There was no name engraved on his trunk. It had been used by so many others in his family that such personalised and stylised script representing his lone initials would have been deemed both unnecessary and very selfish.
This, depressingly, was the simple truth and the expectation of his life. That he was just one of many and that there was nothing practicably special about him.
In a family as large and as accomplished as his it was easy to become invisible to the more successful siblings. There were times when he felt like a whisper in a large crowd. That the only time anyone, especially his parents, paid him any attention or mind was when he was being yelled at for something. And more often than not, that 'something' that was usually not even his fault, but the fault of the twins who would blame whatever mishap on him. Even if the evidence clearly and emphatically was pointing its very finger at the two of them as the culprits.
He was the brunt of all bad things. Teased and tortured by his brother's. Never taken seriously. And often overlooked. He didn't even really stand out either. He wasn't a rugged sportsman like Charlie. He wasn't cool or a lady's man like Bill. He sure as Hell, wasn't as studious and top of his classes as Percy. Nor was he as popular and fun to be around as the Fred and George.
He was just 'Ron'. Whiney little Ronnikins. Yes, yes, yes, he knew he was loved, of that he never once doubted. Well … okay, once or twice … maybe. But still, he always felt … well … 'less' compared to everyone else in the family.
Nothing he ever did was ever a novelty for his parents. This was because they had seen it all done five-times before. First step. First word. First spell. Everything in his life had been done either sooner and/or better by others in his brood. His little sister had been spared this unique exclusion because, well, she was the only girl in a family of boys. As such everything she did was always a novelty and worth that little bit of extra attention by their mum and dad as well as the rest of his brother's.
He was the 'invisible' one. That was, of course, until he became best-mates with Harry 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' Potter. Only then did he seem to get a little attention and respect from his brother's, sister, Mom and Dad. But that lasted all of a year, and then when Harry started to visit his family on a regular basis during their Hol's away from Hogwarts. Well, things changed then as well. After that it was always 'My haven't you grown, Harry. You should really eat more, Harry. Tell us what you learnt in school this year, Harry.'
Always and to his credit, Harry seemed justly embarrassed by the extra consideration he earned from everyone … especially his parents. And he always did try and do his best to deflect an equal amount of notice back upon his best mate's shoulders. But Ronald Bilius Weasley knew the truth of it all. 'Harry' was his gimmick. 'Harry' was his novelty. 'Harry' was what made him special. And 'Harry' was and always would be 'the star' as far as his family was concerned. And if he hadn't already suspected this as truth, then the evidence of this claim was apparent earlier that year. It was at the time their OWL results were delivered and in his envelope was a Prefect Badge.
Everyone in the house automatically assumed that it had belonged to Harry. And everyone looked right embarrassed and shamed when Harry finally … eventually … got around to correcting them of their blunder. It was only then, in a collective-silence, a silence born from embarrassment did everyone realise how deeply they all had shoved their foot into their mouths. To be honest, he knew exactly what they were all going though. He knew because he himself had thought the whole 'Prefect Badge' thing was a monumental cock-up as well and that McGonagall had accidently put it in his envelope. If it hadn't have been for the accompanying letter with his name on it outlining his new responsibilities as a Gryffindor Prefect, he would have handed that ruddy-prefect-pin over without a second's thoughts. But still, it didn't half hurt his sensitivities to have watched and hear everyone during those twenty painful seconds automatically assume it was Harry, instead of him and having heard their heart-warming congratulations.
His Mum regained her footing first and then tried to bribe his forgiveness by getting him a half-decent Broom as a celebration gift.
Fred and George teased him mercilessly for the rest of the holidays about him being a 'Percy-In-Training'. Which was as close as they both dared get to saying that they were proud of him without it tarnishing their 'image'.
Harry, of course got all sullen, which was what Harry did quite a bit. He probably had expected that with winning the Tri-Wizard Cup the year earlier by default, his special relationship with Dumbledore, as well as some of the other adventures he had been front-and-centre of since he had started at Hogwarts that he was a shoo-in for the privilege position. A position that was a stepping stone to becoming the converted 'Head Boy' during their final year. Mom and Dad were probably right with their assumptions later that night. We both heard them speaking to one another downstairs when they had thought we had both gone off to bed.
Dad had said that with the controversy of Harry's involvement in the Tri-Wizard Competition the previous year. When he was underage to participate in the various Trial's, that it did not sit well with a majority of the other Hogwarts student's. Nor did it play out well with their parent's either, or the Board of Education for that matter. Permitting Harry to be a Prefect … even if it was totally deserved … would be seen as further evidence of blatant favouritism by Dumbledore and McGonagall on Harry once again. It would be like throwing 50-gallons of gasoline on a bonfire. And Dumbledore's position, according to Dad's sources at the Ministry, was on fragile ground enough already. And that I, compared to the other Gryffindor Boys of our year, was probably seen by the two of them as him being the best choice of a bad lot. Yeah … that was my own Dad saying that.
And as for Hermione? The one who had started off all the gushing and the back-patting with Harry? She who slipped up the most in the small group that morning, with the whole 'Oh, I knew it would be you, Harry' bollocks? Well, she just looked embarrassed and for the rest of the Holiday's and for most of the Train Journey back to School she pretty much chose to keep her trap shut. Offering me occasional awkward and sideward glances, and then blushing with embarrassment whenever I would catch her looking at me.
But truth be told, I actually liked her stealing glances at me, even though it did make me a little self-conscious when she was doing so. It always seemed as though she was … I couldn't quite put a finger on it … like she was studying me or something equally bizarre. Like I was some kind of stranger that she was only seeing me now for the very first time ever. That in receiving my Prefect Badge it had somehow forced something within her to 'reappraise' and reassess everything she previously thought she had known about me.
Ever since our Yule Ball argument four-months earlier, things had been slightly tense whenever we were together alone. Like some invisible weight levitating over both our heads, waiting to fall if we both said something to the other out-of-turn. Neither of us knew exactly where our friendship stood. And I had to admit that I was still very much confused myself. Part of me at that time felt betrayed at Hermione for going out with Vicky, even with her writing and spending that week with the Bulgarian-Git over the summer break. But another part of me … well, that was a lot harder for me to explain. It wasn't betrayal, that other part of me was … I don't know … I suppose 'sadness' is the closest word I could have at describing it. And now? Now, every time I catch her looking at me, or in my general direction, it's like there was a rampaging swarm of butterflies flapping drunkenly in my stomach.
Our friendship, since me becoming her Prefect-Partner, had now somehow … evolved (?) … devolved (?) … Hell, it certainly changed that was for sure. Not into anything obvious to the outside observer. But I would pick up the occasional compliment or lingering smile whenever I held the door open for both her and Harry. Or when I would volunteer to carry some of her book's to the next class. Or was that just my imagination? Twice she had even fixed my plate during dinner, cautioning me on eating a more balance diet. She also volunteered to look over my homework assignments without having to be asked or begged to. It was, in my mind, an amazing time and one I was enjoying for all it was worth.
But as they say, 'all things eventually come to an end'. And for me and … her, this began … really began … within the three weeks of our return to Hogwarts. Hermione had discovered some obscure and dusty old spell in an obscure and dusty old book in an obscure and dusty old bookshelf in an obscure and dusty old area of the Forbidden Section of the Library. She set it aside, studied it and by the end of our first month back she eagerly and desperately wanted to show off what she had discovered. All she was willing to say was that if Harry and I could end up mastering and perfecting this spell, then the threat Voldemort posed, as well as all his damnable follower's, would decrease dramatically. Harry and I were intrigued, so we agreed to meet up with her in Myrtle's Bathroom for a demonstration at the end of our Last Class on Friday.
As it was Harry, Hermione, had wished to impress the most of all about her 'brilliance' so she asked if I wouldn't mind being her guinea pig. I had reservations; especially as I still did not know what the spell did exactly, that plus years and years of being the poor-doxy Fred and George used to experiment their various 'pranks' upon had left me justly nervous. When I implied this fact to her she responded by asking me whether or not I trusted her? And assured me that I would not be injured in any way. She even had the nerve to ask me with a tiny pout. Curse me, it was the pout that did me in. I couldn't refuse her. Harry smirked as I reluctantly stepped into the centre of the bathroom, amused at how easily Hermione had just made me dance to her tune. What a plonker I was. If she asked that same question now, with or without the pout, my answer would be a resounding 'NO'. "No, Hermione, I DON'T trust you!"
She waved her wand about and said several words that seemed to effortlessly flow into one another. They appeared to my ears to be more Gaelic in origin then the Latin we were used too. Suddenly, around the tip of her wand there was a small swirling-wisp of pink mist that transformed in colour to green, then blue, and finally white. The white mist then travelled to envelop me like a cocoon of cloudy-cobwebs. It all seemed harmless enough at that point, but then the cloud around me seemed to harden and encase me. I thought that Hermione might have discovered a more effective containment spell, so I didn't struggle against it. That was until I started to feel little shocks and 'zaps' upon my bare skin. These little static charges leapt into my body. It … tickled, at first. Then the tingling sensation evolved into a … well something a bit more rampant. After several seconds it all ceased and I felt my 'encasement' start to lift away and dissolve into nothing. As it did so I felt as though my very 'essence' was being drawn out of every pore on my body. This left me feeling disorientated, tired, nauseous and feeling as weak as a new-born kitten. Which was the reaction, Hermione, was looking for as she smiled happily as I stumbled forward in an effort to reclaim my bearings.
With an air of confidence that she was always famous for, she instructed me to perform some simple magic spell. We had been doing levitation in Flick's classroom the day before. And even if I do say so myself, I was pretty dab handy at it by the time the class had finished. I pulled out my wand and did the wave and pointing gesture as well as reciting the words. But nothing happened. I did it again. But once more nothing happened. Frustration got the best of me by this stage so I did the whole Accio bit, commanding a far off toilet roll to come to my hand at once. But the effin' thing didn't even budge. At this point I heard, Hermione's laugh. She was laughing like she had just perpetrated a prank that would make Fred and George green with envy. Harry, who was standing beside her, just looked confused.
Never enjoying being the butt of anyone's joke, I demand to know what was so bloody funny. This sobered her up on the spot and her laughter ceased, but she never stopped smiling that damned smile. She told us both that she had discovered an old and forgotten spell that could temporarily sever a user's access to magic.
Harry and I were gob smacked.
Hermione then proceeded to say that if Harry and I could master this spell as she had, then the chances of us ever being caught in a drawn out dual was next to impossible. As there was no magical shield that could defend against it. That was because the very Spell itself was one specifically created to nullify any and all magic.
Almost immediately Harry broke out in excited laughter, pulling Hermione into a grand hug. Understanding the implications of what she was saying. With this spell he could de-power Riddle long enough to gain an upper hand and vanquish him to Azkaban for the rest of his days. Harry's excitement once again caused Hermione to join him in shared elation. The only one of the three of us not joining in on this laugh-up was me. I had only one question: 'How long was temporary?' Oddly enough, Hermione, wasn't able to give me an exact timeframe to this. Stating that that section of the page had faded to the point of illegibility and that a portion of it had even crumbled away into dust long ago.
This news did nothing to excite me, or have me join in either Harry or Hermione's positive spirits. And for the next two hours we remained in the Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom, with me trying to perform every spell I knew. All with no result. After that second hour I started to panic. Harry, bless his woollen socks, was also starting to get a wee bit concerned as well. But the instigator of the spell insisted that we remain patient. That the Spell would eventually wear off. She swore on her life that we were both worrying unnecessarily and that by the time I woke up the next morning everything would be fine. Against both Harry and my better judgement we decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. After all, she had never steered me and Harry wrong before. Besides, going to Dumbledore with this spell risked Hermione getting into trouble at removing a book from the Forbidden Section of the Library. Not a very good start to her being a Prefect.
The next day? Nothing. But frustratingly, Hermione was not overly concerned. But by Monday my magic still hadn't returned to me and me and Harry's panic had now grown into desperation. Even Hermione started to become worried, but she pleaded with me that we give the spell a bit more time to run its course. And like a trusting Prat I gave her the benefit of the doubt.
With each passing day it was getting more and more difficult to hide my non-magical abilities from the Teacher's and other student's in the classroom. And there was only so many times you could request to be see Madam Pomfrey for non-descript stomach ailments, before they consider sending you to St Mungo's for a second and third opinion. By Wednesday, Harry's and my concern outweighed Hermione's forced-confidence that everything would be as right as rain in a day or so. We took a vote and she lost.
Flanked by both of my best friend's, we all approached the aged Wizard. Using Harry's knowledge of Dumbledore's private password for the week … 'Critter-Cream-Puffs' … to enter his private study after Dinner. We explained to him what we had done in Myrtle's Bathroom five days before and his reaction was not at all what any of us had expected. None of us had ever see Albus Dumbledore enraged. He was always so serene and calm. But upon discovery that Hermione had employed a Spell that would 'temporarily' remove magic from its target was enough for him to release a barrage of angry words about her arrogance and irresponsibility.
Hermione seemed to cower as the Headmaster demanded to know the name of the Spell she had used. She said it was called 'Draocht Meata Litrigh'. At hearing its name, Dumbledore looked as though someone had just tap-danced on his grave with a steel-capped boots.
He recounted to us that this spell had been outlawed and forbidden by every magical Government in the World for over two-hundred years. And that the employment of it upon another was a life sentence in Azkaban. But that was only if the Spell Hermione had used was indeed the 'Draocht', and not a lesser variety of the incantation. He ordered Hermione to retrieve the book that she still had hidden in her dorm room under her pillow.
Upon Hermione's return with the text, Albus studied the age-damaged pages that she had painstakingly deciphered just a fortnight earlier. It took him all of a dozen minutes to discover her error. The page she had been working on was so incredibly faded that she had missed two simple letters in a sentence that meant the World towards the purpose of the Spell she had cast upon me. In the line that she had made out as being 'And they shall have their magic lost to them for a time'. It was actually revealed as 'And they shall have their magic lost to them for *ALL* time'. With these two small and near invisible double 'L's my life had now been turned upside down. Hermione Granger had made me a SQUIB!
At hearing this news my mind swam to the ramifications of the ancient Wizard's following words. It was as I was processing this news, and granted I was becoming quite hyper at what this meant for me, that Dumbledore waved his hand in my direction and whispered and incantation. Suddenly the floor rose up to meet me. When I awoke seven hours later, I was in Madam Pomfrey's Infirmary, surrounded by my weeping mom, worried father, a bitter-Ginny and a concerned Harry.
As I had laid there unconscious, surrounded by my family, the person who had ruined my life had been hastily spirited away from the Castle by Professor McGonnagall back to her parent's home in London. Disappearing like a thief-in-the-night before news had a chance of circulating around the Castle over what she had done.
With the gossiping Portrait's taking an interest in the going on in Dumbledore's study, it took probably an hour for what had transpired to progress from the Paintings to the Ghost's and from them maybe all of a half-hour to finally reach the ears of the resident troublesome-Poltergeist, Peeves. And from there? Just about the entire School knew by curfew that very evening.
For the first two-weeks I went about my business being a good little Hogworts Student, just not student who was able to do any actual magic. No one knew exactly what to do with me. Dumbledore wanted me to stay close as he exhausted every Text he could find to reverse what was done by the Know-it-all. All awhile she remained in London with her Mummy and Daddy. Safe.
At the start of the third week, word reached me that the Wizengamot had gotten involved and proceeding were about to be initiated against Hermione. Whether the rapid-pacing of this trial was because of the illegal use of a forbidden spell or maybe because she was a Muggle-Born Witch who had 'removed' the magic of a Pure-Blood Wizard … I didn't know. It could even be because she was a close friend of Harry Potter's. If I could be completely honest, I didn't care. All I did know was that Hermione was being called for an accounting of her actions. And that if she was found guilty, Dumbledore suspected that they would enforce the harshest penalty at their disposal and she will be sent to Azkaban, regardless of her age.
Every Teacher stood up in her defence, even Snape. Though to be honest Snape's testimony was not as glowing as all the other's. But if the Defence thought this long parade of witnesses to her character was a good idea, boy were they wrong. It sadly did more harm than good to her Case, as many who sat in judgement started to now question how such a supposedly brilliant-young-mind like hers could be so careless to employ such a dangerous spell in the first-place? Some even speculated that this was all part of some Muggle-born plot to eradicate the Pure-Blood status and to make themselves the new Masters of Magic. As most on the Wizengamot were all Pure-Blood's themselves this 'theory' was the most chilling for them to consider. And this paranoia was only further reinforced when it was revealed of her efforts to free House Elves the year before with that whole S.P.E.W. nonsense. To say that she was being presented as quite … divisive … to the status quo of all things 'magical' was an understatement.
Hermione Jane Granger was quickly becoming known far and wide, thanks to the 'The Prophets' reporting of the Trail, as one of the greatest threat's that Magical England had endured in over a hundred years … even more so then the 'Dark Lord Voldemort' fifteen years earlier.
Harry spoke for an hour, out lining her virtues as a best mate and trying to justify to the Panel that this was just a youthful mistake and that it was far from intentional. He lost them within two-minutes of his first words, because they were all yawning by about minute five. But Harry refused to give up and kept talking and talking … at the end of the day, like the Professor's, I think Harry ended up doing more harm to her cause then good.
I sat there and watched from the other side of the room as Hermione stood in the docks … on public display … with her tears and total humiliation. Her clothes seemed to hang off her, she had definitely lost weight in the three-weeks since I had last seen her at school. The Prophet Camera Bulbs exploding all around her, taking record of her humongous fall from grace. Her parent's, both huddled together in the stands behind her, both fearful of their only-child's fate. Knowing within their heart that unless some miracle happened, that she would be found guilty … after all, pleading ignorance of the Law is not a justifiable excuse towards breaking it.
And me, as the 'victim', I was forced to sit and watch this side-show from the other side of the room. Occasionally having the prosecution refer to me by name and enforcing with the Wizengamot Jury that I had come from a pillar of hard working and an honourable Wizarding Family and that what had been perpetrated upon me from a Muggle they trusted was one of the greatest injustices of all time.
Hermione would look up and steal a glance over in my direction, but as soon as she saw me notice her she would return to her defeated posture of staring down at her feet. Sobs echoing about the room. I hated it. From start to finish. I hated everything. But most of all, I discovered that I was starting to hate her … no, worst, I despised her … I resented every breath she was taking … But Merlin help me, the pity I also felt for her was even greater.
Just before sentencing, the Victim is given the opportunity to 'express' their thoughts and plead for retribution and justice. I wasn't expecting that. No one was really. Certainly not Harry and Dumbledore. After all, what could I add or say that hadn't been said already? I walked to the centre of the room, feeling much like a condemned man. A thousand eyes upon me, or thereabouts. I expect that the Wizengamot thought I would take this opportunity to hammer the final nail into her coffin and provide them with a clear conscience to sentencing a 15-year old girl to life in a stone cell. And yes, a part of me wanted to vent and express my sorrow aloud. It was the same part that would never forgive her. But as I looked over at her as I crossed the floor … 'Her' who looked as though she had not slept in a hundred years … 'Her' whose misery could be visibly seem through the dozen tear tracks leading down from her eyes. And then with my gaze falling upon her parent's, her mother and father who looked as though they too would be serving everyday of her sentence in-spirit if she was to be found 'guilty'. Guilty of a crime that in all the five-days of proceedings, not even Merlin himself could argue to the Court that she did not do.
It would have been so easy … I could have remained silent and say nothing, no one would have blamed me and allow the evidence speak for itself. But I just couldn't do it.
I'm not certain exactly what I said. To me it was all just a blur of words really. All I remember is looking over my shoulder as I was midway through my delivery, spying Mr and Mrs Granger both slacked-jawed and Hermione Granger's face frozen in a mixture of appreciation and shock.
I spoke for all of three-minutes, and I couldn't remember a single word that I uttered. All I knew for certain was the 'gist'. And the gist was this : I forgave her, and if I, out of everyone in that room, could forgive her then everyone else should forgive her as well. So, yeah, basically, I lied through my teeth. But lying or not it was enough to sway 55-percent of the juror's and have them side with me. And as a result Hermione had her freedom. But that freedom came with strings attached if she wanted to continue on with her studies at Hogworts.
One: She lost her Prefect Status.
Two: She was only allowed to practice magic during class.
Three: For the remainder of her time at Hogwarts she would have 3-hours of Detention every day.
Four: Her Access to the Library was now fully restricted and under complete supervision of at least two-other students who would take formal responsibility for every text she would study.
Five: Any further breach of the rules, minor or major, and it would be instant expulsion for Hogwarts and the Magical Realm.
All-in-all, it was a slap on the wrist … and not a very hard one at that.
Hermione announced that she would be continuing with her studies, even though her parents who were seated behind her begged her not to and for her to return to 'normal' London. Their concern and apprehension was warranted. After all, it wasn't like Hermione would be returning to Hogwarts with fanfare. Every student in the school, even Gryffindor's, no longer trusted her. And those that didn't trust her, detested her. But still, Hermione accepted these conditions without a whimper.
With the Trial officially over, and with me no longer 'witness'; 'victim'; or 'evidence' towards the Judgement of 'H. J. Granger', a decision now needed to be made towards my fate. I was a Squib. I wasn't born a Squib, but made one … something like that hadn't happened in over two-centuries. I had been made a … a Muggle.
I hadn't even done 'Muggle Studies'!
It was like I was a fish who was now being taught to fly. Ill prepared for the world that I would be forced to enter. After all, I was raised a Pure-Blood Wizard. Magic was my life. And now there was nothing.
Albus and Mum and Dad spent the next week discussing what was to happen with me. And as they did this, I remained a student … in name only, at Hogwarts. I was going to classes and watching my friends learn tricks I would never be able to master. Watching Harry fly his Broom higher and higher, faster and faster all as I sat in the Quidditch Stands. The Broom I got from Mum two-months earlier? I gave to Ginny.
The hardest thing about that last week, aside from having to watch Hermione sitting alone in the Dining Room or class room because no one wished to sit near her, was knowing that it all would end very shortly. That decisions were being made about me without either my input or consideration.
-G-O-N-E-
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, if you did, please leave me a Review. I love reading your POV and thoughts. For some of you, you have known that this idea has been banging in my head for a very long time. What happens when a Pure-Blood, raised in a Pure-Blood household suddenly cannot do the simplest of magic spells. How does that impact on their self esteem? And what if the person who 'stole' those powers from you was a girl you were starting to realise that you now thought of her as more than just a 'friend'. Ron's journey will be one full of anger, frustration, fear, sorrow, love and loss. This is just the first-step :).
Remember, Review!