Ron's Shirt
Disclaimer: I do not own and do not make money off of Harry Potter. –sighs wistfully–
It was on a cold, winter day in November when Ron, in a great hurry to show off to Professor Flitwick his new spell, tripped and ripped his shirt wide open. Ron fell headfirst and grunted when his cheekbone slammed onto the marble slab floor. Professor Flitwick gave a squeak and ran to his aid.
"Oh dear Weasley – you took quite a tumble – come now, on to the Hospital Wing!"
Ron grunted in response and dusted himself, "No, Professor, I'm fine." He could feel the stares of the other students. He could also hear Draco's sniggering.
"Look, I can do the flower producing charm – correctly. Really, Professor, watch," Ron stood up and waved his wand at nothing in particular, "Orchideous!"
Nothing in particular happened. "Orchideous!" Ron said, with more vigor. Again, no flowers popped up.
A sigh came from the diminutive Charms teacher, "Next time you'll get it. Don't worry," squeaked Professor Flitwick who looked like he thought Ron would never correctly cast a flower-producing Charm in a million years.
After Charms class, Ron joined Harry and Hermione to go to lunch and started to complain about his episode with the failed charm: how was to never get that bloody charm right, that Malfoy must have tripped him somehow, and how he even tore his lucky shirt –
"– and I've been practicing that charm for ages! Why didn't I get it right?"
Hermione was fed up with Ron and wanted to change the subject, "Ron – you tore your shirt!" She closely examined the tear, "You'll have to get a new one."
Suddenly, Ron's eye's brightened, as if to think ruining his best and luckiest shirt was the most fortunate thing that could've happened to him, "I know the perfect spell to fix my shirt!"
Hermione looked skeptical, "No, I can sew it. Its nothing really."
"No, Hermione. I can do this with magic," enunciated Ron slowly, in case Hermione had trouble understanding, "I can actually cast spells right every now and then. You don't need to do everything the Muggle way." He then grabbed his shirt and held his wand to it.
Harry only looked on silently.
Ron lifted his wand and whished it around the tear, "Clothes-olo reparo!" When nothing happened to his shirt, he repeated the spell several more times before finally giving up. He pounded his fist on the wall and kicked a suit of armor. The metal armor clanged, then suddenly raising its foot, the armor retaliated and kicked Ron in the chest, sending him to the ground with a loud thud.
"Ron! Are you all right?" Harry knelt beside Ron and helped him up. Ron assured Harry he was fine, until he suddenly let out a deep moan. Harry looked alarmed and placed his hands around his friend in case he fainted, but Ron only shook his head.
"No! That bloody armor completely ripped my shirt in half!"
Later that week, Harry asked if Ron wanted to go to Hogsmeade. He was still out of spirits and grumbled something about practicing his pathetic wizardry spells,
"Besides, its not like I have a shirt to wear."
"You can borrow one of mine," added Harry helpfully.
Five minutes later, Harry walked out of the boy's dorm alone, trying to ignore Ron's near-obsessive mutterings, "Orchideous! Clothes-olo reparo! Orchideous!"
Over in Hogsmeade, Hermione browsed through the bookshop as Harry listlessly flipped through a paperback book, "I wonder how Ron is doing."
Hermione looked up in surprise, "What?"
"I said, I wonder how Ron is doing. He's really working so hard to mend that big tear on his shirt."
"First things first Harry. One, that shirt is ruined. Permanently. The biggest sweatshop in the world, muggle and wizard, could not fix it. Two," Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to her book, "Clothes-olo reparo isn't even a real spell chant."
Harry smiled at Hermione and watched her leaf through the book. He tried to get Hermione to open up, "Maybe we should buy him a new shirt at least. It would cheer him up and boost his self-esteem."
No answer came from Hermione.
At length, she softened and put the book back on the shelf, "He looks really upset about that stupid shirt. I think we should buy him a new one," She smiled coyly, "Actually, I've noticed this really nice shirt in the clothes shop for weeks and I've always wanted an excuse to get it. Come on Harry!" And so Harry followed Hermione to buy a new shirt for Ron, a shirt that Ron would surely love and wear everyday for the rest of the school year.
"It's a little too large," Ron tried on the new shirt, which reached his mid-thighs and extended six inches past his fingertips. He noticed Hermione's downcast look, "But I like it!" he added quickly.
Suddenly, Ron snapped his fingers, "Hey, I know how to skink this shirt!" He took off his shirt, threw it to his bed, and then grabbed his wand, "Shrink-fallio!" The shirt didn't change.
Harry slung his arm around Ron's shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze, "Ron, that spell doesn't work immediately. That spell once cast, takes about ten hours to show its effects."
Hermione looked indignant, but didn't say anything.
"Really?" Ron looked a bit discouraged.
"Yeah, I tried it before. You just got to make sure that," Harry moved the shirt to a very open area on the floor, "It's flat and will not be disturbed."
"Really?" Ron looked ready to believe anything.
"Yeah. Just check up on it in the morning."
Hermione coughed. Harry caught a few words, "not even a real spell... won't work."
Snorting, Ron flatted the shirt and placed it in a nice spot in the corner, "You know Hermione, magic spells work a lot better than the slow Muggle way. Just watch the shirt shrink tomorrow morning."
"Whatever you say, Ron."
In time, Hermione retired to the girl's dorm and Ron wishfully fell asleep. Harry lied awake in bed, staying awake when his two other roommates came in, and even stayed awake as they too fell asleep. Harry's eyelids felt like lead, his legs cramped, and all he wanted was to take a snooze in his comfy, warm bed. However, he finally dragged himself out of bed, took Ron's shirt, and walked out of the room.
He sneaked and tiptoed out of the Gryffindor common room (humph! Said the Fat Lady) and into the boy's bathroom. The air was moist and the floor was damp. Harry sniffed the musky scent of pee and sighed. Walking over to the sink, he whispered, "Incendio!" A blue fire sprang up under the sink, heating the cold marble. Harry then turned on the faucet and let the water run and boil. When the water was sufficiently steaming, Harry dropped the shirt into the water, submerged the bundle of cloth, and sat down on the soggy, icy floor. He closed his eyes and tried to rest.
An hour later, Harry opened his eyes and found that the fire had died down and the water was still. He took the shirt and wrung the water out. The shirt had shrunk down to Ron's size! Relieved that his plan worked, Harry folded up the shirt, opened the bathroom door and poked his head out. Stealthy, he checked to see if anyone was around, and when the path was clear, he dashed to his quarters, (ump! Said the Fat Lady) and placed the shirt back where Ron had left it. Fatigued, he collapsed on his bed for those last few hours of sleep.
"Orchideous!" shouted Ron, and flowers sprouted all around him, "Ha! See that Hermione?"
Hermione and Harry were lying down in the grass, watching Ron's show. She slowly twirled one of Ron's flowers that had flown into her face, "I saw that."
"And look at this," Ron sat in front of Hermione and spread his arms out in a big T shape, "My shirt fits! Wasn't it you who said it wasn't a real spell? I wonder how it got so small, huh? It definitely wasn't the work of any Muggle procedure."
Hermione smiled and twirled one of Ron's flowers. Harry only said, "Of course not, Ron. Of course not."
The end.