A/N: I see some of you have asked about the "age issue" regarding our heroes in this fic. Please be patient, the answer will be revealed in time. But if you simply must know NOW, read Chapters 1 and 2 of "Two Sides to the Story" to get some hints. Oh, and while you're there, kindly leave a review, would you?
One of my lovely readers alerted me to a problem some of you may have encountered in this chapter. So I went back to the drawing board and tried my best to untangle that snag. Just to make it clear, this chapter and the succeeding ones will be a series of flashbacks starting from fifth year (or how their fifth year would be in Book 5 if I was JKR -- but since I'm not, welcome to my fantasy world). Okay, back to the story!
The Gryffindor common room buzzed with the usual Friday night after-dinner activities: Exploding Snap cards blowing up in the players' faces, the sounds of battle from opposing sides in wizard's chess, and the laughter and chatter of students pretending to finish their homework but were obviously gossiping and flirting with each other instead. But Ron heard none of it. He was too busy thinking about the past. His thoughts flew back to the events that took place during his fifth year at Hogwarts. It was only now, when he replayed them in his mind, did he realize it was during that year when things started changing between him and Hermione.
The start of their fifth year had been, to Ron's mind, an unmitigated disaster. The start-of-term banquet had been totally ruined for him from the moment they had sat down at the Gryffindor table. The doors of the Great Hall had just swung open to admit the first years who were about to be Sorted. He remembered that he had noticed someone at the very end of the line who looked much too tall and much too old to be a first year. And then, his jaw had dropped when he recognized who it was. 'OH, HELL, NO!' his brain bellowed.
"Wh-what the bloody hell is that duck-footed git doing here?!" he hissed.
Hermione looked at him as though he was a slimy slug crawling on the floor. "Viktor is here to finish his seventh year, so he's going to be Sorted, too. And don't curse."
"How could he still be a seventh year? He's too old -- he's what, twenty?"
"He was in sixth year when he came here for the Triwizard Tournament. He had to stop going to school for quite a while before that because of Quidditch training. And no, he's not twenty yet, he's nineteen."
"Hang on, you knew he was coming here?!"
"Of course I did, he wrote to me about it."
"And you didn't tell anyone?!"
"I told Harry and Ginny."
He turned to Harry and Ginny, who sat across the table from him. "Did she tell you about Krum coming here?!"
"Yeah," Ginny replied calmly.
"Well, why didn't you tell me?!" he demanded.
"I thought Harry would tell you," Ginny answered. She turned to Harry. "I thought you would tell him. That's what we all agreed on, isn't it?"
Harry looked as though he'd been caught kissing McGonagall. "W-well, I -- I..."
Just then, Fred and George swooped down on them. "Well, well, well,... Do I sense a bit of trouble in paradise here?" Fred cooed.
"Or perhaps a little basilisk named jealousy?" George counter-cooed. Harry could be heard in the background, loudly sighing with relief.
"Sod off!" Ron snapped.
"Tut, tut, language! And you a Prefect!"
"Whatever will the ickle firsties say when they find out you're a gutter-mouth?"
"Shut it, you two! I can take away points and give detentions now, so leave me alone if you know what's good for you!"
"Oh, the ingratitude! I'm simply heartbroken, Gred."
"How do you think I feel, Forge? I dandled him on my knee when he was just a wee lad!"
"Will you be quiet?!"
"All right, all right, pinhead, don't snap the elastic on your boxers! Let's get down to serious matters for a minute, shall we? Any thoughts regarding which House your erstwhile hero will be placed?" Fred asked as he clapped Ron's shoulder.
"Stop calling me pinhead! And there's only one place for that duck-footed git -- Slytherin," he spat.
"NO, he won't be placed in Slytherin! Just because he sat at the Slytherin table last year doesn't mean he belongs there. Karkaroff probably made his students sit there. You don't know him. How can you even judge him like that? For all we know, the Sorting Hat might place him in Gryffindor," Hermione huffed.
"Not a chance!" he snarled.
"Care to make a wager on that?" George intervened.
"What do you mean, a wager? Is money going to be involved? That's gambling! You could get expelled for that!" Hermione's voice was starting to carry across the table.
"Shh! That's not the kind of wager we mean, Miss Prefect," Fred soothed her. "What we meant was: if George and I bet against the two of you that dear old Vicky gets sorted into Hufflepuff, and we lose--"
"Which we won't," George cut in.
"--we'll be the winner's slaves for a week. But if we win, the two of you have to--"
"Kiss each other in front of the whole school!" George finished triumphantly.
At the time, Ron thought he was as appalled with the consequence of kissing Hermione (should he be proven wrong, which of course he wouldn't be) as though George had dared him to kiss an acromantula. But in spite of that, perhaps it was the prospect of winning over the twins and paying them back tenfold for all their pranks that had spurred him on. It was only now that he realized what he must have felt at the time was similar to what he would have felt like if Christmas had come early. That was the only explanation for him to have said and done... "You're ON!" He shook the twins' hands.
"I'm not taking your bet!" Hermione exclaimed, looking flushed and horrified.
"What's the matter, 'Mione? Scared you'll lose?" he taunted.
"No, I'm not! And don't call me 'Mione!"
"Since you won't take the bet, I can call you whatever I want... 'Mione!"
"You're acting like a six-year-old! And stop calling me 'Mione!"
"Why don't you just admit you're scared 'cause you made a losing bet, and that you're wrong about your precious little Vicky... 'Mione?"
"I'm not scared, I did NOT make a losing bet, and I'm not wrong about Viktor! And for the last time--"
"Stop calling her 'Mione!" Fred, George, Harry and Ginny chorused.
Ron rounded on Harry and Ginny, who were giggling madly. "Since you two insist on being all cute and funny, why don't you join our little wager? When you lose, you get to kiss each other in front of the whole school. How 'bout it?" They stopped laughing at once.
"I thought so," he said smugly. He turned back to Hermione, whose eyes were shooting off sparks by then. "So, 'Mione, are you--"
"You're ON," she snapped, her cheeks still retaining their rosy shade. "He's going to be a Gryffindor, you CANNOT call me 'Mione ever again, and the three of you will be my slaves for TWO WEEKS!"
"WHAT?!" Ron took one look at his brothers, and knew that all three of them felt extremely horrified.
"Take it or leave it!" Hermione screeched.
"If that duck-footed git becomes a Slytherin, the three of you'll be MY slaves for three weeks AND I get to call you 'Mione for the rest of my life!" he growled.
Fred countered, "if Krum becomes a Hufflepuff, Ron can call you whatever he wants, but the two of you would still have to kiss in front of the whole school--"
"AND you two will have to go together to the next ball!" George added.
"WHAT?!" he and Hermione spluttered.
"Take it or leave it!" The twins intoned in funereal voices.
He and Hermione looked at each other, then held out their hands to the twins. "You're on," they chorused.
"SHHH!" several students called out to them. It was only then that they noticed the Sorting Hat had finished its song, and all the first years had already been sorted. Only Krum was left standing before the staff table.
Ron thought that Dumbledore seemed to have been looking at them and listening to everything that had transpired at their part of the Gryffindor table while the Sorting was going on. But he couldn't have, could he? But then, why did the Headmaster seem to be giving him a very pointed look, and, he could have sworn, winking at him, before standing up to address the students? He blinked, and it seemed as though Dumbledore was as serious as he usually was, or at least tried to be, at the start of every term.
He tried to make it appear that he was listening to every word the Headmaster was saying, for the sake of the first years who were sitting near him, of course. After all, he WAS a Prefect. "One of our guests during last year's Triwizard Tournament has decided to return to Hogwarts to finish his seventh year here. May I ask Mister Viktor Krum to come forward and be Sorted, and afterwards, let us all give him a warm welcome."
Krum walked over to the four-legged stool and sat down. McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head. After two seconds, the hat called out, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
Ron's jaw dropped again. Hermione looked as though she was going to faint. The twins grinned evilly. The feast had materialised on the table, but neither he nor Hermione could eat more than two bites. Right. Fifth year had just become the longest year of their lives.
As soon as the banquet was over, he stood up to take charge of the first years. After all, he WAS a Prefect. Besides, he had to do something, anything, to get his mind off his ill-fated foray into betting against the twins. "All right, first years this way!" he called out. The first-years formed a line and followed him as he walked out of the Great Hall. He saw Harry and Hermione staring after him, open-mouthed. 'What's wrong with them? You'd think they never saw a Prefect before,' he thought. Oh, right. They've never seen him act like a Prefect before. Well, they would just have to get used to it.
He enjoyed leading the first-years up to Gryffindor tower while commenting on moving staircases, trick-steps, portraits, Peeves and Mrs. Norris. It was hard for him to imagine himself being as young as these children were once. The first-years were eager, wide-eyed, and fun to talk to. They were bursting with questions which made him laugh as they climbed staircase after staircase and walked along the corridors. They, in turn, seemed to warm up to his laughter and his humour. He started thinking, maybe this whole year won't be that big of a disaster after all.
They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady guarding the entrance to Gryffindor tower. The first-years looked in awe at her, who in turn looked shocked at seeing him ushering the new students.
"Goodness, dearie, so it's true! You're a Prefect!" she exclaimed.
"Yeah, says so right here on the badge," he answered, showing her the Prefect badge pinned to the front of his robes. At least, he hoped it still said "Prefect" and not "Pinhead," the way Percy's did when the twins enchanted it years ago.
"Will wonders never cease? I remember when you used to come in and out of the tower at all hours of the night, and engage in all sorts of--"
"Shush! Not in front of the first-years! You can recall your fond memories of me later!" he hissed.
"All right, all right, no need to be testy! Password?"
"Wronski Feint," he sniggered, hoping that Hermione would have trouble saying it when she came up.
He led the first-years inside and pointed out their dormitories. He thought they would want to go to bed early, but most of them chose to stay in the common room and ask him about life at Hogwarts. He gamely sat down on the sofa, and started telling them about his experiences (at least, those that didn't involve rule-breaking, Harry's invisibility cloak, or Voldemort). Soon, he had a captive audience. He didn't notice Harry and Hermione come in with the rest of the students until he saw them standing to one side, looking at him with the same dumbfounded, open-mouthed expression they gave him earlier. He ended his story, shooed the first-years off to bed, and went up to them.
"Y-you told all those stories without... without..." Hermione spluttered.
"Lying my head off?" he finished. Hermione could only nod dumbly in reply.
"Who are you and what have you done to Ron?" Harry asked.
"Ha, ha, very funny. You'll just have to get used to the new me, mate," he answered.
"Will we like the new you?" Hermione asked.
He turned to face her. "That depends. Did you like what you saw earlier?"
She looked into his eyes. "That depends. Will you keep on acting that way?"
"That depends on whether you want me to keep on acting that way."
"Maybe that would depend on another wager." Harry countered.
"Not another wager!" Hermione moaned.
"Shush, 'Mione. And what wager would that be, Harry?"
"Ron!"
"C'mon, 'Mione, it's just a little bet with Harry. What's the harm in that? After all, we bet against Fred and George."
"And lost, if I may be so bold as to remind you."
"How can I forget?" He looked into her eyes. Her cheeks turned pink, and she looked away.
"Er, if we could get back to the wager," Harry said. "I'm betting the 'new Ron' won't last two weeks. If I win, you have to do my Divination homework all year."
"Harry!" Hermione huffed.
Harry ignored her. "But if you win--"
"You have to keep me supplied with sweets all year."
"Ron!"
"How 'bout you, 'Mione? Are you in or out of this wager?"
"I -- I --"
"Well?"
"We're NOT supposed to be making wagers with each other! We're Prefects!"
"I know, it says so right here on our badges. So, are you taking the bet or aren't you?"
"I don't have Divination, so I don't see what you can do for me if you lose the bet!" she snapped.
"You can make me do whatever you want, 'Mione," he retorted silkily. That made her blush again. 'Blimey! What is it with Hermione and blushing tonight?' he thought.
"I'm not taking the bet," she said at last.
"Fine, you can be the judge. You're impartial, you can make sure we stick to the bet and all that. I'll give you lots of sugar quills when I win against our deluded green-eyed friend here."
"Hey! No fair! You can't bribe the judge!"
"You're just jealous 'cause you didn't think of bribing the judge before I did."
Harry laughed. "You're right about that. Well then, we'll just have to see 'new Ron' in action tomorrow." Harry bade them goodnight and went upstairs.
He watched Harry go upstairs, then turned back to Hermione. He caught her looking at him with a strange expression on her face. "There's still time to change your mind about the wager," he said, locking his eyes on hers for a moment.
"No, I don't think I'll take it, thanks," she answered. She looked at her shoes for a moment before saying, "I guess I'll turn in now. Big day tomorrow."
"Yeah. Well, goodnight, 'Mione."
"Goodnight, Ron." She turned around and went upstairs, looking as though she was trying to walk as fast as she could without running.
The next day, he was up before Harry and Hermione. He gathered all the first-years together and brought them to the Great Hall for breakfast, making them laugh by telling them how he and Harry got lost around the castle during their first week at Hogwarts. It seemed to ease their nervousness. He quickly realized he enjoyed making the younger students laugh.
He also discovered he was particularly good at making homesick kids feel better. He would tell them about a typical day at the Burrow while he was growing up, and while the Muggle-born children couldn't identify with some aspects of wizarding life that he took for granted, they were fascinated. They asked him questions as though he knew all the answers. Because of that, he went as far as researching some of the answers he gave them. And in return, they opened up to him and practically begged him to hang around them. He was happy to do so. Perhaps the one thing that made him prefer their company was the fact that these youngsters had no preconceived notions about him. To them, he wasn't just "another Weasley" or "immature Ron," as he was known to possibly all of the third-years, and at least half the second-years. The first-years simply accepted him as a Prefect, someone who knew his way around the castle, someone whom they could ask questions and expect reasonable answers from. And they awakened his protective instincts, as well as satisfied his need to be a big brother.
Before two weeks had gone by, the first-years told him he had been named their favourite Prefect. Soon, even the second- and third-years seemed to be hanging on to his every word and competing for his attention. It felt so strange. After all, shouldn't Harry and Hermione be better at this than him? The answer finally came to him one morning. As soon as he stepped into the Great Hall for breakfast, voices were calling for him all over the Gryffindor table.
"Hey, Ron, can we schedule that study session this week? We have a test in Potions coming up!"
"Ron, Ron, you just have to help us with our Flying lessons! We keep falling off our brooms!"
"Ron, this Transfiguration lesson is so hard! Can you help us out?"
"Ron, which book is the best reference for hinkypunks? We're supposed to hand in two rolls of parchment..."
"Hang on, hang on! Let a bloke breathe first! You're all going to give me a heart attack, and I haven't even had breakfast yet!" He clutched his chest as he spoke in his best dramatic voice. Scattered giggling broke out at the table.
He pulled out parchment and quill from his book bag and spoke as he walked back and forth along the table. "Right. Who needs study sessions in Transfiguration?" He listed down the names of those who raised their hands. "Potions?" Almost every first-, second- and third-year's hand shot up. He groaned. "Defense against the Dark Arts? History of Magic? Flying? Charms? Herbology?" After counting off all the names he wrote, he grouped them according to year and subject. Seeing a pattern in his list, he thought of a plan to cover everything that needed to be done.
"All right, settle down. Here's what we're going to do, so listen carefully. First, each class will choose a representative who will arrange study sessions with the Prefects. Make sure you pick one who's hard-working and reliable, or you'll regret it. Second, each class will form study groups of at least three students each. Make sure you've studied before meeting with your group, or you'll never get anything done. Try to work out your questions within the group first, then write down the ones you can't answer and submit them to your class representative. Those questions will be covered in your study sessions with a Prefect. Although, it looks to me like Hermione will be leading all these study sessions, well, except for Flying, that would definitely fall to Harry. But still, all these study sessions with you lot can't be good for Hermione's health. Too bad no one needs help in Divination, or should I say lucky for you? Believe it or not, I'm supposed to be one to help you on that subject. So this means we have to make a very good schedule, as we fifth-years have O.W.L.s and the seventh-years have N.E.W.T.s to worry about. Which leads us to... third, the best we can do right now is stick you with someone who can decently teach a subject, but not necessarily the expert on it. We'll try to answer all your questions, and if we can't, we'll inform the professors that you're having trouble with that topic so they can go over it with you again. Fourth, the Prefects will try to make themselves available for personal help when you really need it, but don't count on them having a lot of free time, okay?"
When he stopped speaking, he realized that the entire Hall was silent. He looked around. Everyone had been listening to him, even the professors seated at the staff table, which included the heads of Houses and Dumbledore, who seemed to be beaming at him. At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Hermione, Ginny and twins were looking at him with a similar expression on all their faces: as if they were shocked, yet somehow proud of him. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were looking at him as though he was someone they didn't recognize. And at the Slytherin table, Malfoy and his cronies were looking at him with more disgust on their faces than usual.
"W-well, that's it. Eat up, and do try to get to your classes on time. Let me know who your class representatives are by the end of the day." Everyone was still looking at him. It was either he was nutters, or the whole school had been Confunded. He sat down next to Hermione. "Why do you lot keep looking at me like I've grown another head? What's wrong?"
"N-nothing's wrong, it's just that... you've been acting very differently since term started, and today,... well, you've never acted like this before," Hermione struggled to explain.
"Acted like what?"
"Like you're all grown-up, somehow," Ginny answered.
"Like you've stopped being a whiny little brat," Fred chortled.
"Like you've taken a leaf out of mum's book," George added.
"Like you're starting to show who you really are at last," Harry concluded.
He gave them all a lopsided smile. "Thanks." Then he reached out and took a big helping of everything on the table, and started to eat.
"I -- I think it's safe to say... you won the bet, Ron," Hermione quietly said to him.
"Really?" He looked at her. She nodded. "Our judge has spoken, mate. You'll have to start paying up by the first Hogsmeade weekend," he said as he turned to Harry.
"That's one bet I'm happy to lose," Harry smiled at him.
As he ate, he glanced at Hermione, who looked at him with a mixture of awe and pride that was better than winning twenty wagers against Harry, the twins, and even Snape, for that matter. The way she looked at him made him glow with warmth that entire day.