep them still. "But she left, not me! Go hex her, why don't you?"
"And why do you suppose that is, I wonder?" Moody asked, leaning in conspiratorially. "That other chap, do you think?"
"Yes!"
"Wrong!"
Ron was hit with a Shiny-pate Hex, and every last hair on his head, including his lashes and brows, simultaneously fell out, rained to the floor. Ron's eyes went wide with horror, and his hands made to catch as much ginger hair as they could. His fanning ears blew it all around.
"Care to venture another guess?" Moody asked, an evil grin on his scarred face. Ron shook his bald head. "Come on, gather your wits about you and let's see if you can't figure this quandary out. Why would Hermione leave her best friends, whom she feels quite passionately about; the Order, which she has sworn to defend even to death; and the entire country, the only home she's ever known?" He circled the tip of his wand over Ron, as if trying to decide what next to hex. It stopped at his crotch. "Come, now, pimple. Think."
Ron's hands cupped his privates. It was a useless attempt to protect them from Moody's wrath, he knew. He shook his head, terrified to say anything more.
"Don't know?" Moody asked. "Are you sure?" The rest of Ron began to shake. "Well, then, I'll give you some time to consider. You're expected at Headquarters at half past seven. You don't want me to come looking for you again." In the next second Moody Apparated away.
"He's mental!" Ron exclaimed, and then collapsed back onto the stool behind the counter. Mad! And then Ron realized that his ears were still enormous and his hair still littered the floor. He tried for the better part of an hour to put himself right, but couldn't, and he began to panic as the evening crept closer and closer to seven. As much as he feared turning up at number 12 and suffering the wrath of the other Order members, or their laughs and snickers thanks to his new look, he was more afraid of what Moody would do if he turned fugitive and went into hiding. And those were the only real options Ron's stunned brain could come up with. Becoming a fugitive, or surrendering to the anger of the Order.
***
Ron was surprised that his key still worked, that number 12 allowed him to enter, and that he wasn't blasted with hexes when he crossed the threshold into the manse. He was late by a couple of minutes – it had taken him that long to find a hat to cover his new features.
Harry was in the dining room, as was Lupin. No Moody, thank the stars. The furniture hadn't just been pushed aside – the table, chairs, and chests were gone completely, and now the floor and walls were lined with padded mats and pillows. It reminded Ron a lot of the Room of Requirement when they'd used it for the DA meetings.
"And the prodigal son returns," Lupin said by way of greeting. "Brought your wand, I hope."
Ron nodded. He was more concerned with Harry's reaction, which seemed to be limited to standing and flexing his jaw muscles, at least for the moment. "Suppose you want to break my nose," Ron muttered. "Well, have at it."
Harry just rolled his eyes, shook a disapproving head, and moved over a meter or so to allow Ron on the mat.
"Right, then," said Lupin, looking unusually healthy that evening, if not a little nervous. He glanced back and forth between Harry and Ron and seemed to judge whether it might be safe to let them have at it. "Let's take things slow. It's been a while since–"
"Constant vigilance!" Harry shouted in a voice that would've made Moody proud. He raised his wand and pointed it at Ron's chest.
"You want to duel me?" Yeah, that would be a fair fight.
"Easy," said Lupin. He raised a warning hand to Harry. "He's here for you, remember?"
"Right," said Harry. He narrowed his eyes, but didn't lower his wand. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing," Ron said defensively. "What's wrong with you?"
"Are you sick or something? Take off your cap."
Ron hesitated. It was the knit cap his mother had made for him a couple of years back, red and gold for Gryffindor colors. Ron looked at the floor as he slid it from his bald head and his ears flopped down to his shoulders. Harry blinked a couple of times before the smirk curled the corner of his mouth.
"I can't fix it," Ron said, miserable. He was certain that if Hermione were there she could.
"Mad-Eye?" Lupin asked.
Ron nodded. "I
didn't have the right answers, apparently."
"Yes, he's always been somewhat creative when handing out punishments." Ron couldn't help but hear the appreciation in Lupin's voice, and perhaps a tinge of approval, as well. His ears were too big not to hear it. With a small flick of his wand and a mumbled word, Lupin righted Ron's ears. They tingled as they shrunk, and grew hot, but, by Ron's touch they were roughly the right size again. "The hair is another story, I'm afraid," Lupin said, not sounding at all apologetic. "But it should grow back good as new."
"Grow back?" How long did it take hair to grow, anyway? It could take weeks. Months! He would be disfigured!
"Enough silliness, gentlemen. Let's see where we stand. Together on the mat, please. Ron, your hands out, if you will." Lupin stood back, his arms folded causally, his wand still lodged in his right hand. "All right, Harry, start slow. Take enough energy for a Patronus, and we'll see what Ron's giving you this evening."
Ron closed his eyes, pursed his lips. He didn't like the way it felt when Harry started poking around inside his well. Harry was still angry, and he wasn't his usual careful self. Ron let him in anyway. No sense in prolonging the agony. He dug down deep and brought the cold up just enough for Harry to get a flavor.
Then Harry let go of his hands, pointed his wand, and yelled, "expecto patronum!" Instantly, a silvery, gossamer mist flooded from his wand, and then formed the shape of…
"What is that?" Ron asked. It wasn't Harry's usual buck.
"Uh…Harry," said Lupin. "That's Ron's magic, yes?"
Harry nodded.
"Ron, quickly now, close your eyes and reach out for all of your magic. Take it all back from Harry."
Ron did as Lupin instructed. It wasn't difficult. His own magic felt surprisingly different from Harry's all of a sudden, and it was easy to separate and then reclaim.
"Right, then," Lupin said. "Harry, cast the Patronus Charm again. This time with just your magic."
Harry did, and his lovely, majestic buck materialized, then stomped the floor with his hoof and snorted. Ron frowned. If Harry's magic was fine, then that meant….
Ron pulled out his wand and cast the spell for himself. His familiar little dog didn't appear as he should have. Instead, the mist formed something smaller, and far fuzzier.
"Is that…is that supposed to be a cat?" Harry asked.
"No," said Ron quickly.
"Looks a little like Crookshanks."
"Not a bit," Ron insisted.
"Yeah, sure!" Harry said, and he pointed at the thing's vaguely head-shaped appendage. "See how his face is all squashed flat?"
"Shut it!" Ron snapped. His Patronus had not changed into Hermione's flea-ridden cat, which she'd left at the Burrow for Ginny to care for. No. It simply hadn't.
"Now, now," Lupin said. He was much calmer than Ron thought the circumstances warranted. "This could be a problem. Ronald, you're not sending anything more than your magic, are you?"
"I'm not sending anything at all," Ron said. "He's taking what he needs. That's how we've always done it."
"Right," said Lupin. "When you're clasping hands–"
"Always," Ron said. Harry nodded as well.
"When you're across the room?" Lupin asked. "Surely not then."
Ron and Harry exchanged glances. Harry pretty much took all the time, and Ron
just made the magic available. "The
last time I gave him magic," Ron told Lupin, "he nearly caught the
manse on fire. It seems safer this
way." Then Ron remembered
something. "Except in the
Remembrance washed over Harry's face and he nodded. "I'm always weaker after we share, aren't I? Is that how it's supposed to work?"
"Huh." For a couple of moments Lupin considered them both. Then, he paced a little. "That's certainly not how it worked with me and James. Or me and Sirius."
"You did this with my father?" Harry asked.
"From time to time," Lupin said wistfully. "It helped sometimes, after a full moon…. It wasn't until we joined the Order that we came to learn how advantageous it could be. It's not a widely held practice, as I'm sure you know. Most people can't handle prolonged energy transfers, and even when they do, you have to have complete trust in the other person in order for the magic to be transferred properly, and without ill-effect to either the lender or the borrower. Which is why, of course, this new turn of events is so very worrisome."
"I still trust Ron," Harry said, with the edge of accusation in his voice. He glared at Ron.
"What? I trust you!" Ron insisted. He was fairly sure they were both lying.
"No, no, that's not what I was suggesting," Lupin quickly corrected. "I'm afraid Ron might be suffering from some of the symptoms Tonks displayed a year ago. He has, after all, suffered a great shock. It's not unheard of for a person's Patronus to change its physical shape. The problem is, of course, that the new Patronus is only a symptom of something much larger happening inside. His magic's been…affected."
"I'm fine," Ron told them both.
"Right! Good man. Let's not get too distressed until we knew what we're dealing with," Lupin suggested brightly. "Shall we try something else? Something, ah, easier, perhaps? No, no, stay there, Ron. Let's try it from there. And this time, why don't you meet Harry half-way? Send a little of your magic out to him – just a little, mind you. Think of how much he usually dips in to, and send him that."
Harry looked at Ron with less anger and more of what was usually between them: camaraderie. Ron relaxed a little, found the cold, and pulled it up some. But this time he also reached out with his magic, not entirely sure what he'd find. It was a strange sensation; or rather, not so much a sensation as an odd bit of knowing. Ron knew Harry's magic when he found it. He couldn't see it, couldn't touch it, couldn't smell it or hear it, but it was there, and he poked it a little with his own. Harry did the same. They were tentative, almost like children shaking hands for the first time. Then Ron pushed a little more, trying to give over his magic to Harry's, but carefully.
The image of Hermione collapsing in Harry's arms streaked through Ron's brain unsolicited. He didn't want to think of it, and he pushed it away only to be replaced with the memory of Hermione and Krum dancing together, smiling and laughing and having a brilliant time at the Yule Ball. Ron closed his eyes, told himself to concentrate. But the new stillness brought with it his father's coffin, and the hole they lowered it into. The frozen flowers on top. Hermione whispering a good-bye.
Harry gasped, and Ron opened his eyes to see him go still as stone. Lupin saw the change in him and stood straighter himself. "Ron? Harry? Everything all right?"
Harry's mouth opened, but nothing came out, and Ron wondered if he was doing something wrong.
"Do I pull back?" he asked.
He remembered Harry standing in the doorway, full of fury having seen him and Hermione kissing. The Harry in front of him now gave a stilted sort of grunt. Ron had to fight the knee-jerk reaction to withdraw his energy. He tried harder to think about nothing, to focus on the link between him and Harry, and Hermione's back was suddenly there in his head with its gentle dip. "I'm pulling back–"
"Not yet, Ron. Harry?" Lupin asked again. "What are you feeling?"
Harry shook his head. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. His eyes went wide and began to stream. His face went red, and crumpled. He turned from Ron, and a gut-wrenching scream ripped out of his throat. Ignoring Lupin's order, Ron yanked his magic back home. Harry collapsed. Ron took a couple of steps back, needing air and distance.
Lupin had been right. His magic was tainted.
Lupin knelt over Harry and offered him chocolate. Harry pushed it away. When he looked up at Ron, his eyes were haunted. "You don't even know, do you? That was you, I know it. Just like it was in the Cave."
"What are you on about?" Ron asked, though he knew perfectly well.
"Hate, anger, longing, love, need, want, fear! You love her! I felt it! It's all in there," Harry insisted, pointing to Ron's chest. "What you feel – I felt it all. It's so much…too much. I thought before it was because of the protections on the Cup of Oaths, but it's not. It's you. You pretend you don't feel a thing. But you feel everything! All at once. Magnified a thousand times!"
"Easy, Harry," Lupin cautioned. "Ron, are you intending to send anything through beyond your energy?"
"Of course not," Ron snapped. Why would he want to share his emotions? He didn't even want to deal with them. "And I don't want to love anyone…" He didn't deserve to.
"Focus, gentlemen." Lupin lifted Harry's chin, looked into his eyes, diagnosed him sound, and pushed a wafer of chocolate between his lips. "Harry, what you're feeling isn't abnormal. You're taking in Ron's emotional load on top of your own. Of course you're going to be overwhelmed. Magic was never intended to be a conduit for anything else."
"I feel Voldemort," Harry said. "I used to see things from him, too, when I dreamed."
"And as I understand Dumbledore tried to squelch that. Magic is a pure thing, Harry, and when it is shared between wizards it must remain as such. Wizards lose themselves too often when they link mind and hearts that way. Besides which, as you well know, the sensation can be quite unpleasant."
Harry turned back to Ron. "You really do think she betrayed you, don't you?"
Ron looked away. "I said as much," he reminded, softly.
Harry shook his head. "I thought you were just being spiteful. I thought you were taunting her because you didn't think she'd go."
"I didn't think she'd go," Ron admitted. "I didn't think she could. So much for being Fated," he said with a humorless chuckle. Then he shook his head as well. "It doesn't matter much, does it? She's gone and we're here. And we've got a war to win."
Lupin's eyes brightened again, and he gave Ron a genuine smile. "That's the spirit!"
"Stop staring," Ron snapped.
Harry did look away then, but Ron knew he was thinking about what had passed between them. Emotions were private things, and he certainly didn't want to share them with another bloke – even if that bloke was his best mate. He hated that Harry knew him too well.
"How do I separate the magic from everything else?" Ron asked Lupin. "How do I keep it pure?"
Lupin considered him for a moment, crossed his arms, and narrowed his eyes. "I suspect your magic is emotionally driven. That would explain why you've such poor control and no finesse to your spell work of late. In which case, simple concentration won't do you a bit of good. I'll have to speak to Moody – maybe Kingsley – and we'll come up with some exercises you can do on your own."
Ron didn't like the sound of that. "Homework?" And he couldn't copy off Hermione this time. His hand went to his head to run through the hair that wasn't there anymore.
"Let's call it a night," Lupin said. "Start fresh tomorrow."
Harry nodded, so Ron pulled on his cap and yanked it down over his ears. He went back to his flat, to the pallet he'd made for himself on the floor, and tried again not to think about anything, but mostly his dad. He tried all night.
End of chapter 12
End of Part II of False Fates by MD1016