Authour's Notes: Ron is really growing to be one of my favourite characters to write. In chapter twenty four, I hope to make you all get a bit misty, but in a good way, so look forward to that.
How fond are men of rule and place,
Who court it from the mean and base . . .
Nay, ev'n with fools whole nights will sit,
In hopes of being supreme in wit.
If these can read, to these I write,
To set their worth in truest light.
~ The Lion and the Cub - John Gay
Harry wasn't sure why he even bothered with Quidditch anymore.
Granted, it was a welcome relief from more serious issues, but he felt as if he were betraying something or someone simply by playing the game. There were other things that he should be doing: researching silencing charms with Hermione; figuring out why Hagrid didn't trust anyone but him in the end; or cramming for N.E.W.T's. Harry anxiously glanced across the pitch to see Ron adjusting himself on his new Firebolt II.
Or making amends with Ron.
Bugger, this was going to be a crap game. And it was for the House Cup against Ravenclaw, and more specifically, Cho Chang. It wasn't as if Harry felt something more than pity and a strange sense of kinship for Cho, but all the same, it was always awkward to beat Cedric's old girlfriend. That, among other things, felt like a betrayal as well. Even after so many years.
Harry looked up and searched the Gryffindor stands for Hermione; she usually was not far from the announcer's box. There she was . . . reading a bloody book! He needed her right now. He needed her to focus on him for just a moment instead of the stupid silencing charms and whatever else it was that she- There, now she was looking up at him, offering a tremulous smile and a wave. Harry sighed in relief and touched his fingers to his lips briefly before waving back.
It would be easier to play if he knew that she didn't disapprove of what he was doing. As soon as they won the Cup, Harry planned to take Hermione somewhere to celebrate. It had been far too long since they had spent any time together. Well, time that wasn't researching charms and enchantments. Harry nodded to himself and flew over to give his team one last bit of encouragement.
He waved the Gryffindors over, and they all formed a circle around him, waiting for his words. Harry noticed immediately that Ginny didn't look well, and Ron was studiously avoiding his eyes. Seamus seemed in excellent form though, and a few of the other players were attempting to keep everyone in good spirits.
It wasn't helping much, but it was a start.
Harry cleared his throat and began the speech he'd prepared. "Right, this is it, team. We're only one hundred and eighty points away from the House Cup, but Ravenclaw only needs one hundred sixty. This is the very last game of the season and the last game at Hogwarts for us seventh years. Now, Ravenclaw is good, but their defence is weak and that is where we need to strike.
"Ron, Ginny, Seamus: I want the three of you to get the Quaffle and keep it to yourselves with that Shamrock Cluster play Seamus taught you. Ravenclaw has a wicked offence . . ." Harry faltered as he caught Ron's blazing blue eyes. Oh today was going to be a very, very bad day. He cleared his throat and struggled on, wishing desperately for a fag. "So, um, watch out for their Beaters.
"Dean, you need to keep your end up, too. Don't let any of their shots get past you if you can help it. Remember that move you learned from Wood over hols? Today is the day to use it.
"Dennis and Therese: instead of aiming for their Chasers, try to keep their Beaters off balance. And keep an eye out for Ginny because I don't think she's feeling well today."
Harry looked at Ginny again and frowned. Why on earth had she insisted on playing today? It wasn't as if they didn't have someone who could fill in for her. "Actually, are you sure that you're up for this game, Ginny? You look crap, no offence."
Ginny managed a scowl and tightened her hands around her broom. "I'll be fine, Harry," she snapped. "I'm just not feeling well today. I was up most of the night revising for my Transfiguration exam."
Harry scratched the back of his neck, feeling a bit confused as to whether he should accept her excuse or bring in a reserve to take her place. He knew that she wasn't up revising last night. He couldn't remember the last time he'd come into the common room and not seen her moping in a chair before the hearth. Even in the middle of the night she was there, staring into the fire as if it held all the secrets of life.
"Right then. Well, that's it, everyone watch each other's backs. I'm going to be keeping my eyes peeled for the Snitch, but we need at least thirty points before I can grab it or we lose the Cup. We have to be a team if we're going to win this thing."
The team split up and assumed their positions, all except Ron, who was glaring at him.
"You just love giving orders, don't you, Harry?"
Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. He was hoping that Ron hadn't taken his walking away at Hagrid's funeral the wrong way, but apparently he had. Harry realised that it was a bit foolish when he reflected upon the situation later, but at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do.
"I'm the Captain, Ron. It's my job to give orders."
"And you love it," Ron returned, beetling his ginger brows in fury.
"Ron, we can't do this. I promise that I'll grovel later, but right now, we have a game to play. Our last game at Hogwarts."
Ron scowled at him for a moment more before tilting the end of his broom towards the sky and shooting off across the pitch.
Harry firmed his resolve and followed until he was floating just above Hooch and the Quaffle was released. He managed to catch Cho's eye and nodded to her. She returned the gesture succinctly and flew away. Harry sighed and started looking for the Snitch.
It was going to be a long game.
*~*~*~*~*~*
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
~ La Belle Dame Sans Merci - John Keats
Ron flew in circles around the pitch, not really paying attention to where he was going or what he was doing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a nagging voice said that he was supposed to be in the broom tail-locking Shamrock Cluster with his fellow Chasers, but he couldn't be arsed about something like that right now. He'd likely fall from his broom and land on his neck if he tried.
Seamus tossed him the Quaffle from the left and he caught it, absent-mindedly chucking it in the general direction of the goal. Naturally, the Ravenclaw Keeper batted it away and laughed when one of their Chasers picked up the ball. Ron frowned and kept going, earnestly attempting to ignore anything and everything.
He didn't care if they lost this game or won it; it just didn't bloody matter anymore. Ron heard cheers go up from the Gryffindor section when Seamus stole the Quaffle back from Ravenclaw and started making his way toward the goal. At least someone was taking the game seriously.
Ron saw Ginny take it out of the corner of his eye and watched with mild interest as she flew to force it past the Ravenclaw Keeper. A roar went up when she succeeded. His eyes wandered past his sister and absorbed the sunlight glinting off the lake and the deep shadows of the Forbidden Forest.
He squinted his eyes in the half-light, just making out a hooded figure wandering toward the edge of the Forest- and the large troll looming behind him.
Ron swore briefly and took off like a shot, ignoring his team mates calling to him. Ahead, he could see the troll pick this person up and their frantic kicking. It reminded him of first year all over again. Ron pushed his broom harder, the tail screaming in the wind. If he could help them- if he could save them, perhaps he could feel- what, redeemed?
"Get a grip, Weasley," he muttered, leaning forward and tightening his hands around his broom as he prepared to dive.
The figure struggled, desperately trying to get away and screaming shrilly. Ron saw the hood of their cloak catch and tumble off to reveal coiffed, blonde waves of hair surrounding the face of Pansy Parkinson.
For a moment, Ron considered stopping, but he steeled himself and pressed on. It didn't matter if it was Parkinson: she needed help. In the distance, Ron could hear the announcer yelling something to the crowd and someone calling for him.
Ron pulled out his wand and shouted the first spell that came to mind: "Petrificus Totalus!"
The troll was still squeezing, but it moved more slowly now, as if it was in a daze. Pansy squealed louder, in agony, and pushed against the huge fingers, trying to pry them from her waist. Ron repeated the spell several times and added a few stunning spells for good measure. Finally, the troll froze with his large, beefy hand still wrapped around Pansy's mid-section, her ribs creaking from the pressure. She was red in the face and seemed to have trouble breathing. But when she saw who had just saved her life, Pansy's face drained of colour.
"Weasley," she gasped, squirming in the troll's grasp. Her hair was tumbling about her pale face now and was barely restrained by the numerous pins that contained it before the troll had shaken her so violently.
"Parkinson," Ron returned evenly, pocketing his wand and narrowing his eyes. He should leave; she wasn't in danger anymore. Ron sighed and held his hand to her as he hovered just over the troll's shoulder.
Pansy ignored his hand and managed to wiggle out of the troll's fingers. "I don't need your help, you imbecile."
Ron smirked. This was something he could deal with. He glanced back at the pitch while he waited for her to come to her senses and realise that she needed help getting to the ground. There were several figures coming their way, most likely teachers.
When he turned back to face Pansy, he was startled to see her in mid-leap. Ron barely had time to adjust himself before she grabbed his robes and brought him tumbling to the ground with her. He could hear his new Firebolt II snap beneath their weight when they hit the slushy turf.
"You bastard!" Pansy screeched. She sat on his chest and tried to seize his neck in her thin, cold fingers. Ron fended her off, but not easily, and they rolled over and over in the mud before he was finally able to restrain her.
"What's your problem, Parkinson? I just saved your bloody life and you try to kill me again!" Ron managed to pin her arms under his knees and deeply inhaled a few breaths of cool air into his lungs. He tried to remember not to actually sit on her since her ribs were already cracked.
"You really are stupid, Weasley." Pansy set her mouth in a cold, hard line and stared at him for a moment.
Ron wondered just how long it took to walk over from the Quidditch pitch and why no one was riding their brooms. "I'm not stupid, just explain it to me. Hell, I'd be happy if Malfoy saved my life and I hate the bastard. I don't know that I would thank him, mind, but I wouldn't try to kill him ri-."
"I'm in your debt now!" she screamed into his face, tears welling in her eyes. "You want to play the hero," Pansy sobbed. "But you're not. You're just a bloody fool and I'm paying for it!"
Ron stopped for a moment and looked at her. "Is your life worth so little that you'd rather die than be in my debt?" he asked her softly. Ron was surprised at himself, but he didn't take the question back, he waited for her response.
Pansy was wide-eyed and terrified. "I-I don't know. I want to kill you for what you've done to my family, to Draco, to our world. But I can't now, it's forbidden." Pansy turned her head away and sighed bitterly. "I can't kill you; my life is in your hands and I think that I would rather die."
Ron sat up and released her arms when he heard the teachers get closer, some of them puffing audibly from the jog. It was all getting way too serious for him, he couldn't handle this: her tears and her pain. The fact that she was sad because she couldn't stick a knife in his heart! A grin tugged his lips at a sudden thought and he leaned forward to whisper to her before any of the teachers could hear him.
"You know, I can think of ways that you can work off your debt, Parkinson. I've a few friends who don't have much luck with the ladies and-"
Pansy slapped him across the face and scooted back, hugging her knees tightly. Ron was quite pissed off. He'd just saved the stupid twit's life, tried to lighten things up with a little joke, and she slaps him.
"You're a whore, Parkinson," he muttered heatedly. "You're just a stupid Slytherin whore and you can't even say 'thank you for saving me from the troll, Weasley' or at least keep yourself from attacking me for showing up in the bloody first place. I notice that no one else flew to your rescue. Where's your precious Dray-co now? He's probably watching this and laughing his arse off."
Ron felt bad when she hunched down further and sniffled, but she didn't stay that way for long. When Pansy looked back up at him, her eyes were hard as agate and glinting with contempt.
"A whore?" She chuckled mirthlessly and shook her head, mud dripped from the strands of once perfect hair and spattered over her stubby nose. "You don't have any room to talk, Weasley. So don't pretend that you are better than me because you're not, you bloody hypocrite."
Ron stepped back to allow a flushed and breathless Madame Pomfrey to examine Pansy. He couldn't think. He didn't know what to think. So instead of saying anything further or waiting for his team mates to catch up to him, he ran. Ron ran as if all the hounds of hell were chasing him, which in a way they were.
Just not in the literal sense.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Draco watched Pansy's rescue with disappointment at first, and then a dark glee as he realised that not only had Gryffindor just lost the House Cup, but Pansy was now indebted to Ron Weasley for the rest of her life. The troll aside, it was more brilliant than anything even he could imagine.
He supposed that Pansy had her comeuppance now, even though she wasn't mauled to pieces for sticking her nose in his private life and hexing him with that dreadful Muggle disease. Draco scratched his arm absently and smirked. What Pansy had now was worse than death- for a Slytherin, anyway.
Draco was debating with himself about whether or not Ron had been dealt with properly when Ginny caught his eye. He growled in the back of his throat, all thoughts of retribution gone as soon as he saw her face. She looked pale and tired with dark rings around her once bright brown eyes.
Something in him burned and he squelched the feeling. He wasn't as pleased as he should have been to see her so miserable without him. Instead he was remembering when she came to visit him in hospital, and how her face lit up that day when she was lying in the grass, peeping around her fingers at him in the sunlight-
But that had never happened!
She had never looked at him that way. Ginny had comforted and fussed, she threw her head back in passion, or her eyes blazed with lust, but she'd never, ever gazed at him with that look in her eyes.
Draco swore to himself and turned away from her. He didn't want to see her delicately walk across the field as if she were dying inside or dead already. Ginny had almost said that- that word to him. She did say it, actually. Draco didn't know whether she'd meant it or not, but he wasn't going to stick around to find out either.
He stood up and wearily made his way through the crowd and down the stairs. N.E.W.T's were coming up and he was nowhere near prepared. It wasn't as if Father cared anymore, the man was dead. And Mother didn't give a toss what he did with his life now that he'd 'betrayed' the family name by saving his own skin in a volatile situation. Just so long as he did his duty by marrying that Rosier girl.
Draco scoffed as he walked across the grass of the Quidditch pitch toward the castle and his dormitory. He was so tired, but there was so much to do. Malfoys don't sleep all afternoon. Malfoys make perfect marks in class. Malfoys win any game they take part in, cheating when necessary. He glanced back without consciously willing himself to and caught sight of Ginny's retreating back walking into the Gryffindor locker room.
And Malfoys don't give a damn about anyone but themselves.
You know, you could think of this as a review drive. For every review you send me, I'll donate a dollar to charity. *blinks* Yeah right. If I had a dollar right now, I'd be living high on the hog. But I do spend an incredible amount of time, effort, blood, sweat, and tears on this story, so would it kill you to write down a few lines telling me what you think? It doesn't even have to be good things, just honest opinions and insight. I would like to know how many of you are still reading because I'm becoming discouraged by the lack of reviews. Especially when I go to ff.net and see stories written entirely in netspeak garnering 500+ reviews. *continues to guilt trip for a while* And elephants are our friends.
Cheers,
Sing