The Long and Winding Road - Part Four
Oh Monday morning, you gave me no warning, of what was to be…
Mamas and the Papas
Harry
He collapsed in one of the squashy chairs in the common room. Mercifully, it was deserted, mainly because most people were at lessons, apart from the few seventh years who had a free period and Harry assumed that they would be in the library working, as in theory he should be.
Harry was shaking all over, and he struggled to get his breathing down to its normal rate. Why the hell had Ron done that? He wasn't… he couldn't be… But there was no other explanation. Ron - gay? It was ludicrous, inconceivable… so plainly obvious that Harry couldn't believe he hadn't realised before.
He put his head in his hands, thinking hard. Ron had never had a proper girlfriend, and though had always seemed jealous when Harry and Hermione were going out the year before, he had made no move to ask anyone out himself. Harry had always had a sneaking suspicion that Ron secretly fancied Hermione, but now… Oh God.
Ron fancied him, perhaps was even in love with him. Harry moaned out loud, and rubbed at his temples, attempting to dislodge the headache that was pounding at his skull. He had always, always thought of himself as someone who was liberal-minded, happy to accept people of all race and creed. If someone called him a racist, well. He would be unthinkably angry. But that was all that gay people were; a minority group. To discriminate against them, well it was just as bad as calling a black person a nigger, or an Asian person a Paki. No self-respecting person nowadays would say such things, but so many of his classmates used gay as an insult of the highest degree. He could hear their voices in his mind.
"You're so gay!"
"This is such a gay subject, I hate it."
What must Ron have been going through all this time? he thought miserably. And yet… there was something, some part of him that was revolted with Ron, no matter how much he tried to squash the feeling. That was a terrible attitude to have…
Ron had kissed him. Harry fought in vain with the two equally strong emotions; empathy for his best friend, having to hide this huge secret all this time from everyone, and also his over-riding feeling of disgust. Ron, gay? It didn't seem possible. And why on earth had he just kissed him like that, out of the blue? Why, had he not felt able to tell Harry? They were meant to be best friends, that told each other everything. He would have understood…
Or would I? Harry thought. He probably knew that I'd react like this, horrified and dis- Oh God. What was it that I'd said yesterday? About Andrew Kipling? I called him a pouf, for not being able to play Quidditch.
Harry jumped right of his seat, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. I called him a pouf. How the hell must that have made Ron feel?
"Shit," he said under his breath. "No wonder he didn't confide in me; he thought I was as homophobic as the rest of the boys. And he was right."
Harry strode over to the corner of the common room, where a large Georgian teak chest stood, filled with spare parchment and quills, for everyone's use. His hand shaking, he scrawled out a note on a scrap of parchment.
Dear Sirius, it read
I need your advice about something. I have just discovered that Ron is gay, in the worst way possible. He tried to kiss me, and I was so shocked that I ran away. I just don't know what-
Harry looked up, as he heard the door open.
"Hi Harry!" came a cherry voice, and Harry quickly stuffed the parchment in his robe pocket.
"Hullo, Colin," he sighed.
*
Three days later, and Harry and Ron had not spoken once. This was partly because Herbology, the only lesson where they were time-tabled together, was on Thursdays and Fridays only. At meal-times, Ron seemed to either come down to the Great Hall to eat either very early, or very late, thus avoiding the others altogether. When Harry came up to the dorm room at night, Ron was already in bed, with his velvet hangings pulled firmly around his bed, and when Harry awoke in the mornings, Ron was already in the shower. When they did cross paths, Harry could have sworn that Ron's eyes always seemed to be red, but his expression told otherwise. It was as though Ron had shut down a barrier from everyone else; he was wearing a mask, lest his true feelings should ever be seen again.
Harry desperately wanted to talk to Ron, but his pride was too great. Besides, he felt he deserved at least an explanation first. It was one of those strange situations were neither party thinks that they should have to apologise at all, and so it drags on for far longer than it should do.
And to top it all, Harry couldn't understand what had got into Hermione. She barely talked any more, and it seemed that every time he looked her way, she was staring moonily into space. Harry despaired.
The Thursday morning Herbology lesson was uncomfortable, to say the least. Thankfully, Professor Sprout did not pair Harry and Ron together, so it could have been a lot worse.
As Harry and Justin Finch-Fletchly pruned Money bushes (they grew gold Galleons in the right conditions), Harry tried not to catch Ron's eyes, who was working across the room with Neville. Typically, Neville had not caught on to the rift between Harry and Ron, although of course Dean and Seamus spotted it immediately, and were convinced that it was because both of them wanted to go out with Hermione. Harry was sick to the back teeth of their constant ribbing, made worse by the irony of it all. If only it were that simple…
"Excellent!" came the booming voice of Professor Sprout, rushing over to their bench. A single gold galleon had appeared suddenly with a pop, nestling amongst the round, green leaves. "Well done, Potter, Finch-Fletchly. Five points for Gryffindor and Hufflepuff."
Justin smiled at Harry. "Good one," he said. "I can never get quite the right ratio balance of sunlight to Aurum drops," he said. Harry put the small gold Aurum bottle down on the bench, and was about to say that it was a fluke, when Justin opened his mouth again.
"So is it true then? You and Ron, having a scrap over Hermione?"
"No," said Harry slowly. "It was just a silly argument, blown out of all proportion…"
"Really?" said Justin, sounding disappointed. "Well, girls are usually at the bottom of these things. I mean, Hermione's grown into quite a looker, these days, hasn't she? You never would have thought it from the way she used to be…"
Harry let that one pass, too tired of arguing.
"…And, well," said Justin, laughing in his slightly horsey, upper-class manner, "I had a bit of an embarrassment myself the other day. Were you at the party last Saturday? Well, I tried chatting up Hannah-" He pointed across the room to were Ron and Hannah Abbott were engrossed with their money plant. "And while we were kissing, I put my hand down her top. I mean, I am a chap, and I thought girls liked that kind of thing! But she just leapt up and started shouting at me. My theory is that she's a dyke, but then you never would have thought it from looking at her, eh? I thought they all had shaved heads..."
Harry reeled. "A dyke?" he said quietly.
"Yeah, well I mean I can't think of any other explanation. Why else would she have pushed me off?"
"Justin," Harry growled softly. "You're seventeen, and you obviously have no idea how to treat women. Not all girls want to be groped when they've just been kissed for the first time by someone. And if you're kidding yourself that you did it for her, then get a grip on your hormones, and take a cold shower. I can't believe that because she wasn't willing to prostitute herself, you think that she's homosexual, or a dyke, as you so charmingly call it. And as for your prejudices…"
Thankfully, at that very second the bell signaling the end of the lesson rang, before Harry could say any more, or Justin could make a reply. Instead, his mouth still hanging open in a stupid kind of way, Justin walked over to his gaggle of Hufflepuff friends, and they walked out of the room, muttering darkly.
Christ, thought Harry. Where did all that come from? He strangely felt a lot lighter, and walked out of the room. He had another free period next, and though he had several essays due in very soon, he threw caution to the wind, and headed for the common room.
"Pepper Imps," said Harry dully to the Fat Lady, and stepped through the portrait hole. Hermione was sitting in one of the armchairs, staring broodingly into the fire. She turned around to face Harry as she heard him come in.
"Hi, Hermione," Harry said, and flopped into the chair next to hers. "Haven't you got a free period now?"
"Well, obviously, otherwise I'd be in a lesson," she said seriously.
"Yes, I know, but you always spend your frees in the library, like a good little pupil," he said sardonically.
"What's got into you?' she snapped. "People can have a bit of a rest, can't they? Free country, and all that… You're looking a bit lack-luster these days. Got a problem?"
Harry looked at Hermione properly. She had never looked less lack-luster; with shiny, swingy hair, glowing skin and eyes. She looked very happy suddenly. Much happier than she had for a long time, including, he realised with a jolt, when she and I were going out. He avoided the question.
"In love, or something?" he attempted to joke.
"Not quite," she muttered.
"What's that meant to mean?"
Hermione sighed. "I hadn't planned to tell you yet," she said quietly.
"Tell me… what?"
"Would you just let me finish my sentence? Look, Harry, I know you're not going to like this, but, well… as they say, it is my life, my choice. I'm going out with someone."
"That's great," said Harry, mentally running through all the boys he could think of. Dean? No - Lavender. Seamus?! Surely not. Neville, Justin, Colin? No, no, no.
"Harry," said Hermione, taking his hand. "Please don't be angry with me, and before you say anything, let me explain, okay? I'm going out with Draco Malfoy."
For the second time that day, Harry reeled. He heard himself say, "Oh. Right."
Hermione smiled nervously. "Are you not… angry?" she asked tentatively. "I was so sure you would be. Mind you, it was Ron who kicked up the fuss when I went with Viktor Krum to the Yule Ball… You were always fine. But then, this is Draco we're talking about…"
Harry felt his mind spin. Hermione… and Malfoy. Malfoy and Hermione. He conjured up a hideous mental image of the two of the kissing… It just didn't fit. Like two jigsaw pieces from entirely different puzzles, trying to ram with together just would not work. But then, what did he know? Harry thought. He thought that Ron was straight, and look where that got him.
"I know it seems unlikely," Hermione was saying, "and I thought I hated him as much as you and Ron. But beneath the sarky comments, and the bravado, there's a real person waiting to be drawn out. And he's only ever been out with brainless bimbos like Pansy before now. I think that we'll make each other happy. Harry?"
Harry took Hermione's hands, and cupped them in his own. "I hope it works out for you," he said sincerely, and kissed her quickly on the cheek. "If you'll excuse me…" He stood up.
"Thank you, Harry," said Hermione. "You don't know how much it means."
Harry headed quickly up the stairs to his dormitory. He knew that Ron, Neville and Dean had Transfiguration on a Thursday afternoon, and Seamus had Arithmancy, so he could finally get some peace. Flopping down on his bed, Harry thought hard. The whole world seemed to going mad. First Ron, coming out, and now Hermione, going out with Malfoy! It was as though the past six and a half years had been a total dream, and they were in fact living in an alternate universe, a land of topsy-turvy morals and beliefs.
He sighed, and leaned over to pick up the flame-coloured hat that Ron must have dropped on the floor that morning. It was the Chudley Cannons hat, that Harry had given Ron for Christmas in the fourth year.
Harry sniffed the orange wool. It smelt overwhelmingly of Ron. Not in a nasty way at all, but everyone has their own smell, and it made Harry feel close to tears. It seemed that he and Ron would never have the same closeness that they'd had before. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn't Ron just be straight?
Harry lay back on his pillows, his eyelashes dragging down onto his cheeks. He was so exhausted; having had three nights that were practically sleepless. Harry gave in, and shut his eyes…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Oh, Draco…" came Hermione's soft voice. "Ohhhh."
The picture came into focus. Hermione, her hair nearly waist-long, was wearing a simple white cotton dress, the fluidity accentuating her curves. She was sitting in the middle of a meadow, cross-legged in the long verdant grass, surrounded by wild red poppies and tangles of daisies and buttercups. Malfoy was sitting next to her, kissing her, his hands roaming all over her body. The image seemed to zoom in, and the tiny forget-me-nots were visible, tangled in Hermione's long hair. Harry could see the slim curve of her breastbone, and Malfoy's hungry, clambering hands exploring her through the white cotton. The image suddenly melted away, and Harry could see Ron, dressed in a rather frou-frou outfit, a pale rose suit and white ruffled Galliano shirt. He appeared to be making a cake, and was making remarks to someone Harry couldn't see.
"Oh, darling," said Ron, flipping his wrist to make a camp hand gesture, and giggling coquettishly. The other person in the kitchen came into view. It was Harry. He was wearing nothing but a sarong, and his left nipple was pierced with a silver ring. The dream-Harry got up, and came up to Ron. He cupped Ron's chin in his hand, and pulled his face down to… kiss him. Immediately, the scene changed again.
It was Hermione; an older Hermione. Her hair was cut in a classic, shoulder-length style, perfectly coifed. A tiny girl was sitting by her feet, playing with a toy train. Hermione was stroking her very pregnant stomach, and Harry saw a white-gold ring on her wedding finger. Then, Malfoy became visible, standing just behind her, looking exceedingly smart in a business suit, with a silver briefcase in one hand, and a filofax in the other. He bent down, and kissed Hermione tenderly on the cheek. Then, the image of Harry kissing Ron floated across the image of Malfoy kissing Hermione, and the two merged and shifted together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry sat straight up in bed, his brow sticky with perspiration. "Shit," he said out-loud. And then, as if realising it for the first time, his eyes widened. "Hermione's going out with Malfoy!" he spat. Harry felt dirty and disgusted, with both Ron and Hermione. Absent-mindedly, he heard the bell go, signaling the end of the last lesson.
Why is my life spiraling out of control like this? he wondered desperately. Only last week, he was enjoying the last year at Hogwarts, like everyone else, and now…
There was the sound of thundering feet on the stairs, and Ron and Dean burst into the room, laughing their heads off about something.
"Hi, Harry," said Ron happily, as though the last three days had not happened at all.
What? screamed Harry inwardly. Why is he acting so normally, after what he's done to me?
"Don't even say it, Ron!" he yelled, uncharacteristically. "You can't just wipe out the past, you know!" He jumped up from the bed, and strode to the door. "Or your feelings!"
Ron tried to grab Harry's arm, looking stricken. "Harry!" he cried. "I'm-"
"Don't touch me," said Harry, shrugging Ron off. "You're PATHETIC!" He ran out of the door, slamming it behind him, and ran down the many corridors, until his lungs screamed for air. Harry slumped down in a small, dusty corner, behind a wall-hanging. He was breathing quickly, gasping dryly, unable to settle his heart. The wail of misery that had been trapped in him for the past three days suddenly burst out, and he sobbed wretchedly into his black robes.
What have I done? he wondered. How could I hurt Ron like that? And he buried his face in his knees, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
*
Harry crept along the corridor, his head down, his apology on the tip of his tongue. It was nightfall, and he'd been walking around the Hogwarts grounds for hours, trying to clear his head. It had finally stopped snowing, but there was still a strong breeze, and a wild wind-whipped rosy glow was visible on Harry's cheeks.
Gently, he pushed open the door, and nearly had a heart-attack. There was someone sitting on Ron's bed, and it wasn't Ron. It wasn't another Gryffindor pupil. It was Professor McGonagall.
Harry stepped gingerly over the threshold, and looked around. Dean, Seamus and Neville were all sitting on their respective beds, looking extremely uncomfortable. Ron wasn't to be seen.
Professor McGonagall jumped to her feet. "Potter!" she exclaimed, wringing her hands. "Thank God! Where on earth have you been?"
Harry involuntarily took a step backward. What was the problem? "I - I've only been out for a couple of hours, Professor," he said, surprised to find his voice shaking a little. "Why? What's the matter?"
McGonagall stood back, and looked at the floor. "Potter," she said. "Do you know where Ron Weasley has gone?"
"Gone?" Harry echoed, his mouth hanging open. "What?"
"Mr. Thomas here tells me that you and Ron had a fight, is that correct?"
Harry shrugged helplessly. "I wouldn't call it a fight, exactly, or even an argument. I just said a few things I shouldn't have… why?"
McGonagall sighed, as though she was carrying the world upon her shoulders. "Mr. Weasley has gone missing, Potter."
Dean spoke up. "When you went out of the dorm, Ron picked up his cloak, and ran out too. I thought that he was following you, but he must have gone the other way down the corridor…"
"Hagrid spotted Weasley running out of the school gate, Potter," said McGonagall, her dark eyes flashing worriedly. "He called him back, but either Weasley ignored him, or he didn't hear."
Harry sank down on his bed, feeling slightly dizzy.
"We were worried that something had happened to you, Potter," said McGonagall sagely.
"I just went for a walk in the grounds for a while," said Harry. "That's all. Are there people looking for Ron?"
"Professor Dumbledore's onto it, Potter," said McGonagall. "I'll let you know if we hear anything." She swept out of the dormitory. Harry turned to look at the other three.
"Don't worry, Harry," said Seamus. "Ron'll come back. He just needed a bit of cooling off time."
Harry looked down at his feet, feeling inexplicable dread. "I don't think he will, somehow."
Seamus, Dean and Neville exchanged worried glances.
"Um, do you want a game of Snap, anyone?" asked Neville, pulling his battered pack out of his back pocket. They all played a few rounds, but no-one's heart was in it. Harry was thankful that none of the other boys questioned him about what he and Ron had been arguing about, and guessed that they just assumed it was a squabble over Hermione… That reminded him of the dream, and he flinched. Hermione, going out with Malfoy… How could he ever have given it his blessing?
An hour or two passed, and it was growing very late. None of the boys wanted to go to bed, however, they were too worked up. Suddenly, the door burst open. Professor McGonagall walked in again.
"Potter," she said quietly, and Harry jumped to his feet. "Weasley's been found…" Her voice tailed off into nothing.
"Where… where is he?" asked Harry desperately.
"He…um. Potter, Weasley tried to drown himself, down at the south coast. It seems that he apparated down to Littlehampton, and swam far out to sea. He stopped swimming purposefully, and sank. He nearly died, but a fishing boat went near, thank heaven, and saw his cloak, which had floated to the surface. He's been pulled out, and is being brought back to Hogwarts at this second…"
Harry felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. "Ron's going to be okay, though, isn't he?" he said desperately.
"Potter," said McGonagall grimly. "Weasley was unconscious under water, for how long we do not know. There is a chance that he won't wake up, and a greater chance that if he does, he will have severe brain damage."
To be continued…
A/N: Thank you to all my lovely reviewers, you've restored my faith in humankind. To flamers; get a life, you homophobics. Don't do a Harry. Don't alienate people for their sexuality. Talia xx
