Patronize

Part Nine

Time seemed to run away from Ron Weasley as he tried valiantly to keep his head above water in class, study in his free periods, (free?Who are they kidding?), and practice his Patronus whenever he could. Usually in unlikely places at odd hours like the Prefect's bathroom and a particularly old and discarded armory that Nearly Headless Nick had shown him one night.

Nevertheless Ron felt as if he were loosing purchase in lessons – he still couldn't get his head around the Aguamenti charm and non-verbal spells were much harder than they looked. It hit him as quite a surprise when he woke up one morning to the realization that it was the day of the Quidditch team tryouts.

Last year had been a very mixed blessing for Ron. It was either all on and the glory was his, or it was awful. Worse than awful; it had been dreadful, depressing and plain embarrassing. He wondered vaguely if this year would be any different as he sat with Harry and Hermione in the Great Hall at breakfast.

Hermione was determined to take away more hours of their day by planning to visit Hagrid. Ron had a big soft for Hagrid, but he was a bit nervous about the giant half-brother that Harry and Hermione had told him about. He'd met too many of Hagrid's friends. A shiver went down his spine as he thought of the giant spider, Aragog.

His focus snapped back to Hermione when he heard her tell Harry that he was popular. Ron shook his head in disbelief. Surely he'd misheard her? Not just popular, she went on, but also interesting and fanciable! Ron very nearly choked on the kipper he was eating.

At least Harry had the grace to look utterly embarrassed. He was looking everywhere but at Hermione. The ceiling in particular seemed to hold most of his attention as Hermione rattled on about him being the 'Chosen One' in the eyes of the Daily Prophet reading world. All Ron could stare at was Hermione – and yet she went on.

I'm right bloody here, Hermione! Ron thought, feeling more than ever like a plate of chopped liver. Harry's not the center of the universe, you know!

"And you've been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway..."

"You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look," said Ron in an effort to sway her attention. He even began to pull up his sleeves to prove it, but Hermione ignored him and went on.

"And it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer, either."

"I'm tall," Ron pointed out to no one. Hermione and Harry had both been distracted by the appearance of the morning post owls.

Hmph, thought Ron as they left the breakfast table and headed towards the Quidditch pitch, I've always been bloody tall, but apparently not tall enough to be bloody noticeable to Miss. Hermione Granger. And I'm still taller than Harry. What's she on about?

He realized then that he was probably jealous. It wasn't the same as it had been with Viktor Krum. That bordered on rivalry. This was just plain jealousy. Why didn't Hermione ever call him 'fanciable'? Bloody Harry gets everything, he thought petulantly, then bit his lip in shame and distracted himself with the idea of Dumbledore being absent from school so often.

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown passed them in one of the corridors and he distinctly saw Lavender flash a smile at him as they passed. Ron wasn't too sure what to do. He'd never really had someone smile at him like that before. He tried a hesitant smile in return and then the moment was gone.

That's new, he thought with a slight spring in his step. Perhaps Harry's not the only one somewhat fanciable after all.

The pitch was alive with the giggles of many girls and strictly non-Quidditch players. It took some time for Harry to cull those people who were bought there by curiosity rather than the drive to be on the team. All of this time waiting wasn't good for Ron. He always felt nervy when it came to standing about waiting, especially when he had to watch other people try for Keeper.

Especially that big goon, McLaggen, Ron mused as his stomach churned and he felt decidedly ill. Thank Merlin he screwed up that last save. Looks pretty pissed about it too.

McLaggen looked fit to bite as he touched down and Ron dragged himself onto his Cleansweep Eleven.

"Good luck," called a shrill voice from behind him. That's not Hermione, he thought, looking around. It was Lavender Brown.

He shook his head free of confusion and soared into the sky to his goalposts. Ron held on to his broom grimly and went for gold. He saved all five attempts to steal goal, even a particularly sneaky one that Ginny sent him. All in all, he was rather pleased with himself when he touched ground once more.

He was even more ecstatic when Hermione ran up to him and told him he had done brilliantly. She even went as far as to call him magnificent as he ranted with glee about his saves. He felt like he'd really deserved his place on the team for once, and Hermione's praise was just icing on the cake.

Things felt as if they were coming up Weasley – he'd earned the right to be Gryffindor Quidditch Keeper, Hermione had praised him, he'd received a smile from a pretty girl and he'd luckily avoided feeding disgusting grubs to Aragog and his hordes of terrifying many-legged children. All this was about to change.

Despite a delicious roast beef that melted in his mouth, dinner turned into a rather sour affair for Ron. The trio had no sooner reached the dinner table when Professor Slughorn appeared in his evening best. He wasted no time in inviting first Harry and then Hermione to a private supper in his quarters. Slughorn didn't so much as acknowledge Ron's prescence.

I knew this would happen, thought Ron bitterly. This is what always happens to me. Everyone else gets noticed and I get stuck eating supper in the kitchens with Dobby and Winky. Can't blame them though. Harry is great, and Hermione, well, Hermione's nigh bloody perfect. Me? I'm just a big goofy idiot who's worth nothing. I'm even outdone by my own stupid family, hell, even Fred and George are a success!

He ate the rest of his dinner in stony silence. Hermione and Harry joked with Neville and pointedly ignored him, though he felt Hermione pat him on the knee as soon as Slughorn had left, and it was this contact that stopped him from unleashing his temper on the whole table. He figured their reaction to him was because they knew his temper too well by now to even try reasoning with him. Fine, he thought as he crammed some trifle into his mouth. I don't want to talk to those over achievers anyway.

The bitterness remained when they settled in the Common Room amidst chattering and laughing students. Each chuckle felt like a personal assault to Ron, as if they knew that his best friends and little sister had become part of the elite and he was plain old nothing Ron Weasley. He crossed his arms and stared determinedly at the ceiling, making a point of ignoring Hermione's reading of the Evening Prophet. How dare she take pity on him by patting his knee at dinner! Though it was kind of nice; but he immediately banished the thought and looked around the room for a new distraction.

His attention was caught by Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil for the second time that day. They were sitting in the corner beside the staircase giggling, and every now and then Lavender would shoot him a look. Not a smile exactly, like he'd received in the corridor; more of the sort of look that might accompany a wink. Ron scowled back. He didn't want anyone's pity. This made Lavender giggle even more and whisper to Parvati. Are all girls bloody mental? Ron pondered briefly as he heard Harry turn the conversation round to Malfoy.

"Oh, drop it, Harry," he snapped. He'd had enough already of Harry's growing obsession with Malfoy. Sure, he was a bad egg, but did he have to suspect him at every turn?

"Listen, it's not my fault Slughorn invited Hermione and me to his stupid party, neither of us wanted to go, you know!' Harry shot back.

Yeah, right, thought Ron angrilyf . If you'd not wanted to go you would have said 'no' flat out. And way to rub my face in it, Potter. We weren't even bloody talking about the stupid party.

"Well, as I'm not invited to any parties," Ron grumbled as he got out of his chair, "I'm going to bed." He made a point of stomping up the stairs and totally ignored the commissary look that Hermione gave him.

When he reached the boys' dormitory he flung open the curtains of his bed and went to flop down on top of it, but the owl who had been pecking and kneading his pillow to shreds hooted at him in warning.

"What the hell have you done to my pillow?" Snapped Ron acidly as he pulled his ripped and molting pillow away from the small barn owl. "Who're you from anyway?"

The owl fluttered from the head of the bed and landed on Ron's arm, lifting one leg to present it's message. Ron untied the message, read it, scribbled something on the back and sent the owl back out the open window.

Ron found Tonks in a much better mood than she had been their last lesson. Her hair was still mousy and plain, but a smile lit up her face. Ron's mood was no less irritable, but he was determined to keep up his Patronus work regardless.

"What are you so miserable about, Ron?" She asked him after a fairly pathetic attempt at a Patronus. "You know emotions can play a large role in how your Patronus fares, don't you?"

Ron grunted in acknowledgment and tried again. "Expecto Patronum..." A silver echo of a small dog shimmered and disappeared. "Why can't I have a proper bloody Patronus?" He growled.

"Like I said," Tonks went on, "if you are in a more positive mood it'll be better."

"No it won't," snapped Ron. "It'll still be a little runt of a dog. It's just rubbish, like everything else in my life."

"Well," sighed Tonks, "I'm afraid there's naught we can do about what your Patronus is." Her smile had dropped. "You may find that it'll change in time, though. They do sometimes. They reflect sort of what's happening in your life. What you need most to protect you. Often they change after a big event..."

Ron stared at her. She'd gone from chipper to miserable in about two minutes. "Sorry, Tonks. Just had a bad day, that's all. Didn't mean to take it out on you."

She smiled weakly. "That's OK, Ron. I have those days too. Quite a lot actually."

Ron felt positively awful and tried to remind her of whatever had made her happy before he'd got there and ruined it with his big stupid mouth. "Something good happened to you today, though right? Last two times I've seen you you've looked kind of sad," he stumbled, hoping this wasn't going to make things worse.

Tonks smiled weakly and the sparkle in her eyes returned. "Yes," she said. "I had a pretty good day. Today I got a letter."

"Oh," said Ron trying to imagine what could be so awfully exciting about a letter, "that's good?"

"Yeah," said Tonks, looking wistfully out the window. "It was better than good. Now, let's see a proper Patronus shall we?"

There was something in her smile that reminded him how he had felt when Hermione had sent him letters over the summer. Even though they were fairly uninteresting, they were from her, and that's what had mattered to him. That she had thought of him enough to write.

"Sure," agreed Ron. He experienced the feeling of getting a letter as Tonks had done. He thought of Hermione telling him he was magnificent as he stood glowing on the Quidditch pitch after being made Keeper. Most of all he thought of Hermione has she slept in his arms next to him. "Expecto Patronum!"

A blinding light appeared from his wand, causing both himself and Tonks to shield their eyes as a brilliant silver dog lept forth and circled the living room of the small flat.

"Wow, Ron," breathed Tonks as she watched the beautiful dog caper about her. "That's really, really good."

"Yeah," laughed Ron as he squinted against the light the terrier gave off.

"Seems to me your day wasn't that bad after all, was it?" Smirked Tonks.

"No," Ron grinned back. "Not as bad as I thought."

Thanks to JK for writing the lines I pinched. I hope I didn't butcher their meanings too much. :S

Oh, and Dragon Scales 13; in answer to your question, Spotted Dick is a delicious Scottish desert, not unlike steam pudding with fruit in. (Hence the spots). ;)