Ronald Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor
Chapter Fourteen : The Return to the Burrow
Never send a monster to do the work of an evil genius -- Unknown
Ron thanked Professor Ding profusely for her help this semester. She wasn't sure if she would be back the following year or not, but she promised to keep in touch, and Ron promised likewise. She gave Ron a Pensieve that had memories of her instruction. He felt almost like he was spying, seeing memories of her with her sensei, but he was very grateful to her for the thought.
Ron felt more like he would miss Hogwarts this summer than he ever had before. He had always felt like he was in someone else's shadow at Hogwarts, just as much as at home. This year, he had left that shadow.
There were a few people that he didn't get a chance to wish a proper good-bye to, before leaving Hogsmeade station, though. He smiled as he saw one of them on the Express.
Terry Boots turned his back on Ron, sliding past him sideways in the cramped corridor of the Hogwarts Express. Ron reached out, and grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Oh, sorry Ron, I didn't see you there," Terry stammered. "How have you been?"
"I've been alright, Terry, but I've heard something disturbing."
"What could that have been, I wonder," Terry said. His brow was sweating, and he let out a little laugh, like a frightened animal.
Ron looked stern, "I heard that you weren't paying on all your bets. There are a few disappointed Gryffindors that want to know where their money is."
Terry puffed himself up, "Ron, you know, they're just first-years. You know, the ones you call midgets? They should have known that there were risks in this business. You know, this could be a good lesson to them, help them become men, like us." He looked suddenly very self-important.
Ron hadn't thought of himself as a man yet. He knew that he was now of age in the wizarding world, but in his own mind, he was still the youngest of the Weasley boys. Terry's words, though, touched him. He realized that he was responsible for his house, and that he had let much of that responsibility lapse over the last year. He might argue that he'd had more important things to do, but that was a way of saying that he was still a child, that he hadn't, in fact, grown up as a result of his trials.
Ron looked at Terry. "You aren't a man," he said, his voice even, but backed with steel. "A man doesn't need to duck his responsibilities. I want to hear that you've paid every one of those students back before the end of the summer."
"And if you don't?" Terry asked, trying to look like he wasn't afraid of the tall, lanky Gryffindor, who still held his shoulder.
"Well, if I don't, Terry," Ron said, "then we'll have to talk about it again. I'm sure that the rest of the Prefects -- from all four houses -- would be interested. And if they're not, then perhaps your Head of House will."
"You wouldn't," Terry looked horrified. "You're not serious. There's no way you'd tell a Professor. I thought you were better than that."
"Terry," Ron said, looking again into the boy's eyes. "I'd rather not have to, but I will. That's part of what being a Prefect is about."
Terry was speechless. Ron doubted that he had the money on him, anyway, so he let go of Terry's shoulder with a gentle push. "I'll just expect to hear that everything's fine from the rest of the students by the end of the summer, then. Have a good holiday Terry. Don't work too hard."
Terry nodded, backing away. When he was a few steps from Ron, he turned and ran for the next car. There was a smattering of applause from behind Ron, and he turned to see what audience he had managed to gather. Crammed into the corridor behind Ron were Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. Well, he supposed it could have been worse. At least he hadn't seen Colin yet.
"Way to go, Ron," Ginny said. He didn't hear any sarcasm in her voice, but he assumed it was there anyway.
"Go on, say whatever you like," he snapped.
The applause stopped. "What do you mean?" Ginny asked. "Can't you take a compliment?"
"I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop, that's all. Perfect Prefect Weasley, the next Percy, coming down like a load of bricks on a student, and threatening to turn him in."
Hermione looked disbelieving, "You can't think we'd say that about you."
"Well, not you," Ron replied.
Ginny looked offended. "What, because we're not snogging, I can't think it's good that ickle Ronniekins is growing up?" She stuck her tongue out at Ron.
Harry took that opportunity to turn and kiss her. It was a deep, soulful kiss, the kind of kiss that should be someone's last. Especially if they were kissing his sister.
Ron growled. His fists were clenched. Hermione looked at him in alarm. "Ron, you can't do anything to Harry."
Ron shook his head. "I know," he said, and he let his fists unclench. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."
"You are growing up," Hermione said, with mock surprise.
"You don't have to sound so shocked," Ron grumbled back. He looked at Ginny and Harry, who were still in lip-lock. "Aren't they ever going to come up for air?"
"I don't know," she said. Her eyes twinkled. "Maybe we better not wait for them. I'm sure we can find some other way to occupy ourselves." She reached out a hand towards Ron, and led him towards an empty compartment, leaving Harry and Ginny embracing.
As they were about to get into the compartment, a flash of yellow hair caught his eye. "Just a second," he told Hermione. "There's something I have to take care of."
"Come on, Ron, I think you can leave Malfoy alone for now. He hasn't done anything on the whole trip back."
"But it's traditional for him to come into the station under the influence of a half-dozen hexes."
"Ron," Hermione said, taking his hand. "Maybe it's time for us to start a new tradition." She closed the door tightly behind them, locking it with a quick hex.
The Hogwarts Express pulled into the station a few hours later, and Hermione quickly put her hair in order, pulling off her robes, which were worn over a nice Muggle dress. They had spent the time quite well, in Ron's opinion, although he ached to spend even more time with her soon. He hoped that he wouldn't have to spend the whole summer apart from her.
They walked off the train together. Their trunks got in the way of holding hands, but they stood near to each other. Ron saw his parents waiting as they got off the train. "Well, I guess this is good-bye, at least for now."
"That's not exactly the most romantic farewell I've ever heard," Hermione replied back to him.
"Well, how about this, then," Ron said, and in full view of his parents, he took her by both arms, and pulled her in, kissing her.
He heard his mother's startled gasp, and knew that he might have to pay for acting that way in public later. He would at least receive a lecture for embarrassing the family, but it was worth it. He was finding that there were a lot worse things than lectures from his family, but there was nothing worse than letting Hermione down.
Hermione walked off, going to meet her parents on the outer platform. Ron watched her as she walked away. It wasn't until she'd left Platform 9 3/4 that he turned back to his parents. He only realized then that he still hadn't said 'I Love You.' He hoped that Hermione realized it, because he wasn't going to shout it out across the platform. Even his bravery had limits.
Ron was surprised to see his mother crying. "Mum, are you alright? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you."
"No, that's alright," she said, moving forward to embrace Ron. "I just can't believe my last boy is growing up so fast." She hugged him tight enough that he was having trouble breathing. He hoped that not too many people were there to see this.
When she let him go, his father held out his hand, and Ron shook it gladly, happy not to repeat the embarrassing experience. "Ron, glad you made it through the year safely."
"Me, too," Ron said simply.
"I heard from Professor Snape that you had some difficulty keeping an eye on Harry."
Ron had been afraid that his father would bring that up. Before, he probably would have apologized or begged forgiveness. Now he just said, "Well, he survived."
Arthur nodded, "Yes, he did, thanks in part to Professor Snape finding him and helping him back to Hogwarts. If you had stopped him from leaving in the first place..."
"Da, he left in the middle of the night, without any kind of warning. I'll try to stop him from dying, but if he won't cooperate, there's not much I can do."
"I guess not," Arthur said softly. "If he's that determined to face You Know Who, I'm not sure what you even can do. Or what I'd want you to do. Harry will be of age in a few months, and then I don't know what anyone will be able to do to stop him. We'll be proud of you regardless, son. We know that you'll do whatever you can to defend your friends."
They came out of Platform 9 3/4 into the main station. Arthur didn't say anything more to Ron about it. Ron felt freed; his father's statements showed a level of trust that he hadn't felt before. His own brothers certainly hadn't been entrusted with it.
Despite having to say goodbye to his friends for the summer, Ron felt good. Whatever came next, he thought there was a chance he would be able to face it, not just as Harry's friend, but also as Ronald Weasley, hero in his own right.
~.~.~
Voldemort stood in a dank dungeon, far beneath Malfoy Mansion. He stood at the side of a large round stone table, which was ringed with ancient runes. The Dark Lord tapped his fingers impatiently, his eyes fixed on one of his associates across the table.
"I am greatly disappointed with you, Mister Vrag. Not only did you fail to find the Armor of Gryffindor first, it appears that you may have also contributed to its discovery by the young Weasley brat. Do you believe that there is some reason why you still breathe?"
Despite the Dark Lord's question, Valentin wasn't doing much breathing right now. It became apparent that Voldemort was going to wait for an answer before continuing, though. "My Lord, as I understood it, you were allowing me to search for the Armor on my own initiative. I had never promised to find it for you."
"No," Voldemort slammed his palm down, "You did not. You didn't mention that your own little quest might result in the death of my greatest servant yet."
Peter Pettigrew sniveled in the corner, but the Dark Lord turned to him. "Be quiet, Wormtail."
Voldemort turned back to Vrag. "My Arachneataur was supposed to have been this great giant! He was supposed to have the strength of a dozen men! Do you know how he died? Killed by a Bludger Bat to the head, because you let that young man have the armor!" All around him, Voldemort's servants were edging out of view. None of them wanted to be witness to what was to come, since the Dark Lord's anger often spilled over onto people who were merely in the same room.
"Well, then," Valentin said, trying to muster up some courage, "I must ask your permission to leave your island, so that I cause no further trouble to you. I will send you something in recompense - perhaps the heads of a dozen Muggles on pikes? They can give the room a certain atmosphere."
Voldemort's lip curled. "I don't think so." He pointed his wand at Valentin, and as soon as he could say 'Avada Kedavra', the Bulgarian's corpse lay on the ground.
Voldemort turned to Pettigrew, who was cowering in the corner. The Dark Lord's wand was vibrating, and Peter looked sure that this would be the end. "You! Send this useless corpse back to Bulgaria. Strip it of anything valuable first."
"Yes, Master," Peter said, bowing and scraping as he walked over to the corpse. He wondered if the Dark Lord would notice if he added a lisp -- it seemed like it would fit his current position.
"Now," Voldemort said, turning back to his other guests, who seemed so far undisturbed by the display, "What do you have to say?"
The two guests were both wearing dark robes pulled over their foreheads. One of the two pulled her hood back, revealing raven-colored hair over impossibly fair skin. "We have some information for you, my Lord. Information that I believe you will find quite useful."
"Before you waste my time," the Dark Lord said, "Are you certain that this information is worth the price, should it fail to meet my expectations?"
"My Lord, unlike the departed Mister Vrag, we will not claim the ability to exploit this information on our own, nor will we ask any price other than your continued goodwill towards us. If there is a failure, it will be on the part of one of your servants." She looked pointedly at Pettigrew, who looked at the ground as he continued to drag the corpse out of the room.
"I confess to being intrigued," the Dark Lord said, his pointed fingers scratching at a non-existent goatee. "I will hear you out, and I may be able to reward you, if it is as you say."
"When you are truly immortal," the woman said, "I believe that your kindness to us will be reward enough."
Coming Soon: Hermione Granger and the Amulet of Yendor