The Seventh Year
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Chapter One, Part One
Introduction
There have been many stories told about that infamous year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Most of them center around a wonderful boy named Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and tell the tale of how he was singularly responsible for the destruction of the Dark Lord. This story is not going to be one of those. This story is about another boy, Harry's best friend in the whole wide world.
Ron Weasley was a middle child, average in almost every way. He was good enough at school, (especially charms, though no one seemed to notice), fair at Quidditch, and decent-looking. He was a carrot top, but he was the next-to-youngest of seven carrot-tops, so no one seemed to notice. His hand-me-down robes and second-hand pets ensured that no one really looked his way twice. His heart was good, and he had a habit of standing up for those who couldn't stand up for themselves.
But no one seemed to notice.
"Usually," he commented to the mirror one day late in the summer, "Girls only like me because Harry's decided not to like them."
Hermione snorted from the other side of the room.
"It's true," he said indignantly.
"Right," Hermione said drily. "That's if you're lucky, Ron."
"SUre, Hermione, and you, I imagine, are Miss Congeniality," he retorted.
Hermione pretended to count spots on the ceiling. "I'm not as unnoticed as you would like to think, Ron Weasley," she said haughtily.
"The ability to brew up the perfect love potion doesn't really make you desirable, Mione," he said. "Nor does being McGonagall's favorite count as being noticed."
Hermione glared at him.
Harry burst in, just then, with Ginny Weasley close on his heels. Harry had grown into a tall, sensitive young man, lean and muscular, pale of complexion, with emerald eyes burning out at you. Ginny, by contrast, had a gently filled out figure. She was always ten pounds heavier than she wanted to be, but she was shaped just right so that all of the Gryffindor males - and some of Slytherin, too - looked up when she entered the room. Her red hair was thick, and piled onto her shoulders in soft, sophisticated curls. She had a brilliant smile.
Hermione felt awkward and plain by comparison. She was wide in the wrong places and flat in the others. Her eyes were small and brown, and her face always seemed just a little too softly expressioned for beauty - too much cheek, not enough cheekbone. Her hair was as mouse-brown and bushy as ever.
Ron felt as awkward as she, though he would have died before admitting it. The truth was, he was shaping up rather nicely. Long hours of Quidditch practice left him well-muscled and almost tan (the Weasley complexion had a tendency to burn rather than tan), and he was admirable tall. Certainly he felt tall when Hermione was standing just underneath him, and had to lift her chin straight up to insult him. He rather liked that.
But other days he would watch Harry and Ginny sadly - it was so obvious that Ginny adored Harry. Who wouldn't? Why, he adored Harry himself. Everyone did. Harry was smarter than he, the favorite of every teacher and, again, every female.
And he was just Ron Weasley. The sixth Weasley child. His brothers were curse-breakers, dragon-tamers, big-shot Ministry men, and business-owners. His best friend was the youngest ever auror-in-training, and the girl he liked was a natural choice to be a teacher.
Girl he liked... say rather, his best girlfriend. Rather again, say 'friend who was a girl but would never look his way'. Not that he wanted her to. Not Hermione Granger. Not for Ron Weasley.
"Harvest hayride's beginning in half an hour," Ginny declared happily. "Are you two dressed yet?"
Ron fussed with his hair again, scowling at the mirror. "Might as well give up, dear," crooned the mirror. "That's as good as it's going to get."
Hermione frowned. "I'd better go and change shirts. I'll be back." She bounced up off the bed and kissed Ron cheekily on the the side of his head. "The mirror's right, Ron. Give it up."
Ron growled and blushed to his ears.
Harry laughed, a deep cheerful laugh, as soon as Hermione was out of earshot. "When are you going to ask her out, mate?"
Ginny nodded in agreement. "It's about time, Ron. You've only got this coming year..."
"Bugger off, both of you. I'm not after Hermione."
"Sure, Ron, keep telling yourself that."
"Look, Ron, speaking from a girl's perspective-"
Ron turned away and pretended to become absorbed in the mirror.
Ginny plowed on. "Tonight would be perfect. The hayride is as romantic as you can get. Just try and get a seat by her on the wagon-"
Ron choked with laughter. "Romantic? Ginny, I am not romantic and I never will be. Now get out, I've got to change."
Ginny left the room bouncing like a little girl. Harry's eyes followed as she left. Ron shook his head in disgust.
Harry knew better than to try and directly confront his friend. Ron wasn't one to admit when he was wrong - he had to come around to things on his own terms.
"Cannons are having a good year, I hear," Harry said casually.
Ron lit up. "Great, isn't it? I knew they'd come around eventually. Dad's going to take me to see them next summer. Want to come?"
"Of course," Harry said solemnly, a slight smile behind his eyes.
"So," began Ginny slyly, "Has my brother asked you out yet?"
"Ginny, I thought better of you! This is Ronald Weasley we're talking about here. His brains are in his-"
"Hermione, I really think he fancies you," Ginny said seriously.
Hermione turned around and dropped her hair brush. "Really?"
"Really."
Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so, Gin. Ron wouldn't go for a girl like me. And even if he would - who says I would go for him?"
Ginny laughed. "You're as stubborn as my brother."
In the other room, Harry was giving the same lecture. "You deserve each other," he said in exasperation.
Ron looked in the mirror and laughed. "Whatever, mate. Anybody that wants her would have to be-"
"-bloody crazy," Hermione finished, walking into the room.
Ron jumped. "Who said I was finished? Get out!"
Ginny laughed.
Ron looked over at Hermione. Her bushy hair was pulled away from her face into a thick brown braid. Her features were small, smooth, and pretty. She was wearing a small black t-shirt with no sleeves over a pair of muggle jeans that showed her legs rather well. Ron was not used to seeing her legs. He grinned a bit, only just conscious that he was studying her intently. She gave him a little smile and he looked away quickly.
His gaze caught the mirror again. He looked like... like himself. Just ordinary old middle child Ron, hoping someone would notice.
Maybe Hermione would.
