Ron Weasley smoothed the piece of parchment on his knee, the only part of his body other than his face that wasn't submerged in the tubful of water. He had lost count of the number of times he read this letter, he hated every part of it, but something compelled him to read it again and again and again. If he didn't stop, he'd go mad. But it didn't stop him from spreading the parchment once more.
Hello Ron! Have you heard from Harry? He seems a bit out of it lately. I'm worried about him. When we
left him last summer, he was rather depressed. I don't know what to do, part of me wants to rush to his side to
comfort him, ask him what's wrong, make sure he doesn't slit his wrists. Oh my, I can't believe I just
wrote that, he would never do that. Back to what I was saying, I want to go to Privet Drive and check on him,
but I don't want him to think that I'm intruding. Would I be intruding? Would it be considered intrusion when
he obviously needs help? But why am I saying that he needs help? He's strong and capable and he's gone through
much more than I ever did, he could handle anything without me. But still, I would give anything to see for myself that
he's all right, that he's happy and breathing. I should write to him. I've been writing to him all summer
in fact. We have quite a nice regular correspondence, so I know that the Dursleys are feeding him right. It seems that
Dudley's off the diet, so they can all eat regularly now. But just the same, I sent over a package of sugar-free
snacks. I don't know if he likes it though. Do you think he does? Maybe next time I'll send him a turkey
sandwich. Do you think he likes turkey sandwiches? Anyway, I'm off to write his letter.
And by the way, how was your summer?
Love from,
Hermione
"Idiot," Ron muttered under his breath. He rolled the parchment and brusquely dropped it on the bathroom floor. He splashed some water on his knees before scrubbing them with his washrag. He heard the footsteps of a woman with flat feet and chubby ankles and knew instantly that his mother was planning on invading his leisurely bath.
He heard her tap the door lightly, "Ron, son, what are you doing in there?" she said.
"I'm having a snack, you know, since the bathroom is such a great place to have snacks. And I'm right beside the toilet, too, so it's really convenient," Ron answered lazily.
"I can hear splashing. Are you taking a bath? I really need to get the dirty clothes, it's laundry day today," Mrs. Weasley asked nonchalantly.
"If I say yes, would it stop you from going in here?" Ron asked.
"No," Mrs. Weasley said.
Ron gave out a sigh and said, "Then by all means, come in."
Mrs. Weasley poked her head in and smiled at her son. She pranced inside as she hummed Celestina Warbeck's latest song. She took her wand from the pocket of her robes and pointed to the growing stack of dirty robes and undergarments inside the hamper and whispered, "Lavado!" The stack disappeared from sight. Ron knew that they would reappear downstairs, ready to be levitated to their respective rooms. Mrs. Weasley was about to leave the room when her eyes suddenly landed on her son's back and a frown developed on her face.
"Look at you! Didn't I teach you to clean yourself well? Give me that washcloth and I'll scrub your back," she scolded as she made a move to grab the piece of cloth.
"Mum, I can scrub my own back!" Ron protested, hiding the cloth under the water childishly.
"Well, you're not very good at it. You need to scrub it well so all the dirt comes out," she insisted.
"I am very well capable of scrubbing my own back, I've been doing it since I was five!" he said.
"Rubbish! You weren't able to take a bath alone until you were ten. Remember, you were so convinced that a snakeman lived under the sink? The look on your face whenever I told you that it's bath time," she said laughingly.
"I choose not to remember," he pouted.
"Oh, all right. Wash your own back if you will. Don't come running to me if you find yourself unspeakably smelly," she gave in. Ron waited for her to get out of the door. But instead, she pushed down the toilet cover and settled herself.
"Mum? Shouldn't you be getting out now?" Ron asked.
Mrs. Weasley paid no heed to her son's question. "You know, there was a time when you children needed me so much. I was your world when you were all little. Now I can't even scrub your back."
Ron saw his mother was on the verge of tears, and he felt rather helpless in his birthday suit, submerged in a pool of water. "Mum, I still need you," he said, trying to soothe her.
"No, you don't. I accept it, you've grown up. I'm not a part of your life anymore. I don't even know anything about you," she said as she sniffed her tears back.
"How grown up can I be? I'm sixteen. You know everything about my life, my friends, Harry and Hermione, they love you," he answered.
Mrs. Weasley wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her robe. "I'm sorry son. It's just that, when you get old, there are just moments when you can't help but question your worth. Oh, Ron, can I give you a hug?"
"Mum, I'm in the bath tub!" Ron exclaimed.
"After all I've done for you, all I'm asking for is a hug," she sniffed.
Ron rolled his eyes at his mother, he knew she wasn't going to leave the bathroom 'til she got what she wanted. "Fine, a hug it is."
A satisfied grin spread across her face as she walked over to her bathing son to envelop him. Ron gagged dramatically but she chose to ignore him. As she let go of the gagging Ron, he didn't notice that her mother's eyes has landed upon an interesting artifact on the floor. She had already picked up the parchment before Ron spotted her.
"Mum, that's mine!" he protested as she began to unroll the parchment.
"Well, you shouldn't be leaving it just anywhere," she scolded.
"I'm not leaving it just anywhere, it was right beside me and I was planning on keeping it the moment I got out of this bath, which has been delayed due to an unexpected company," Ron said with raised eyebrows.
"Well, who's it from?" she inquired.
"It's private," he said indignantly.
"Well, you only have two people writing to you, and that's Harry and Hermione. This parchment is scented, so unless Harry has suddenly developed a fixation for vanilla scents, then I'm guessing it's from Hermione. In fact, I'm sure it's from Hermione," she grinned triumphantly.
Ron glared at his mother who was very sharp at the most inopportune times. "So what if it is?"
"Nothing, except that I believe you've developed a certain fondness for this girl," she suggested.
"Of course I'm fond of her, she's my friend," he said, refusing to acknowledge any of her insinuations.
Mrs. Weasley squealed like a schoolgirl and began fussing with Ron's hair. "Oh my, my son fancies someone. Tell me, do you love her?"
"I do not fancy Hermione, and I most certainly do not love her any more than I love Ginny," Ron said through clenched teeth.
His mother immediately stopped her delighted attitude and dropped to her knees, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Ron said as he wiped an imaginary dirt of his nose.
"I'm your mother. I know when you're sad, or worried, or when your heart is breaking. Come, let your mum help you," she said as she tucked a lock of red hair behind his ear. The boy in front of her looked very much like the boy who was afraid of the snakeman and wouldn't let go of the hem of her robes, six years ago.
"Read the letter," he said simply. And so she did. Mrs. Weasley tried her best to see things in a different light, but it was very clear what the letter said.
"It's like an annoyingly obvious subliminal writing," he said. His face was turned away from her so she wouldn't see the tears in his eyes.
"She's very worried about Harry," Mrs. Weasley said in an attempt to console her son.
"And she's not worried about me?" he retorted.
"She knows you're safe," she reasoned.
"Can't she talk about anything other than Harry?" he cried, no longer able to hold back the tears.
"She's just a girl," Mrs. Weasley tried to tell him.
"No, she isn't," he said stubbornly. "And that midget doesn't even know she exists."
"I think he does. He's just not very good at recognizing his own feelings," Mrs. Weasley remarked rather crassly before she could stop herself. She immediately gave her son an apologetic look.
"It's okay, I'm not blind. Can't say the same for both of them," he said, waving his hand in the air.
"What do you plan to do about it?" Mrs. Weasley asked his son.
"Nothing. Really, if they can't get with the program, then it's not my fault," he answered incredulously.
"Then why are you here, punishing yourself by reading this letter again and again? " she asked.
"Didn't I tell you? I'm a masochist," he answered, trying to sound as unattached as possible.
"Don't play smart with me young man!" she scolded him once more.
Ron took a deep breath before he spoke, "I'm trying to carry their burden. I'm the only one who knows about their unrequited feelings for one another. It's beginning to take its toll. I'm losing some of my hair."
"Then don't you think it's about time you pass their own burdens onto them? You have your own unrequited feelings to think about. They should know about their unrequited feelings as well," she advised him.
"I never knew the word unrequited could be said so many times in such a short while," he said, smiling a bit.
"You better get out of that tub or you'll catch a cold," she said, ruffling his hair.
"I will, if you would only get out of here," he said.
"I'm sorry if I prolonged my welcome," she smiled.
"Apology accepted," he answered. Mrs. Weasley gave his son an encouraging smile. A few moments after his mother left, he lifted himself from the tub.