Chapter 21: The Savagery Of The World.
The train rushed north. Ron eased back into the comfortable seats of Muggle First Class, taking sips from his coffee and watching the suburbs of North London race past: houses, blocks of flats, the occasional view into a high street with shops and shoppers; innumerable back gardens, abounding with sheds, lawns, washing drying on the line. He put the cup down.
Ron let his forehead slowly meet the cool glass of the train window, Hermione's quotation exercise whirring its way around his mind.
'Suddenly I was sick of the savagery of the world.'
The alliterative power of what he'd just said out loud to himself hung in the train carriage like a curse or a warning. One of the business-type Muggles across the carriage's aisle looked over slightly quizzically before returning his attention to the laptop in front of him.
She'd said when they'd compiled the notebook for these mind discipline games that he should include anything famous or things that were personal or simply relevant to parts of his life and work - or just anything he liked or caught his attention.
When he was first training as an Auror, her father had lent him the novel, 'The Summer of the Red Wolf' by Morris West, explaining it was one of his favourites – and they had a good laugh at the fact the main character was the 'Red Wolf' – a retired secret agent nicknamed 'Red Wolf' because of his red hair, who was being dragged, most unwillingly, out of retirement to perform a last mission. Even if at the time he only got half of the Muggle references, Ron had enjoyed the book greatly, touched by Hermione's father's interest in him - and the 'Red' reference and the fact West was Australian added an extra interesting twist in terms of their lives.
But it was that first sentence that had really hit home at the time. Mr Granger had lent it to him not that long after their return from Australia, when savagery was hopefully the last thing on anyone's mind. It summed up perfectly what he wanted for Hermione and himself – and the world.
No savagery. No. Never. No more.
And as he gazed over the seemingly ordinary and usual view of North London, with its people and business and bustle and life going on, it struck him forcefully that he was still sick of the savagery of the world: in fact he'd been 'suddenly' sick of it for over … well, he was now beginning to lose count of how many years.
I am in blood stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er.
These mind exercises were built into the very mental landscape itself of Ronald Weasley now after so many years of practising them to help him order and structure his thinking, he thought to himself. God! Hermione Granger really had rubbed off on him and a little, affectionate smile of played on to his lips – he couldn't help it: he thought of her – and he would smile…
The 'Macbeth' quotation had stuck the night Hermione had cajoled him to go to a Muggle theatre one night, many years ago to see the 'Scottish Play'. He went, of course; he'd always want to be in her company, wherever it was. As he watched, transfixed, much passed him by, but he got the story perfectly and he would never stop asking himself questions after that evening spent in a darkened Muggle auditorium: what would he have done if offered the ultimate prize, like Macbeth? Was this like the vision he saw all those years ago in the Mirror of Erised? Was this what it felt like to be tempted by ambition? Power? Was this what temptation was?
What would he have done if the Witches had told him he'd be King?
Or Minister of Magic, he suddenly thought.
An old, hard memory stirred, somewhere at the back of his mind. A cold, high yet strong and masculine voice. 'I have looked into your heart – and it is mine.' Ron shifted in his seat, now finding his position uncomfortable and irritating.
Savagery? Did he know what he was willing to do, to make an end to savagery? Should I wade no more? Snape had, hadn't he? Hadn't he stopped and 'waded back' – reaching for forgiveness – from the world, by helping Dumbledore… and protecting a boy he hated for the sake of the boy's father and the love of the boy's mother?
Ron moved again in the seat and blew out a long sigh as the waitress brought him a fresh cup of coffee. He thanked her as she turned away, stirring the drink slowly, making sure the sugar was well-dissolved. Another little smile tweaked his lips. Sugar? Temptation? Hermione would disapprove!
What an irony, he suddenly pondered heavily. Savagery: he would always be sick of it – but it had been his life now for so long. Could he carry on? Could he see this all to an end? Deal with the savagery?
Deal with Fothergill?
He relaxed back further into his seat, dismissing his previous thoughts and concentrating his mind on dissecting the intricacies of the meeting with Jimmy Abrahams and Harry, a meeting he'd left just forty minutes before.
He knew he'd got an awful lot to ponder before he reached Birmingham. 'The darksome statesman hung with weights and woes'. Yes, indeed – an awful lot. More than he wanted.
'Well, Ronald Weasley,' he muttered to himself, 'this darksome statesman had better get pondering. Concentrate, Red Wolf – concentrate.' With that he chuckled softly to himself, closed his eyes, and let the day's memories crowd in and line up for analysis.
The train rushed on.