"The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue...What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him," said Umbridge, who was now panting slightly as she pointed her wand at different parts of Harry's body in turn, apparently trying to decide what would hurt the most. The Order of the Phoenix
.***.
It was Ron's fault that they were in Umbridge's office. He had been the one trying to lure the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor away from her office, under the pretense of Peeves wreaking havoc. And because of his mis-timed lie, he, Luna, Neville, and Ginny were gagged and in her awful office. Ron was struggling against Warrington, the big ape of a Slytherin who could not stop smirking.
And Harry had looked so disappointed when they came in - or was that distraught? After all, Sirius was missing. Harry's family seemed to be getting smaller every day. Poor bloke deserved a win here, after the wretched year they'd been through, and he couldn't even talk to his godfather in peace.
Warrington twisted his arm painfully and Ron bit his tongue hard enough to feel blood burst in his mouth, drip through the gag to join the blood from his lip. What was Umbridge saying? More threats to Harry, wanting to know what Dumbledore was planning. Had every adult gone off their rocker this year? Even Dumbledore was being (let's face it) a downright prat, letting Harry go through the whole thing in the graveyard and then just avoiding him since summer. Sirius seemed to be the one person who was helping, who was listening when Harry said he was angry and scared and guilty about Cedric, and now Sirius was gone, too.
"Filthy blood traitors gonna get what you deserve this time," Warrington muttered, twisting Ron's arm until he was sure the shoulder would pop from the socket. "It'll be whipping for you and that pretty sister of yours. How much do you think it'll take before she screams? I like to see girls scream." He twisted again. "And cry. Even blood traitors are pretty when they cry, I bet."
Ron started cursing through his gag, and everyone, including Harry, including Umbridge, looked up at him. Then the vile woman starting talking again.
Warrington had put an arm around his neck, so Ron could only catch every fifth word as he struggled. What was she going on about now? Was it half-breeds again? Poor Hagrid, Ron thought. When he hadn't done anything wrong this year! No skrewts or blubberworms. Just unicorns and thestrals, really interesting lessons. And Lupin. Ron knew the tell-tale signs of poverty, knew the pride that came with having a best friend richer than any god, giving you charity and thinking it was help. Sirius might never understand why Lupin went around in threads, but Ron did. And it was because of this woman, this evil, vicious -
"The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue."
Warrington had released him and Ron breathed, looking down at Harry who was on his knees, yelling. But why?
And then...it was pain beyond description. Beyond belief. A thousand knives and a hundred hot pokers, scorpions stinging on the inside and out, pain blossoming through his head and nervous system, and Ron collapsed, twitching. I'm dying he thought. I'm dying. I'm dead.
A small, honest part of himself always knew that he'd die for Harry. Ever since he'd sacrificed himself in a life-sized game of chess all those years ago. He just wished, as the breath was driven from his body, as he twitched and screamed and screamed, that it had been a worthy death, at the hands of Voldemort, or Greyback, or even Snape. Not bound and gagged in a pink, frilly office, a toady woman beaming as he twitched.
And then the pain was gone, and Ron could see only white, white light.
"Ron? Ron!" Harry was next to him, his long hands on Ron's cheeks.
Ron's tongue wasn't working. He blinked and blinked, but the white light stayed, bright as the sun. "Hry," he tried, and tried to clear his throat, and gagged.
Harry sat him up, ripping the gag off, rubbing circles on his back. "Fucking bitch!" He yelled at someone. "If you want to hurt somebody, hurt me!"
"Harry," Ron said. He was exhausted. Ron couldn't seem to stop shaking. He blinked again, and Hermione swam into view, crying. She had been the one to knock Umbridge's spell awry, and now Warrington was holding her, tighter than necessary, his hands on an intimite part of the girl's body. Ginny and Neville were both sporting livid bruises.
"Hurt me!" Harry repeated, his arms holding Harry tight, tighter. His own shield.
Umbridge's laugh was the victorious whoop of a night-mating frog. "Oh, Potter," she cackled. "I already am."
Was the pain worse this time? It must be. Ron folded in on himself, nose to knees, and keened. He didn't feel human. He felt like something less, microscopic and worthless. The pain made him small.
Neville's parents had gone crazy with this curse. Was he going crazy? Would he lose it here, when Hermione and Ginny and Harry were still at the mercy of this evil woman? With his parents and brothers so far away, people in another lifetime, people he would never see again?
Ron was drowning. Somewhere, his screams had turned to sobs, and he would cry until he sank below the waves.
And then there were those arms around him again. "I'll tell you!" A voice said, right above him. "I'll tell you where the weapon is, I promise! Stop hurting him!"
"Hry, ooo."
Harry's hand in his hair, smoothing it. Were Harry's hands shaking, too? Ron felt like he was swimming through murky water. Those might be Harry's lips in his hair, a kiss like a mother would give an infant.
"Please," Harry said, "Please, I'll do anything, just don't..."
"Harry, no!" Ron demanded, his hand reaching out, scrabbling, and Harry caught his hand.
He became an anchor through the next wave of pain. Ron focused on Harry's hand and cried.
It didn't last as long this time, and Ron became aware, again, of voices talking around him.
"-in the forest, the weapon."
"-if you're lying."
"...insurance..."
"...stay here..."
Harry shifted, and Ron grabbed instinctively for his robes. "Come on," Harry murmured, "there's a lad. Up now. One foot in front of the other."
Ron swayed, shifted his hand to grab Harry's shoulder instead. "Is't over?"
"Almost. Come on, we're going to the forest now. There's a step there, Ron. Just lean on me. You can hold tighter, I don't mind." Harry paused and let Ron grip him. They were going through the castle, though for the life of him Ron couldn't understand why. He wanted to lay on the smooth stone and sleep forever. "Keep on," Harry said, "Please, Ron, stop crying. It'll be okay. I think - I have a plan."
Ron groaned. "I've heard that before."
"Shh," Harry put his mouth to Ron's ear. "Umbridge is right here. We gotta be quiet. Hermione and the others are coming, I know it. But Umbridge insisted on bringing you along. I don't want you tortured again. And she could do worse, in the forest. So belt up, yeah?"
"Yeah."
He had to be quiet to stay on his feet. He could concentrate only on moving, on the happy accident of putting one foot in front of the other. And soon, they were out on the lawn, and Umbridge was waddling a dozen paces behind, her wand trained on Ron's back.
"Hey, Ronnie," Harry was saying in his ear. "Ronnie, keep talking. It'll be easier. C'mon, are you okay?"
"Yeah," Ron said. His tongue felt like marshmallows. "Yeah, Harry, I'm just fine."
Harry squeezed him again, a one-armed hug, and for a moment Ron allowed himself to close his eyes and imagine it was just them, in Gryffindor tower, Hermione near by. They could be talking about Quidditch, or plotting how to kill Umbridge, or deciding what they'd do over break (probably play Quidditch and plot how to kill Umbridge.) For a moment, it was just them, and the forest swaying, like in a dream.
"You don't have to be fine," Harry said. "You don't. I know it hurts."
Ron gave him a long, searching look. "You know?"
Harry rubbed his shoulder. "Voldemort. Last year, in the graveyard. Only once, but it was enough. I thought I was dying." He paused, bit his lip. "I wanted to die."
"Why didn't you say?" Ron said. They hadn't gotten many details about the graveyard, to be honest, but sometimes Harry would start moaning in his sleep, and Ron would wake up and rub his back or his arm until he fell back asleep, listening to the disjointed words of a nightmare: Cedric, no, Dad, no, Mom, please, please.
Harry gave him a long look. "Like Hermione needed to worry about me more than she does. Belt up a mo, we're going into the forest."
With Umbridge's wand still pointed to the small of his back, and the forest looming large, Ron watched as Harry walked into its depths, disappearing almost instantly. Then he took a deep, steadying breath, and followed.
He'd follow Harry anywhere. It was his lot in life. And he was proud to do it.
.***.
"What's happened to you?" asked Harry, for Hermione looked distinctly disheveled, rather as though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil's Snare.
"Oh, I've just escaped — I mean, I've just left Cormac," she said. "Under the mistletoe," she added in explanation, as Harry continued to look questioningly at her.
"Serves you right for coming with him," he told her severely. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
.***.
Ron had spent the night of the Slug Club party playing keep-away with Neville, Dean, and Seamus. Some other Gryffindors joined in - Coote and Peakes, the young Beaters, Pavarti Patel (without Lavender, for once) and Demelza Robbins, who had tried out to be Seeker last year. With eight, they managed to have a good game of four-a-side Quidditch, with the sixth-year boys on one team and everyone else on the other. Ron played Keeper, of course, and Neville couldn't stop laughing at his nervous bouncing between the goal posts. Neville was supposed to be a Beater, but Peakes outshone him at every turn, keeping the Bludgers aimed at the boys. Dean and Seamus were a good team, though, and as Chasers against Coote and Demelza it was quite a match.
Afterwards, Ron led the way to the kitchens, and Dobby squealed at the sight of him. "Can we get some tea, Dobby?" Ron asked, politely. "Everyone fancy tea, then? That's eight, Dobby, and some biscuits, if you don't mind."
Dean and Seamus looked appropriately awed at the scurrying of the house-elves around the kitchen, and Ron figured Coote was probably muggle-born by the way he stared at the creatures in wide-eyed wonder. But the girls just settled in and began gossiping with some of the female house-elves. "We come down a lot," Demelza explained. "Nod and Wedgins here know the best gossip. They could take Rita Skeeter's job."
The two house-elves, faintly pink as all the females were, smiled shyly. Ron realized that they were very young.
"Mr. Wheezy!" Dobby cried, "Mr. Wheezy, is Harry Potter coming too?"
Ron frowned into his mug. "He's at a party, Dobby."
"Oooh I know the party!" Dobby said, happily. "Dumbledore wanted twelve house-elves to go help. He told Dobby to pick them! He said Dobby can be foreman, which means Dobby is in charge!" He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "So Dobby sent Kreacher to help with the party. Dobby is not liking Kreacher, not at all."
"Well, we have something in common," Ron said, lifting his cup. "Cheers, everyone. And happy Christmas."
The sentiment was echoed all around. Seamus and Dean clapped Ron on the back as they left for bed. Demelza and Pavarti both gave him a kiss on the cheek. Form Coote and Peakes, it was a firm handshake. Only Neville stayed late in the night, talking quietly to a house-elf who had belonged to a great-uncle, or something, when Neville was young.
They would be flooing to the Burrow in the morning, nine am, and Ron was going to see if he and Harry could persuade McGonagall to let them floo into Diagon Alley, spend the day with the twins and their joke shop, get a good laugh. It was a long shot, but just the thought of being outside of Hogwarts, away from Lavender and Hermione, away from his mother and everyone, just with Harry on a stag night out...well, even if it didn't happen, he'd be happy to try.
He was thinking about Christmas, which would have to be better than last year's - no dying dad, no Grimauld Place - when he ran, literally, into Hermione.
"Oh," Ron said, backing up hurriedly, running a hand through his hair. They were next to the prefect's bathroom - Ron had been on his way to a shower - and he felt self-consciously dirty next to Hermione, who had dressed up for the Slug Club party, red and green baubles in her hair, a sleek dress.
He hadn't wanted this fight with Hermione - didn't know how it happened, really. There had been a date planned, and he seemed to finally be getting close to her, and then Lavender happened, and the birds, and...it had been months since they'd spoken properly, leaving poor Harry in the middle, Perhaps Christmas would be a good time for reconciliation.
"Er," he began, concisely, staring at Hermione's feet. Get a grip, Ronald, he thought, and forced himself to look up at Hermione's face. "He - what's wrong?" he held out his hands, more instinct than anything, and folded Hermione in his arms. "What happened?"
For a moment, he thought Hermione was going to pull away from him, and they'd retreat back into the corners they've been sniping from all semester. But after tensing up, all the breath seemed to be forced from her body at once, and she leaned on his chest. When Hermione cried, she hardly made any sound. "Oh," Ron said, looking around the basically empty corridor. He couldn't stand the thought of someone finding Hermione like this, in a state, and hurried them into an empty classroom, casting a quick (and, blissfully, silent) muffliato on the door.
In the jostling, Hermione moved her head form his chest, and was now sitting on a desk, her dress bunched up in her hands. Her makeup - since when did Hermione wear makeup? - was streaked down her cheeks, and there was a livid red spot on her forearm.
"'Mione?" Ron began, trying for gentle. "What happened? Was it at the party?"
The bushy-haired girl put the back of her wrist against her mouth, wiping something away. "I, um," her eyes wee unfocused, and Ron thought, for a ludicrous second, that Hermione might be drunk. "I don't know what happened," she said, quietly. "It was - he..."
"He?" Ron demanded. "Who? Harry?"
"No!" Hermione said, quickly, "It was...oh, it was McLaggen."
Ron blinked at this, working hard not to let the hurt show on his face. The only explanation he could think of for Hermione bringing his Quidditch rival would be to spite him for - but he pushed the thought away. It didn't matter that she'd brought McLaggen to the stupid party, only that he was there, and had done something to make Hermione look like this.
So he asked, the necessary and obvious and terrifying follow up. "Hermione? What did he do?"
She had her face in her hands. "I don't know," she said, at length. "I don't know. I was...I think...he imperioused me."
Ron made a strangled noise, and without thinking got down on one knee in front of the girl. He came up to her belly button, now, and she put a hand on his shoulder, and he took her other hand in his, and for a second they didn't do anything at all - Ron couldn't do anything, couldn't think of anything in the world other than finding McLaggen and cursing him, crucioing him, until the only thing he knew was the black daze of oblivion.
He was aware, eventually, of Hermione talking. "Remember in fourth year, with Crouch? He imperioused all of us, and it felt so right, remember? Just that little voice saying 'jump onto the desk' or whatever. It was..." she choked. "It was like that."
"Hermione," Ron began, and then stopped, and then began again, "do...should we go up to the hospital wing?"
She was quiet for a long moment. "When I...woke up. I think because he wasn't concentrating on the spell anymore. He was...I was pinned..." she was crying again.
Ron had never felt more helpless.
"But I don't think he finished it -" she hid her face in her hands again, to cry. "I was just so scared...and I got away from him, and I found Harry, and Harry said..."
Ron could imagine what Harry said. Could imagine his best friend on McLaggen's throat right now, going muggle on him, beating him to a pulp with his bare hands.
"Harry said, 'serves you right for coming with him.'" Hermione cried harder. In earnest.
Ron felt like he'd been clubbed over the head. He stroked the inside of Hermione's wrist, the place that was blooming black and blue. "He didn't mean it," Ron said, because he knew that Harry couldn't have meant it, couldn't have known. "He didn't mean it, 'Mione. You did..." he swallowed, "it's not your fault."
Hermione rested her head against Ron's shoulder. They stayed like that until Neville found them in the small hours of the morning.
Ron took Hermione up to the hospital wing and sent Neville to get Harry. They were leaving in the morning, Hermione going to her parents for the holidays, Harry coming with Ron to the Burrow. He did not think their friendship could survive a month apart.
The two boys stood outside the room as Madame Pomfrey examined Hermione. Ron felt deeply tired.
"I didn't know," Harry said again. He always sounded younger when he was afraid. "I was so focused on Malfoy and Snape, I didn't listen to her. I..." he trailed off, swiping under his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "I'm going to kill McLaggen."
"He's already in McGonagall's office," Ron pointed out. "Hermione doesn't need you to kill him. She needed you to listen to her."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "I know."
For the second time that night, Ron's arms seemed to move instinctively, pulling Harry into a gruff hug. They were boys and were British, and so rarely did this. Ron was surprised to realize that, unlike Hermione, who's head came up to his collarbone, he and Harry were the same size. He was used to being two inches taller to Harry's scrawny frame, but perhaps years of meals in the Great Hall and at the Burrow had erased whatever deficit Harry had experienced in childhood.
Some time later, Madame Pomfrey came out to find them. "You three," she said, shaking her head. "At least you look out for each other."
Hermione would be fine, Madame Pomfrey explained. Perhaps a bit weepy. They were sending word for Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who would have a meeting with the Gryffindor Head of House before beginning their Christmas holiday. McLaggen was already on his way home for a suspension of six weeks.
Hermione was perched on the edge of the hospital bed. Harry and Ron sat on either side of her, and Harry apologized, and Hermione accepted the apology. In the morning, Neville came in, warily. Ginny came, too, bursting in the door and throwing her arms around Hermione's neck and telling her that she'd cursed McLaggen as soon as she heard, Bat-Bogey-hex. "His holiday pictures will be a treat," she said, venomously.
As the sun climbed higher into the sky, Ron found Harry in a chair in the corner of the hospital wing. "Come on, then," Ron said, yawning. "We still need to get out things." He shoved his hands in his pockets. He could not seem to stop yawning, now that he'd started. "I wanted to see Fred and George," he said, "but now I think I just want to sleep."
"Let's wait for her parents," Harry said, head perched on hands, watching as Hermione got visited by, seemingly, every girl in the castle. Was there an alert for this sort of thing? A pact between women, to come with chocolate and tea and commiserating stories? "Let's make sure she's okay."
Ron stared at him, then drew up a chair. "Okay," he said, leaning back. "Wake me if I nod off."
Harry was already looking back at Hermione. Behind his glasses, his eyes seemed huge and impossibly green. "Okay," he said, belatedly.
But Ron was already asleep.
.***.
a thousand thanks to everyone who reviews. we know that these ones are out of cannon, which is why they both went into one chapter. it's just Ron stuff we've been thinking about for a while. we just love him being a good friend when no one else is looking.
peace,
us
