Alesco
Chapter Eighteen---Let Me Show You How
*
Harry was not pleased.
Mitch Holmes had volunteered to take Ron's place as Keeper. He couldn't quite be considered terrible, but he certainly wasn't great. He could catch quaffles, but the throwing ability he'd demonstrated during chaser try-outs was still in evidence. He had terrible aim.
The rest of the new team had melding well, better than Harry could have hoped for...but it had not been enough. It was tough not practicing with Ron, and Harry had to admit how much he missed his friend during the game against Ravenclaw.
They had lost by ten points, when Ravenclaw made a goal at the rings right before Harry caught the snitch. Harry had been hoping for a tie-break...but it had not come to pass.
Harry put his head in his hands and mourned their loss. He was, at that moment, sitting in the Gryffindor ready-room. Everyone had just left, after Harry gave the after-game pep talk. He didn't have much to say, only that they'd try harder against the next game, which was versus Slytherin.
Harry would like to destroy them, but he had to admit to himself that if Mitch didn't get better, Gryffindor would lose their chance at the Quidditch cup this year.
Maybe Dumbledore will let Ron play in the next game, Harry thought hopefully. He doubted it, though.
A little less than a week before, Ron had his first session with Professor Forester. Ron had been subdued days afterward, and each day he became worse. The three friends would eat at the Great Hall every morning, noon, and night, and Ron would remain silent. Harry was surprised to see Ron and Hermione becoming closer, while Ron started to withdrawal from everyone else. During classes, Ron was surprisingly lucid. Harry felt as though Ron's experiences with Professor Forester were causing him to appreciate normal, everyday class routine.
Harry also had a suspicion that Hermione was spending most of her nights with Ron, as he heard two separate creaks and curtain tugs from Ron's bed in the mornings; leaving at different times. He didn't dare try to wake Ron up each morning, as Ron had asked him to. It seemed as though he now had a more efficient alarm clock.
How far had they...gotten together? Harry wondered about this, as he stood up from the wooden bench in the ready room and picked up his broom. He thought about that topic pensively as he began to walk up to the castle. Several students were still milling around the Quidditch pitch, talking about the game. Harry kept his eye out for Slytherins....he wanted to be on his guard in case one of them started to bully him. "I'll hex them good," he muttered to himself.
When he entered the castle entryway, several Gryffindor students looked at him pityingly, and a few more came up to him to offer condolences. Harry was polite, but more or less brushed them off. He heard himself muttering about the team "doing better the next time" but he was certain that would not be the case.
Harry's thoughts wandered back to his two friends. No, they hadn't done...that...yet. Ron would tell him. Or would he? To tell the truth, Harry wasn't sure any more.
After a couple of staircases, Harry decided it wasn't worth wondering about. If they had, or hadn't, it didn't matter to him. They had their own lives now, as Harry had hoped they would have ever since the Yule Ball.
His only hope was they'd still have time for him, once this ordeal with Professor Forester was over.
But what if life was never the same again? Harry dared not think about it.
As Harry muttered, "Domina domna," to the Fat Lady, his thoughts eased like honey to Susan Bones.
He smiled happily. He walked up to the boy's dormitory, where he saw the curtains closed tightly around Ron's bed. He ignored them, and took off his grimy Quidditch robes. When he was naked, he pulled on his dressing robe and stepped into the shower room. Several other team members were finishing their showers, and they nodded sullenly toward him. Harry said nothing and began to shower.
Harry let the hot water take him away, far from the rotten game and the distant Ron. He remembered the early mornings this week, when he'd spent precious time with Susan.
They had been close to each other for nearly a month, and Harry hadn't tried to do anything with Susan past hugging her tightly and kissing her on the cheek. He'd learned well from the "relationship" with Cho...that he had a real hang-up about kissing.
That was until several mornings ago.
Harry had been talking to Susan worriedly about Ron (without revealing anything Dumbledore had asked him not to), and Susan was looking at him intently. He and Susan were sitting very close on "their" bench, and he was holding her hand. After a long while, he realized she was staring at his mouth. Uh-oh, he had thought.
Susan scooted closer to him, and he had smelled her sweet scent. He hadn't wanted to move away, but at the same time he hadn't wanted the same conclusion he'd had with Cho.
Then, her sweet lips were on his. She had moved her lips across his mouth firmly, but gently. It was entirely different from the way Cho had kissed him. Cho had simply put her teary lips against his, and it was soon over.
Harry liked this much better.
When Susan had pulled away, Harry had felt intense heat in his face. He had muttered, "I'm not very good at this."
Susan let out a little giggle, and then her hand in his had tightened. "You mean, you and Cho...?"
Harry had shook his head, as if to tell her their relationship hadn't developed. Susan let out a happy sigh, and then she whispered, "Let me show you how."
So he had let Susan teach him, and by the time they had to be inside the castle, Harry was proud of his kissing abilities.
Harry soaped his body thoroughly and then rinsed, smiling with remembered pleasure. He had to admit that he couldn't feel any happier then he had earlier that day, when he'd sat snogging Susan on their bench. Apparently Susan had liked it, too, because she gave him an extra long hug before letting him eat breakfast with his friends.
Harry began to frown at that. And what kind of friends were they? He'd almost prefer sitting with Susan at breakfast now. It wasn't as though he disliked Ron and Hermione now...it was more like they were all changing...all drifting apart.
He let himself rinse a little longer than usual. Finally, toweling himself, he put his dressing robe and walked back into his dormitory. It was a Saturday afternoon, and all of the inhabitants of the dormitory were gone. Only Ron's curtains were closed tightly, and Harry wondered if Hermione was in there with him.
As Harry started to pull out his schoolbooks, quill, parchment, and ink (he figured he'd better finish his Divination and Potions homework), he heard a funny sniffling from inside Ron's curtains.
Harry felt his heart sink to his stomach at that sound. He didn't say anything, because he wasn't sure Ron really was crying. After letting it go, Harry continued writing on parchment for several moments; then he heard the sound again.
No, he couldn't be mistaken. Ron was crying.
He knew it was Ron, because Hermione didn't cry like that. The inflection was definitely male.
What was Harry going to do? He couldn't just let on like he hadn't heard. He inwardly sighed, and thought about all the times Ron had been there for him. Well...Ron hadn't necessarily always BEEN THERE, but at least he always backed up Hermione's support.
Getting up from his bed and walking slowly, uncertainly toward Ron's bed, he said quietly, "Ron?"
"Go away." Ron said numbly.
"What's going on? Did you get in a fight with Hermione?" Harry asked, hoping that hadn't been it. It would be the last straw for Ron.
"No." The reply was emotionless.
Harry sighed in irritation. "Well, what then? You're obviously unhappy."
"You don't know what it's like, Harry. You'll never know." Ron said mutely.
Harry pushed Ron's curtains open, and stared in at his friend. Ron was pale, and curled up into himself. He was shaking a bit, and Harry's mouth flew open. His friend looked very sick.
"Good God, Ron, what's wrong with you?" Harry asked, pushing in on the curtains so he could sit down. Ron pulled into a tigher ball, and continued to tremble.
"Get away from me." Ron closed his eyes, trying to move farther away from Harry.
"No, Ron. You need help. Just let me...." Harry started to move toward his friend, his arm outstretched, when he began to hear a silly melody in his head.
Without realising he had moved, Harry was off of Ron's bed, and staring again at closed curtains. What the hell? How had that happened?
He stepped back, just as Ron said. "See what I mean? Leave me alone. It's for your own good."
"Ron...." Harry spoke with a mixture of amazement, and then fear. "That was...incredible, Ron."
Ron began to laugh at that. It was not the laugh of old Ron.....it was a laugh of someone entirely different. The laugh faded quickly, and then there was silence.
Then it hit Harry. What if Ron had done something terrible? What if that was why he had been crying?
"Ron...you didn't hurt Hermione, did you?"
Harry heard some rustling in Ron's bed, and then the curtains slowly opened. Ron was leaning off the side of the bed facing Harry, hands clasped tightly in his lap, and he refused to look Harry in the eye.
Harry took out his wand and levitated his desk chair between their beds. He sat down on it, and then Ron finally whispered. "No, I didn't hurt Hermione."
"Then what the hell is going on?" Harry shouted, surprising himself. He hadn't intended to be so loud.
Finally, Ron looked up into Harry's eyes. "I could hurt her. That's why I told her to stay away from me for a while." Ron looked down again, and wrinkled his bare toes. "She was very upset. She's been sleeping with me every night, you know." He frowned.
"Yes, I know." Harry said steadily. "Have you....?"
"No." Ron looked up at that. "When I said sleep, that's what I meant. Every night I was exhausted, and so I would talk to her about what happened between Professor Forester and I. After I was done, I could go to sleep. It helped to get it off my chest. When I woke up, she'd always be there." He let out a heavy sigh. "Now I've told her to go away. Maybe she'll never come back." Ron's last words were said in a choked voice, and he closed his eyes and put his head in his hands.
Harry had absolutely no idea what to do. He'd had no luck comforting crying females, and he didn't even want to try with his best friend.
Finally, his brain thought of something to say. "Ron, have you written to your mum and dad lately? Do they know what's going on?"
Ron kept his head in his hands, shaking it up and down, and Harry realized that his friend was trying to prevent him from seeing him cry. "Hermione helped me." Ron said, and then he totally lost it.
Harry swallowed, and watched helplessly as best friend since first year broke down right in front of him.
Ron had apparently been through hell....and all Harry had done during that time was snog Susan and worry about Quidditch. Harry felt sick to his stomach. So sick, he was sure he'd be physically ill. Harry hadn't even thought about Voldemort and the prophecy...it all seemed so far away from the life Harry had been living in the past weeks.
"Ron, I'm sorry. I haven't been here for you at all." Harry said it rather loudly, as Ron's body was wracked with sobs. Harry awkwardly reached over and patted Ron's back.
For a very long time, Harry sat and watched his friend. Finally, Ron could cry no more, and his eyes were red.
Now Ron was staring at him. Harry stared back, wondering what he must be thinking. Then Ron said, "How do people become evil?"
Harry suddenly thought about Dudley...and then Professor Umbridge...and lastly, Voldemort. How had they become evil? Well, he knew how Dudley had, and he sort of knew about Voldemort, but what about people like Umbridge? He realised he had no clue. "I'm not sure, Ron. I think it's different for everyone."
"I've seen some things, and felt some things, that I wished I never had, Harry." Ron muttered nasally. His nose sounded stuffy.
Harry silently conjured a handkerchief for him and passed it over. Ron took it and loudly blew his nose.
"Thanks, mate." He gave Harry an appreciative look.
"No problem, brother." Harry said and smiled. Ron let out a nasally chuckle at that, and tossed the handkerchief in to his bed.
They sat in silence for a little while, and Harry hesitated before asking, "Do you want to play some chess?"
Ron laughed. "No, mate. I could really cheat at that."
"What about making up stuff for the Divination assignment? That would be fun." Harry chuckled.
"Don't have to do it." Ron said quietly. "Dumbledore asked the professors to hold back on my assignments for a while. I only need to attend classes."
Harry was surprised at that. "Lucky you! Maybe I should get a brain to attack me, too."
It was the wrong thing to say. Ron's face became sullen again, and Harry berated himself silently. How could he have been such a git?
"No you don't, Harry. You've got off lucky with just a scar on your head. You don't want some more on your arms, too." Ron started to turn on the bed, and before he enclosed himself in the curtains, Harry stood up and said quickly, "Hey, Ron..."
"What?" Ron asked stiffly.
Harry thought on his feet. "You can still talk to Hermione, right?"
Ron looked downward, a pained expression on his face. "Sure."
"Then you've still got that, don't you?" Harry whispered.
Ron gave Harry a penetrating look. This time, it was full of hope. His face began to clear of his worries, and he gave Harry a stiff smile.
"Thanks, Harry." At that, he slipped behind the curtains.
Dean and Neville came into the dormitory at that moment. They were in the middle of a heated argument. Harry had a couple of ideas about what had spurned it, but he didn't voice anything to them. He got up, levitated his chair back to its regular place, and sat on his bed, staring at his homework.
How could he concentrate on the "Motions of Jupiter and their Effects on Aquarius" or the "Clarity Potion and its Benefits for Inebriated Persons" when his mind was now so troubled?
He pushed the work aside and lay down. He hoped to sleep, and dream about simpler times. He hoped to dream about life without all this horror, about a life he had never known; about his youth, when his parents had still been alive.
What would life had been like if they were still alive? Would he still have wonderful friends like Ron and Hermione?
He wouldn't; and he would have been bland Harry Potter. Life without Ron and Hermione as friends, as far as he was concerned, was meaningless.
Chapter Eighteen---Let Me Show You How
*
Harry was not pleased.
Mitch Holmes had volunteered to take Ron's place as Keeper. He couldn't quite be considered terrible, but he certainly wasn't great. He could catch quaffles, but the throwing ability he'd demonstrated during chaser try-outs was still in evidence. He had terrible aim.
The rest of the new team had melding well, better than Harry could have hoped for...but it had not been enough. It was tough not practicing with Ron, and Harry had to admit how much he missed his friend during the game against Ravenclaw.
They had lost by ten points, when Ravenclaw made a goal at the rings right before Harry caught the snitch. Harry had been hoping for a tie-break...but it had not come to pass.
Harry put his head in his hands and mourned their loss. He was, at that moment, sitting in the Gryffindor ready-room. Everyone had just left, after Harry gave the after-game pep talk. He didn't have much to say, only that they'd try harder against the next game, which was versus Slytherin.
Harry would like to destroy them, but he had to admit to himself that if Mitch didn't get better, Gryffindor would lose their chance at the Quidditch cup this year.
Maybe Dumbledore will let Ron play in the next game, Harry thought hopefully. He doubted it, though.
A little less than a week before, Ron had his first session with Professor Forester. Ron had been subdued days afterward, and each day he became worse. The three friends would eat at the Great Hall every morning, noon, and night, and Ron would remain silent. Harry was surprised to see Ron and Hermione becoming closer, while Ron started to withdrawal from everyone else. During classes, Ron was surprisingly lucid. Harry felt as though Ron's experiences with Professor Forester were causing him to appreciate normal, everyday class routine.
Harry also had a suspicion that Hermione was spending most of her nights with Ron, as he heard two separate creaks and curtain tugs from Ron's bed in the mornings; leaving at different times. He didn't dare try to wake Ron up each morning, as Ron had asked him to. It seemed as though he now had a more efficient alarm clock.
How far had they...gotten together? Harry wondered about this, as he stood up from the wooden bench in the ready room and picked up his broom. He thought about that topic pensively as he began to walk up to the castle. Several students were still milling around the Quidditch pitch, talking about the game. Harry kept his eye out for Slytherins....he wanted to be on his guard in case one of them started to bully him. "I'll hex them good," he muttered to himself.
When he entered the castle entryway, several Gryffindor students looked at him pityingly, and a few more came up to him to offer condolences. Harry was polite, but more or less brushed them off. He heard himself muttering about the team "doing better the next time" but he was certain that would not be the case.
Harry's thoughts wandered back to his two friends. No, they hadn't done...that...yet. Ron would tell him. Or would he? To tell the truth, Harry wasn't sure any more.
After a couple of staircases, Harry decided it wasn't worth wondering about. If they had, or hadn't, it didn't matter to him. They had their own lives now, as Harry had hoped they would have ever since the Yule Ball.
His only hope was they'd still have time for him, once this ordeal with Professor Forester was over.
But what if life was never the same again? Harry dared not think about it.
As Harry muttered, "Domina domna," to the Fat Lady, his thoughts eased like honey to Susan Bones.
He smiled happily. He walked up to the boy's dormitory, where he saw the curtains closed tightly around Ron's bed. He ignored them, and took off his grimy Quidditch robes. When he was naked, he pulled on his dressing robe and stepped into the shower room. Several other team members were finishing their showers, and they nodded sullenly toward him. Harry said nothing and began to shower.
Harry let the hot water take him away, far from the rotten game and the distant Ron. He remembered the early mornings this week, when he'd spent precious time with Susan.
They had been close to each other for nearly a month, and Harry hadn't tried to do anything with Susan past hugging her tightly and kissing her on the cheek. He'd learned well from the "relationship" with Cho...that he had a real hang-up about kissing.
That was until several mornings ago.
Harry had been talking to Susan worriedly about Ron (without revealing anything Dumbledore had asked him not to), and Susan was looking at him intently. He and Susan were sitting very close on "their" bench, and he was holding her hand. After a long while, he realized she was staring at his mouth. Uh-oh, he had thought.
Susan scooted closer to him, and he had smelled her sweet scent. He hadn't wanted to move away, but at the same time he hadn't wanted the same conclusion he'd had with Cho.
Then, her sweet lips were on his. She had moved her lips across his mouth firmly, but gently. It was entirely different from the way Cho had kissed him. Cho had simply put her teary lips against his, and it was soon over.
Harry liked this much better.
When Susan had pulled away, Harry had felt intense heat in his face. He had muttered, "I'm not very good at this."
Susan let out a little giggle, and then her hand in his had tightened. "You mean, you and Cho...?"
Harry had shook his head, as if to tell her their relationship hadn't developed. Susan let out a happy sigh, and then she whispered, "Let me show you how."
So he had let Susan teach him, and by the time they had to be inside the castle, Harry was proud of his kissing abilities.
Harry soaped his body thoroughly and then rinsed, smiling with remembered pleasure. He had to admit that he couldn't feel any happier then he had earlier that day, when he'd sat snogging Susan on their bench. Apparently Susan had liked it, too, because she gave him an extra long hug before letting him eat breakfast with his friends.
Harry began to frown at that. And what kind of friends were they? He'd almost prefer sitting with Susan at breakfast now. It wasn't as though he disliked Ron and Hermione now...it was more like they were all changing...all drifting apart.
He let himself rinse a little longer than usual. Finally, toweling himself, he put his dressing robe and walked back into his dormitory. It was a Saturday afternoon, and all of the inhabitants of the dormitory were gone. Only Ron's curtains were closed tightly, and Harry wondered if Hermione was in there with him.
As Harry started to pull out his schoolbooks, quill, parchment, and ink (he figured he'd better finish his Divination and Potions homework), he heard a funny sniffling from inside Ron's curtains.
Harry felt his heart sink to his stomach at that sound. He didn't say anything, because he wasn't sure Ron really was crying. After letting it go, Harry continued writing on parchment for several moments; then he heard the sound again.
No, he couldn't be mistaken. Ron was crying.
He knew it was Ron, because Hermione didn't cry like that. The inflection was definitely male.
What was Harry going to do? He couldn't just let on like he hadn't heard. He inwardly sighed, and thought about all the times Ron had been there for him. Well...Ron hadn't necessarily always BEEN THERE, but at least he always backed up Hermione's support.
Getting up from his bed and walking slowly, uncertainly toward Ron's bed, he said quietly, "Ron?"
"Go away." Ron said numbly.
"What's going on? Did you get in a fight with Hermione?" Harry asked, hoping that hadn't been it. It would be the last straw for Ron.
"No." The reply was emotionless.
Harry sighed in irritation. "Well, what then? You're obviously unhappy."
"You don't know what it's like, Harry. You'll never know." Ron said mutely.
Harry pushed Ron's curtains open, and stared in at his friend. Ron was pale, and curled up into himself. He was shaking a bit, and Harry's mouth flew open. His friend looked very sick.
"Good God, Ron, what's wrong with you?" Harry asked, pushing in on the curtains so he could sit down. Ron pulled into a tigher ball, and continued to tremble.
"Get away from me." Ron closed his eyes, trying to move farther away from Harry.
"No, Ron. You need help. Just let me...." Harry started to move toward his friend, his arm outstretched, when he began to hear a silly melody in his head.
Without realising he had moved, Harry was off of Ron's bed, and staring again at closed curtains. What the hell? How had that happened?
He stepped back, just as Ron said. "See what I mean? Leave me alone. It's for your own good."
"Ron...." Harry spoke with a mixture of amazement, and then fear. "That was...incredible, Ron."
Ron began to laugh at that. It was not the laugh of old Ron.....it was a laugh of someone entirely different. The laugh faded quickly, and then there was silence.
Then it hit Harry. What if Ron had done something terrible? What if that was why he had been crying?
"Ron...you didn't hurt Hermione, did you?"
Harry heard some rustling in Ron's bed, and then the curtains slowly opened. Ron was leaning off the side of the bed facing Harry, hands clasped tightly in his lap, and he refused to look Harry in the eye.
Harry took out his wand and levitated his desk chair between their beds. He sat down on it, and then Ron finally whispered. "No, I didn't hurt Hermione."
"Then what the hell is going on?" Harry shouted, surprising himself. He hadn't intended to be so loud.
Finally, Ron looked up into Harry's eyes. "I could hurt her. That's why I told her to stay away from me for a while." Ron looked down again, and wrinkled his bare toes. "She was very upset. She's been sleeping with me every night, you know." He frowned.
"Yes, I know." Harry said steadily. "Have you....?"
"No." Ron looked up at that. "When I said sleep, that's what I meant. Every night I was exhausted, and so I would talk to her about what happened between Professor Forester and I. After I was done, I could go to sleep. It helped to get it off my chest. When I woke up, she'd always be there." He let out a heavy sigh. "Now I've told her to go away. Maybe she'll never come back." Ron's last words were said in a choked voice, and he closed his eyes and put his head in his hands.
Harry had absolutely no idea what to do. He'd had no luck comforting crying females, and he didn't even want to try with his best friend.
Finally, his brain thought of something to say. "Ron, have you written to your mum and dad lately? Do they know what's going on?"
Ron kept his head in his hands, shaking it up and down, and Harry realized that his friend was trying to prevent him from seeing him cry. "Hermione helped me." Ron said, and then he totally lost it.
Harry swallowed, and watched helplessly as best friend since first year broke down right in front of him.
Ron had apparently been through hell....and all Harry had done during that time was snog Susan and worry about Quidditch. Harry felt sick to his stomach. So sick, he was sure he'd be physically ill. Harry hadn't even thought about Voldemort and the prophecy...it all seemed so far away from the life Harry had been living in the past weeks.
"Ron, I'm sorry. I haven't been here for you at all." Harry said it rather loudly, as Ron's body was wracked with sobs. Harry awkwardly reached over and patted Ron's back.
For a very long time, Harry sat and watched his friend. Finally, Ron could cry no more, and his eyes were red.
Now Ron was staring at him. Harry stared back, wondering what he must be thinking. Then Ron said, "How do people become evil?"
Harry suddenly thought about Dudley...and then Professor Umbridge...and lastly, Voldemort. How had they become evil? Well, he knew how Dudley had, and he sort of knew about Voldemort, but what about people like Umbridge? He realised he had no clue. "I'm not sure, Ron. I think it's different for everyone."
"I've seen some things, and felt some things, that I wished I never had, Harry." Ron muttered nasally. His nose sounded stuffy.
Harry silently conjured a handkerchief for him and passed it over. Ron took it and loudly blew his nose.
"Thanks, mate." He gave Harry an appreciative look.
"No problem, brother." Harry said and smiled. Ron let out a nasally chuckle at that, and tossed the handkerchief in to his bed.
They sat in silence for a little while, and Harry hesitated before asking, "Do you want to play some chess?"
Ron laughed. "No, mate. I could really cheat at that."
"What about making up stuff for the Divination assignment? That would be fun." Harry chuckled.
"Don't have to do it." Ron said quietly. "Dumbledore asked the professors to hold back on my assignments for a while. I only need to attend classes."
Harry was surprised at that. "Lucky you! Maybe I should get a brain to attack me, too."
It was the wrong thing to say. Ron's face became sullen again, and Harry berated himself silently. How could he have been such a git?
"No you don't, Harry. You've got off lucky with just a scar on your head. You don't want some more on your arms, too." Ron started to turn on the bed, and before he enclosed himself in the curtains, Harry stood up and said quickly, "Hey, Ron..."
"What?" Ron asked stiffly.
Harry thought on his feet. "You can still talk to Hermione, right?"
Ron looked downward, a pained expression on his face. "Sure."
"Then you've still got that, don't you?" Harry whispered.
Ron gave Harry a penetrating look. This time, it was full of hope. His face began to clear of his worries, and he gave Harry a stiff smile.
"Thanks, Harry." At that, he slipped behind the curtains.
Dean and Neville came into the dormitory at that moment. They were in the middle of a heated argument. Harry had a couple of ideas about what had spurned it, but he didn't voice anything to them. He got up, levitated his chair back to its regular place, and sat on his bed, staring at his homework.
How could he concentrate on the "Motions of Jupiter and their Effects on Aquarius" or the "Clarity Potion and its Benefits for Inebriated Persons" when his mind was now so troubled?
He pushed the work aside and lay down. He hoped to sleep, and dream about simpler times. He hoped to dream about life without all this horror, about a life he had never known; about his youth, when his parents had still been alive.
What would life had been like if they were still alive? Would he still have wonderful friends like Ron and Hermione?
He wouldn't; and he would have been bland Harry Potter. Life without Ron and Hermione as friends, as far as he was concerned, was meaningless.