Stars. Not the good kind either. The sort that come with spells and charms. That flow from the tips of wands or fingers. No. These were kind to come with blows to the chin. The sort that seem to flash in front of your eyes as all the strength in your legs vanishes in an instant, leaving you helpless.
Ron stood- well, if you can call it standing, bloody lipped and puffy eyed. The finishing blow just a few mental calculations away from being thrown. Luckily for him, his opponent's brain chemistry was seemingly lacking. Not through physical punishment mind. He had just happened to stumble upon one of their 'meetings' and showed the sort of unquestioning interest they were looking for. Ron was sure he had been in one of the lower class of Ravenclaw
Hogwarts now a fading memory after two years, there had been very little excitement in either his or Harry's lives. Going from that level of danger, peril and adventure, almost daily, to the hum-drum, job-seeking life of a post-grad wizard, had left them both with an unshakeable lethargy. That was, until the conception of WUBBA.
Harry had been visiting his aunt and uncle one afternoon when a pair of his cousin Dudley's old comrades decided to 're-live the old days'. Stopping him in the centre of the same cut-through he always used to get onto Privet Drive, he hardly recognised them.
Now clad in hooded jackets –the connection between them and the other hooded characters he had crossed paths with setting off alarm bells in his head- he had been instantly put on alert. Then it all came flooding back. The same script as always, the sarcasm, the prodding, the names, the rough hand on the shoulder. A year worth of pent-up –he didn't know what- bubbled to the surface in an instant and once the first blow thumped into his half-tensed stomach and as he buckled to his knees, Harry felt as if an enormous weight had lifted off him. Not just adrenaline pumping through his veins, something else, not quite magical but –he could only think to himself afterwards- 'life'.
As he wandered home, Harry, still high from the experience, drawing confused looks from passers by –how could somebody with a nosebleed, torn shirt and a myriad of bruises look so happy?- considered the last thirty minutes. The damage he took was surprisingly insignificant in comparison to that which he had dealt. His two attackers limping off, cursing, leaving him gasping for air but non-the-less standing defiantly, fists clenched. Triumphant if somewhat dishevelled.
During his time at Hogwarts –obvious events aside- Harry had only been in a couple of fights. Petty little arguments, mainly over girls, non of them started by him and usually broken up before anyone went for their wand. Before now the most he had ever suffered was a bruised lip. However as he crossed the threshold of his house to be greeted by the totally anticipated panic and hundred-questions-a-minute by Ginny, he had it all worked out.
WUBBA or the Wizards Underground Bare-knuckle Boxing Association was born. Being inclined towards brevity -and also liking the acronym- Harry had brought the idea to Ron –also confessing to feeling 'strangled' by boredom- who had immediately shown interest. Having many siblings, he was no stranger to conflict, physical punishment and at this point he was 'willing to try anything' to regain that 'spark' as he described it after listening to Harry's account of the encounter at Privet Drive.
It didn't matter what 'house' you were from, whether you were muggle born or wizard born. As long as you followed the rules anyone was welcome. There were three clear rules:
No wands.
No grudges.
No money.
No wands was a given. Participating wasn't about how much damage you could cause to your opponent. It was about being able to live in the moment –if only briefly- and walk away satisfied. No hard feelings and no grudges. 'No money' meant no betting, this way no one would be left out of pocket or be swayed to win or lose. It wasn't about money it was about the experience.
Some chose to walk away and heal their own wounds –so as not to arouse suspicion from partners or family- but there were always a couple of trained healers on-hand to patch participants up afterwards. Everyone walked away looking as if nothing had happened. The excuses told to partners and family were many, but all were asked to keep WUBBA a secret. Invitation only. Not through ego but because co-founders Harry & Ron knew that, while the group stayed small, it would be easier to avoid corruption and focus on the real reason they were there. Living.
As Ron hung –as if only by a thread- waiting for the finishing blow to strike, he was aware of many voices around him shouting encouragement, either for him or for his opponent. He didn't care which. He was engulfed, bathing in a sea of pure emotion. No anger, no hate, just spirit and determination. If asked, he could only describe this moment as "joyful". This was living. This was the best it was going to get for the foreseeable future and he was damn sure going to make the most of it.
Smelling victory, his opponent closed in, locked on and ready to put him down. Through heat and sweat he lined up a huge right cross and tensed to launch. Through his elation and heightened state of awareness, Ron saw what his attacker was planning and threw up his left arm to deflect the massive shot at the last second. Not missing a beat and launching a low right of his own, he felt his knuckles smash into his opponent's kidneys, following through until he felt like he would break him in half. The deflected right cross still sailing over his head, Ron quickly reeled in the crushing right and –with a brief tense of the legs so as to add power- threw a deadly left uppercut knocking his opponent not only back but down, the combination of the two punches leaving him dazed and winded and completely unable to rise.
The dozen or so wizards in attendance –Harry included- paused briefly, shocked at the recovery and dramatic turnaround displayed before them. The collective roar of approval that followed cut through Ron's semi meditative bubble and with an exhausted but content –if slightly cocky- grin, he teetered over to help his opponent to his feet. As was customary at the end of any bout.
'Never got your name' said Ron as the two men -supporting each others weight- crossed the ring and headed towards the healers.
The stranger muttered a few barely audible words.
Ron -realising he'd never actually heard the guy speak before- was surprised by the softness of his voice but couldn't make any of the words out.
'Huh?'
'You said we needed to do more things together' he repeated less quietly.
'Wait- what?' Ron's head snapped round in confusion.
The stranger discreetly dipped a hand into his hip pocket and removed a small bottle then tossed lightly to Ron.
'You and Harry really are the worst liars' said the stranger sounding strangely familiar.
Rolling the bottle over slowly in his hand, he stared -mouth agape- at the hand-written label.
"Polyjuice Potion"
His mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. For a good few seconds Ron could only utter half words, gradually managing to string together.
'Her..m..ione?'
**Excitement seems to just follow some people, whether they like it or not;) Most of us have to find our own. Gives you something to write about. You only get one life, make the most of it. C**