"What is that. . . thing?" Asked Ron, as he peered at it.
"It's called a violin, Master Weasley. People play them for entertainment. I myself have been playing since I was eleven."
"You have?"
"Yes."
"Play something, then."
"Why?"
"Because I want to hear."
"Sometimes you don't always get what you want." Antonia replied as she put the musical instrument back into its case.
"Please?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Please?"
"NO!"
"Fine, you don't have to get all mad."
"Ugh, that is. . . . Ugh! I HATE it when people do that! If someone tells you no, you just accept it and move on! It's not that hard of a concept to grasp!" Antonia grabbed her case, and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her.
"This is just great!" Ron said, banging his head into the table.
Much to his luck, he hear her playing. Not for him, though. Up in her room, she was. Ron actually found himself outside her door, his ear against it. He didn't know why he was so interested in her playing, but frankly, he didn't care. Because wether or not he was interested, was not the point. The point was that Antonia was pretty good.
His leisure was cut off by her opening the door.
She screamed, not having known he was there or who he was for a moment. When he looked back up, she had an unsheathed sword in her hand, pointing at his throat. "What were you doing?"
"Listening to you."
"Oh." She lowed her blade.
"Thank you," He replied, referring to the blade. "You're good."
"Thank you, but no, I am actually not that good. There are tons of people much, much better than me."
"Maybe, but I don't know them, do I?" Ron walked closer to her.
Antonia stepped back, "What are you doing?"
"Walking to you." Ron took another step.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
She snorted. "Right."
He took another step. "Why are you so secretive?"
She took another step back. "I am not secretive."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"I am not secretive!" Antonia yelled.
"YES YOU ARE!" He was in her face now.
"Oy vay!" She turned, walked back into her room and shut the door so hard the pictures on the wall shook.
The next day, they resumed sword lessons. Both were much more fierce, still mad at the other. Ron had exceptionally gotten better, training for hours every day with Antonia. What they were doing wasn't a drill, but a real fight. Only when she locked their blades hilt to hilt, did she get him. For a small period of time, Ron had been memorized by the depths of her eyes, did she shove him. He fell, his sword at his feet. What surprised him more was that she actually lent her hand down to him.
"Good fight, Master Weasley."
Ron took it, and hoisted himself up. "Erm. . . Yea, good fight." For a second, they were so close Ron could see small beads of sweat on her forehead.
It was her that walked away first, saying, "Would you mind starting dinner? I want to go take a shower."
Ron actually caught himself wondering what she looked like while in the shower, and then answered, "I can't really cook."
"You're a wizard, aren't you? Magic them to cook themselves."
"I didn't think about that. . . ." Ron pondered.
For the first time in days, he saw her smile. "You learned something new today, Master Weasley." She walked in the opposite direction, and Ron started dinner.
They soon fell into a routine. Everyday, Ron would be woken up by Antonia, shaking him slightly. He'd then change, and go down to breakfast. He'd gotten used to what she wore to such things, and only paid slight attention to it. He'd eat whatever she made, and then she'd eat the rest. After breakfast, they would stretch, and they start swordsmanship skills. She just started teaching him archery, and that soon fell into place as well. After hours of drills and work, Antonia let Ron take the first shower will she made dinner, and then after they ate, she'd take one. Later in the night, he'd listen to her play various instruments until he went to sleep. Like always, just when things got comfortable, something went terribly wrong.
One morning when Antonia went to wake Ron, she noticed he looked paler than usual, and was covered in sweat. Her eyes traveled down to see the covers twisted and gagged around him like a straight jacket. Her hand went to his forehead, and snatched back.
"Ron! You're burning up!"
"What?" His voice was scratchy.
"You have a temperature. You're sweating. You're pale. Your voice is different. Your nose is stuffy. No! This is just what we need! You have pneumonia!"
"What's that?"
"The Flu."
"No. I can do it, just let me get up." He untwisted his covers, stood, and then fell back onto his bed.
"And you can't stand on your own two feet." She helped him back under his covers. Brushing back his bangs, she felt his temp again. "Still very hot. Is there anything I can get you?"
Ron thought. Whenever he was sick, his mum always stayed with him and gave him soup. "Some soup would be nice."
"Right away, Ronald." She stood, and left for the soup.
Twenty minutes later, Antonia returned to find Ron asleep. She walked to his bed, and set down the tray. He looked so innocent right there, sleeping. His full lips pouting slightly, his eyelids over his brown eyes. She smiled. Like a mother, she tucked the covers around him. Before she left, Antonia brushed back his bangs and kissed his forehead, like her mother used to do.
Is no one reading? sad face