Harry Potter does not own me.
Chapter 4 – Home for a Week/Day 1
Ron crossed his arms over his chest, scowling. He slumped in his seat and watched the scenery fly by outside the train car window. He couldn't believe it! He was being sent home for "mental instability"!! They had even sent Madam Pomphrey with him on the train; they felt he was so mentally unstable. He couldn't understand how all this could have happened, and yet here he was, being whisked home on a specially ordered Hogwarts train.
Madam Pomphrey bustled into the car. "Would you like something tea, dear? I've just brewed a fresh pot." She smiled kindly at him, like he was some kind of stupid idiot or something. Ron shrugged.
"I guess." The woman poured him a cup, handed him some biscuits, and then settled back in the seat across from him with a pile full of knitting. Click click click click click. Her needles flashed back and forth, back and forth. He stared at the ends of her needles and after about a minute his eyelids felt droopy. This was going to be a long trip.
Ron tried to lean his head against the window and sleep, but the train car kept bumping to and fro, making it too uncomfortable to doze off. He tried sipping his tea and eating his biscuits, but the tea was bitter and the biscuits dried out his mouth. He fidgeted in his seat and sighed loudly.
"Did you need something, dear?" Madam Pomphrey looked up at him over her spectacles, but her needles didn't stop. Click click click click. Ron sighed.
"No." He sat still, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. Yesterday's events seemed like a far-off nightmare. Unfortunately, for the evidence of the lingering sick feeling in his stomach, he knew that it had all happened. Just thinking about it brought on a wave of nausea.
He remembered being surrounded by people, feeling closed in and panicky, and then, he wasn't sure quite why it happened, but he threw back his head and screamed at the top of his lungs, "AAAAAHHH!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!! JUST LEAVE...ME...ALONE!!" Then to mark the crowning glory of all embarrassments he fainted dead away – right in the middle of the crowd. Of course much after that was blank, but the next thing he knew he was lying in a bed being attended by Madam Pomphrey, Hermione, Ginny, and Lydia leaning over him and a reluctant Harry hovering in the background. He then started flailing about and yelling nonsense. Lydia was the last person he wanted to have around seeing how much of a weak, nutcase he was! (Not that the flailing and shouting was helping any.) Ron, remembering this, moaned in embarrassed agony, the memory painfully sharp in his mind's eye. Madam Pomphrey was immediately at his side.
"Ron, dear, are you all right? Would you like somewhere to lie down?"
Without waiting for a response, she rolled up some blankets and made him lie down on the bench, covering him in some more blankets. She was quite annoying, but he didn't have the energy to protest.
At least he didn't have to worry about classes. He'd been given a week off to recuperate from whatever he was ailing from. Frankly, Ron was glad for the break. He didn't have to worry about girls, or meddling friends, or competing with Harry. He could sleep in as much as he wanted to (doctor's orders), lounge about, or do some light homework assignments. He was, however, under no circumstances, to do anything that was remotely stressing. This would be a trick, especially if Fred and George were going to be around. He hoped they'd be too busy to bother and tease him.
Ron quickly slipped into a dream-filled sleep of Harry sauntering around, grinning, his face sporting a full mustache and goatee, flirting with Lydia, and munching on chocolate frogs.
Madam Pomphrey jiggled Ron awake.
"Ron, dear, we're at the station. You're parents are waiting outside, and they're quite anxious." Ron moaned and sat up. He rubbed his head, bits of his dream still lingering in his head.
"Where are we?"
"We're at the station. Come along, then." She had his satchel in one hand and his jacket in the other. Ron followed her out onto the platform and was immediately enveloped tightly in his parents' arms. Apparently, even his father had taken off work to meet him.
"Ugh! Mum! You needn't squeeze so hard, I'm all right, you know!" Ron mumbled and tried to wriggle away. His parents let go and his father ruffled his hair.
"He looks fine to me!" Mr. Weasley smiled at his son. Mrs. Weasley glared at her husband.
"He's had a nervous breakdown! There's nothing fine about that!"
Ron blushed crimson, even though it was only Madam Pomphrey that was there to overhear.
"Mum, do you mind?" he grumbled. Madam Pomphrey smiled.
"I'll just be going then. He needs plenty of rest, food, and relaxation. He's been given some light homework to do. Just remember that under no circumstances is he to be under any stress. Send me an owl at the end of the week and tell me how he's doing. We'll decide when he's to come back then. Well, good-bye! Take care, Ronald," and she was back on the train and speeding back to Hogwarts.
Ron followed his parents out to the car and they rode back to their home in relative silence. Mrs. Weasley kept looking back at Ron in her rear-view mirror, worry written all over her face.
As soon as they were in the kitchen Mrs. Weasley sat Ron down in a chair, gave him some tea and a plateful of biscuits, kissed his forehead and sat across from him. Mr. Weasley leaned against the kitchen wall munching on a biscuit.
"So, dear, tell us what happened." Mrs. Weasley smiled kindly at her son.
Ron frowned. His mum was the last person he wanted to talk about what happened.
"Look, Mum, Dad, I'm really tired and talking about everything will just make me upset again. Can I go to bed now?
"Oh." Mrs. Weasley looked disappointed. "Yes, of course, dear. Go lie down."
Ron dragged himself up the stairs, his satchel bumping up the stairs behind him. He felt so dazed.
He stumbled into his room, shutting his door firmly behind him. He leaned against the door and took a deep breath. The first thing he noticed was a deep silence – very strange for his house – but then again he was never home during the school term. Ron left his satchel and jacket on the floor and fell onto his bed. He breathed deeply and smiled. For a few moments he enjoyed his familiar surroundings, with the posters of the Chudley Cannons players waving at him cheerfully from the perches on their brooms.
Without meaning to he fell asleep and the next thing he knew he was being pounced on.
"Ooof! Get off me!" he shouted. Fred laughed from atop his stomach.
"Has our little brother followed in our footsteps and been expelled from school?" George shook his head.
"Really, Ron, it's about time. Being a prefect and all, I never thought it would happen." Ron shoved his brother off of him.
"I haven't been expelled. I'm home because I- " he paused uncertainly.
"Ronald is home, because he's had a nervous breakdown and needs a rest." Mrs. Weasley came in with a tray of leftovers from supper.
"Mum!" Ron protested, his face going crimson. George and Fred stared at him.
"You're joking, right?" George asked in disbelief. Fred hardly made an effort to hide his snigger. Ron scowled.
"I'm not to be disturbed, mind you! No stress, no worry, got it?" Fred and George stood up.
"Oh, we hear you loud and clear, little brother." Fred said seriously. "We won't bother you a bit. I hear insanity is contagious." Ron opened his mouth to yell at them, but his mother stopped him.
"Fred, George, do I need to remind you two to finish your chores again?" The twins looked offended.
"We're highly professional businessmen, need I remind you?" Fred argued. "We don't do 'chores'." Mrs. Weasley glared at them and raised her voice.
"You do while you're in this house! Now get moving!" George shook his head at his brother as they left the room.
"I keep telling you, mate, we need to be saving up money for our own place instead of buying new broomsticks every time a new one comes in." Mrs. Weasley turned to Ron.
"Eat up, dear. I don't want you starving yourself, just because you're not feeling well."
"I feel fine, Mum."
"Well, you look pale to me. I'll come back up and get your tray later." She kissed his forehead, much to his consternation, and closed the door behind her.
Alone at last and feeling ravenous, Ron ate his food. The fact that his mother had cooked his favorite meal did not escape him and he enjoyed every bite of it. Just as he had cleaned his plate he felt a sudden longing to practice a little quidditch before it got dark. With a pang, he remembered that he had left his broom at school. He sat, scowling in thought, when suddenly something George had said came to his mind.
How many broomsticks did they have if they bought a set every time a new one came in? They had to have at least five apiece! Surely they wouldn't miss one... Ron set aside his tray and tiptoed to his door. He opened it with a crack and listened for his brothers' footsteps upstairs. He didn't hear anything, so slowly, and as quietly as he could manage on the old, uneven wooden floors, he snuck upstairs. He listened closely at Fred and George's door, and hearing nothing, opened it.
He hadn't been inside his brothers' room in a long time and was amazed at the hodge- podge of junk lying about. Most of it was boxes of mysterious ingredients, bits of chemicals in vials, and beakers with strange looking liquids in them arranged on shelves. Stepping closer Ron found that the labels were all in code. There were stacks of crates filled with boxes of apparently finished products, waiting to be sent out. Their beds were scattered with scribbled on parchments and broken quills. Weak sunlight from the setting sun filtered in the dusty windows making the glass beakers shine dully.
Ron looked around for a stash of brooms and didn't find any within eyesight. He sighed. This meant he would need to need to search for them. He carefully shut their door and proceeded to rummage through his brothers' things. He was careful to leave everything just as he found it.
Right when he was about to give up he moved a pile of clothing to discover an ancient looking wooden chest. It was long and narrow – just the right length and depth to fit a stash of brooms. He lifted the lid, pulled aside the thick cloth covering inside and was met with nothing but a bunch of parchment scrolls and a small gold box with a red bow.
The box caught his attention immediately. His heart beat quickened. This had to be one of their top-secret projects they were always going on about, while never actually revealing anything on the subject. It was always so annoying how they did that, and it was obvious it was always on purpose. With a trembling hand and all thoughts of finding a broom gone from his mind, he lifted the gold box out. Barely breathing, he pulled the ribbon, causing it to fall away. He pulled the lid off carefully to find some blood red velvet. He folded that away to find a little morsel tucked gently into the crimson folds. It was a frog. A chocolate frog.
Ron's mouth watered. It had been a few days since his last chocolate frog, and his mother hadn't given him any dessert. Several thoughts raced through his mind. What was so special about this chocolate frog? What had his brothers done to it? These and many more thoughts were washed away by his drooling saliva. He lifted the frog out of the box and held it, hovering, in front of his mouth. Suddenly, Madam Trelawney's voice shrieked in his head.
"Beware! Beware!!! The chocolate frog brings DEATH!" He paused, a little uncertain, but only for a moment. He laughed it off, murmuring, "That crazy old hag," and shoved the chocolate frog into his mouth.
Mwahahahahaaa! To find out what happens, you must review! Yes, that's right! Review, and not only will the story continue, but you'll get a chocolate frog!!! Heh heh heh (while supplies last) sing songy Review!!!!!!
Chapter 4 – Home for a Week/Day 1
Ron crossed his arms over his chest, scowling. He slumped in his seat and watched the scenery fly by outside the train car window. He couldn't believe it! He was being sent home for "mental instability"!! They had even sent Madam Pomphrey with him on the train; they felt he was so mentally unstable. He couldn't understand how all this could have happened, and yet here he was, being whisked home on a specially ordered Hogwarts train.
Madam Pomphrey bustled into the car. "Would you like something tea, dear? I've just brewed a fresh pot." She smiled kindly at him, like he was some kind of stupid idiot or something. Ron shrugged.
"I guess." The woman poured him a cup, handed him some biscuits, and then settled back in the seat across from him with a pile full of knitting. Click click click click click. Her needles flashed back and forth, back and forth. He stared at the ends of her needles and after about a minute his eyelids felt droopy. This was going to be a long trip.
Ron tried to lean his head against the window and sleep, but the train car kept bumping to and fro, making it too uncomfortable to doze off. He tried sipping his tea and eating his biscuits, but the tea was bitter and the biscuits dried out his mouth. He fidgeted in his seat and sighed loudly.
"Did you need something, dear?" Madam Pomphrey looked up at him over her spectacles, but her needles didn't stop. Click click click click. Ron sighed.
"No." He sat still, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. Yesterday's events seemed like a far-off nightmare. Unfortunately, for the evidence of the lingering sick feeling in his stomach, he knew that it had all happened. Just thinking about it brought on a wave of nausea.
He remembered being surrounded by people, feeling closed in and panicky, and then, he wasn't sure quite why it happened, but he threw back his head and screamed at the top of his lungs, "AAAAAHHH!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!! JUST LEAVE...ME...ALONE!!" Then to mark the crowning glory of all embarrassments he fainted dead away – right in the middle of the crowd. Of course much after that was blank, but the next thing he knew he was lying in a bed being attended by Madam Pomphrey, Hermione, Ginny, and Lydia leaning over him and a reluctant Harry hovering in the background. He then started flailing about and yelling nonsense. Lydia was the last person he wanted to have around seeing how much of a weak, nutcase he was! (Not that the flailing and shouting was helping any.) Ron, remembering this, moaned in embarrassed agony, the memory painfully sharp in his mind's eye. Madam Pomphrey was immediately at his side.
"Ron, dear, are you all right? Would you like somewhere to lie down?"
Without waiting for a response, she rolled up some blankets and made him lie down on the bench, covering him in some more blankets. She was quite annoying, but he didn't have the energy to protest.
At least he didn't have to worry about classes. He'd been given a week off to recuperate from whatever he was ailing from. Frankly, Ron was glad for the break. He didn't have to worry about girls, or meddling friends, or competing with Harry. He could sleep in as much as he wanted to (doctor's orders), lounge about, or do some light homework assignments. He was, however, under no circumstances, to do anything that was remotely stressing. This would be a trick, especially if Fred and George were going to be around. He hoped they'd be too busy to bother and tease him.
Ron quickly slipped into a dream-filled sleep of Harry sauntering around, grinning, his face sporting a full mustache and goatee, flirting with Lydia, and munching on chocolate frogs.
Madam Pomphrey jiggled Ron awake.
"Ron, dear, we're at the station. You're parents are waiting outside, and they're quite anxious." Ron moaned and sat up. He rubbed his head, bits of his dream still lingering in his head.
"Where are we?"
"We're at the station. Come along, then." She had his satchel in one hand and his jacket in the other. Ron followed her out onto the platform and was immediately enveloped tightly in his parents' arms. Apparently, even his father had taken off work to meet him.
"Ugh! Mum! You needn't squeeze so hard, I'm all right, you know!" Ron mumbled and tried to wriggle away. His parents let go and his father ruffled his hair.
"He looks fine to me!" Mr. Weasley smiled at his son. Mrs. Weasley glared at her husband.
"He's had a nervous breakdown! There's nothing fine about that!"
Ron blushed crimson, even though it was only Madam Pomphrey that was there to overhear.
"Mum, do you mind?" he grumbled. Madam Pomphrey smiled.
"I'll just be going then. He needs plenty of rest, food, and relaxation. He's been given some light homework to do. Just remember that under no circumstances is he to be under any stress. Send me an owl at the end of the week and tell me how he's doing. We'll decide when he's to come back then. Well, good-bye! Take care, Ronald," and she was back on the train and speeding back to Hogwarts.
Ron followed his parents out to the car and they rode back to their home in relative silence. Mrs. Weasley kept looking back at Ron in her rear-view mirror, worry written all over her face.
As soon as they were in the kitchen Mrs. Weasley sat Ron down in a chair, gave him some tea and a plateful of biscuits, kissed his forehead and sat across from him. Mr. Weasley leaned against the kitchen wall munching on a biscuit.
"So, dear, tell us what happened." Mrs. Weasley smiled kindly at her son.
Ron frowned. His mum was the last person he wanted to talk about what happened.
"Look, Mum, Dad, I'm really tired and talking about everything will just make me upset again. Can I go to bed now?
"Oh." Mrs. Weasley looked disappointed. "Yes, of course, dear. Go lie down."
Ron dragged himself up the stairs, his satchel bumping up the stairs behind him. He felt so dazed.
He stumbled into his room, shutting his door firmly behind him. He leaned against the door and took a deep breath. The first thing he noticed was a deep silence – very strange for his house – but then again he was never home during the school term. Ron left his satchel and jacket on the floor and fell onto his bed. He breathed deeply and smiled. For a few moments he enjoyed his familiar surroundings, with the posters of the Chudley Cannons players waving at him cheerfully from the perches on their brooms.
Without meaning to he fell asleep and the next thing he knew he was being pounced on.
"Ooof! Get off me!" he shouted. Fred laughed from atop his stomach.
"Has our little brother followed in our footsteps and been expelled from school?" George shook his head.
"Really, Ron, it's about time. Being a prefect and all, I never thought it would happen." Ron shoved his brother off of him.
"I haven't been expelled. I'm home because I- " he paused uncertainly.
"Ronald is home, because he's had a nervous breakdown and needs a rest." Mrs. Weasley came in with a tray of leftovers from supper.
"Mum!" Ron protested, his face going crimson. George and Fred stared at him.
"You're joking, right?" George asked in disbelief. Fred hardly made an effort to hide his snigger. Ron scowled.
"I'm not to be disturbed, mind you! No stress, no worry, got it?" Fred and George stood up.
"Oh, we hear you loud and clear, little brother." Fred said seriously. "We won't bother you a bit. I hear insanity is contagious." Ron opened his mouth to yell at them, but his mother stopped him.
"Fred, George, do I need to remind you two to finish your chores again?" The twins looked offended.
"We're highly professional businessmen, need I remind you?" Fred argued. "We don't do 'chores'." Mrs. Weasley glared at them and raised her voice.
"You do while you're in this house! Now get moving!" George shook his head at his brother as they left the room.
"I keep telling you, mate, we need to be saving up money for our own place instead of buying new broomsticks every time a new one comes in." Mrs. Weasley turned to Ron.
"Eat up, dear. I don't want you starving yourself, just because you're not feeling well."
"I feel fine, Mum."
"Well, you look pale to me. I'll come back up and get your tray later." She kissed his forehead, much to his consternation, and closed the door behind her.
Alone at last and feeling ravenous, Ron ate his food. The fact that his mother had cooked his favorite meal did not escape him and he enjoyed every bite of it. Just as he had cleaned his plate he felt a sudden longing to practice a little quidditch before it got dark. With a pang, he remembered that he had left his broom at school. He sat, scowling in thought, when suddenly something George had said came to his mind.
How many broomsticks did they have if they bought a set every time a new one came in? They had to have at least five apiece! Surely they wouldn't miss one... Ron set aside his tray and tiptoed to his door. He opened it with a crack and listened for his brothers' footsteps upstairs. He didn't hear anything, so slowly, and as quietly as he could manage on the old, uneven wooden floors, he snuck upstairs. He listened closely at Fred and George's door, and hearing nothing, opened it.
He hadn't been inside his brothers' room in a long time and was amazed at the hodge- podge of junk lying about. Most of it was boxes of mysterious ingredients, bits of chemicals in vials, and beakers with strange looking liquids in them arranged on shelves. Stepping closer Ron found that the labels were all in code. There were stacks of crates filled with boxes of apparently finished products, waiting to be sent out. Their beds were scattered with scribbled on parchments and broken quills. Weak sunlight from the setting sun filtered in the dusty windows making the glass beakers shine dully.
Ron looked around for a stash of brooms and didn't find any within eyesight. He sighed. This meant he would need to need to search for them. He carefully shut their door and proceeded to rummage through his brothers' things. He was careful to leave everything just as he found it.
Right when he was about to give up he moved a pile of clothing to discover an ancient looking wooden chest. It was long and narrow – just the right length and depth to fit a stash of brooms. He lifted the lid, pulled aside the thick cloth covering inside and was met with nothing but a bunch of parchment scrolls and a small gold box with a red bow.
The box caught his attention immediately. His heart beat quickened. This had to be one of their top-secret projects they were always going on about, while never actually revealing anything on the subject. It was always so annoying how they did that, and it was obvious it was always on purpose. With a trembling hand and all thoughts of finding a broom gone from his mind, he lifted the gold box out. Barely breathing, he pulled the ribbon, causing it to fall away. He pulled the lid off carefully to find some blood red velvet. He folded that away to find a little morsel tucked gently into the crimson folds. It was a frog. A chocolate frog.
Ron's mouth watered. It had been a few days since his last chocolate frog, and his mother hadn't given him any dessert. Several thoughts raced through his mind. What was so special about this chocolate frog? What had his brothers done to it? These and many more thoughts were washed away by his drooling saliva. He lifted the frog out of the box and held it, hovering, in front of his mouth. Suddenly, Madam Trelawney's voice shrieked in his head.
"Beware! Beware!!! The chocolate frog brings DEATH!" He paused, a little uncertain, but only for a moment. He laughed it off, murmuring, "That crazy old hag," and shoved the chocolate frog into his mouth.
Mwahahahahaaa! To find out what happens, you must review! Yes, that's right! Review, and not only will the story continue, but you'll get a chocolate frog!!! Heh heh heh (while supplies last) sing songy Review!!!!!!