Chapter 6 - Coming Home

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. So far, that's how long Ron Weasley had spent at St. Mungo's Hospital. He did the maths because what else was there to do? He spent his days just sitting or lying around doing nothing.

Three hundred and thirty-six hours, what was that in minutes? Ron wracked his brains trying to work it out—maths was never his strength at school. But when you have as much free time as he did, you're bound to get the answer eventually.

"Three hundred and thirty-six times sixty. Fuck, uh—twenty thousand—uh—" Ron muttered to himself, his face screwed up in concentration.

"Twenty thousand one hundred and sixty minutes," came the voice of Harry in reply.

"Huh? How'd you work that out so fast?" Ron asked in surprise.

Back when they were at school, Harry had been even worse at maths than Ron. He gave a smug grin before holding up his phone, the calculator app visible on the screen.

"You've got the answer, now can you stop muttering to yourself trying to work it out?" Harry pleaded, letting out a huff of frustration and glaring at Ron. "You've been here two weeks, and today you're going home. There's no bloody need to complicate it with mathematics."

Since learning he was to be discharged later today, Ron had taken to calculating aloud how long he had spent at the hospital since his injury. This, of course, pissed off his best friend, who had sat nearby enduring it all throughout.

Never missing an opportunity to rile up Harry, Ron grinned to himself and asked, "To work out the seconds, I just need to times that by sixty, right?"

It had the desired effect. Harry jumped to his feet and held his phone menacingly in front of him.

"I swear, if you start doing more calculations, I will beat you with this phone," he yelled. "I can't take it anymore! You're bringing back awful memories of Mr Snape and his trigonometry lessons."

Ron gave an involuntary shudder and decided it was time to stop messing. No one deserved to relive the memories of their old maths teacher—his hooked nose, yellow teeth, and greasy hair were the stuff of nightmares.

"Sorry. I'm just nervous," Ron said. "I don't think I'm ready to go home just yet," he added with a whisper.

"It's okay to be a little scared or nervous—"

"I'm not scared, just nervous," Ron interrupted.

"If you say so," Harry affirmed. "I'm just saying, once you get home, you'll be well looked after. You'll have therapy to talk about your thoughts with someone who knows what they're talking about, physiotherapy with proper experts who'll have you walking in no time. Ginny, Lavender and I will be there to support you too."

Ron just grunted in reply and turned to look away from Harry, hiding the tears that were threatening to fall. Clearly, his best friend didn't understand the issue, Ron would be a burden, and that's why he was so bothered by going home. At least here at the hospital, nurses were being paid to look after him. They knew what they signed up for and did it knowing they would be compensated, but at home? Lavender, Harry and Ginny weren't going to be paid to take care of him, and they were all making a sacrifice that he could never repay.

Ron didn't want to be a burden. Ron didn't want to go home.

Hagrid wheeled Ron out to the car park at noon, as Lavender and Ginny walked alongside him. Ron received his discharge papers, prescriptions, and many words of assurance that he would get better as he prepared to finally leave St. Mungo's Hospital.

"I'll be seeing you soon, so it's not goodbye just yet, Ron," Hagrid said, coming to a stop at the pick-up area. "You'll be back for your physiotherapy, won't you?"

He gave Ron a firm clap on the shoulder, causing him to buckle slightly under its force.

"Course," Ron gasped, trying to recover.

Harry eventually arrived with the car to take Ron home. Hagrid carefully helped Ron into the backseat before folding the wheelchair and placing it into the boot. The pair then had a final discussion about using the wheelchair as Ron looked wistfully out of the car window towards the hospital building.

He was broken out of his staring when a warm hand slipped into his own and gave it a squeeze. Looking up, he saw Lavender watching him with a knowing look on her face.

"I'm proud of you, Ron," she said, leaning into him as her eyes watered. "You just need to continue being brave for a little longer. We'll get through it together."

Just as Harry and Ginny clambered into the front seats, Ron reached up and wiped away her tears with his thumb before nodding in agreement.

The drive back to Ron's flat in Greenwich was short and quiet. Harry unloaded the wheelchair from the boot, set it up, and helped Ron out of the car. It was here that Ron faced his first minor adjustment. The stairs.

Ever since Ron signed his first professional contract with Chudley United at eighteen, he had lived at this same Greenwich flat. It offered a view of the River Thames, was close to Chudley United's stadium and training complex, and nearby Harry and Ginny's house. Whilst the flat had a lift capable of reaching Ron's floor, he had never once used it, instead always taking the stairs, something that was now impossible.

Harry wheeled him into the lobby of the building, pressed the lift button and waited until it arrived. Entering the lift, Ron was surprised at how cramped it was with the four of them squeezed inside. His mind immediately recalled the crushing feeling of claustrophobia he had experienced almost daily with the CT scans at the hospital. Snapping his eyes shut, he waited for the ride to be over.

Feeling relieved when the doors finally opened, and they exited onto the third floor, Ron let out several steadying breaths as they entered his flat. Someone had clearly visited earlier to tidy up, as the flat was immaculate, even more so than how Ron usually kept it.

Ron wheeled himself into the living area as Harry lounged on the sofa. Ginny went off into the kitchen to brew some tea whilst Lavender stood on the spot, bouncing on the tips of her toes.

"Ron, you need to cover your eyes. I have a surprise," she said, her face giddy with excitement.

"What? Come on, Lav, I don't need anything right now," Ron said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Please, Ron! Just do it. I promise it's going to be good," Lavender demanded, running off into the spare bedroom.

Exchanging a bewildered look with Harry, Ron closed his eyes and waited. Lavender did not return for several minutes. Growing frustrated, Ron called out, "How much longer do I have to do this?"

"Do what?" came Ginny's voice as she returned with a tray laden with cups of tea.

"Lavender says she's got a surprise for him. Nuh-uh, no peeking mate," Harry called out, laughing at Ron sitting there with his eyes shut tight.

Ron listened as Lavender entered the room and placed something down in front of him. It sounded large.

"Okay, you can open them now," she said.

Opening his eyes, Ron saw a large, plain brown box in front of him, and there seemed to be something moving inside. He opened the flaps with trepidation before recoiling in horror. Inside the box was a hideously ugly pug. It had bulging, bloodshot eyes, its face was short and wrinkly, and it seemed to resemble a pig.

"Fucking hell—you got me an ugly dog?" Ron asked, appalled at the state of the creature.

"He's not ugly. He's a cute little recovery dog. Having a dog helps with the healing process," Lavender said with her arms on her hips, looking insulted.

"Well, I don't see a lab coat or a stethoscope on him, and I doubt he's got a medical licence," Ron quipped.

Harry and Ginny both bounded out of their seats and rushed over to have a look. Harry let out a yelp of surprise, which he quickly recovered into a sneeze. Whereas Ginny took one look at the pug and burst out into laughter.

"He looks like a pig! Are—are you sure—sure you didn't get him from a farm?" she asked, doubled over in hysterics.

"Forget it. I'll take the poor thing back to the shelter in the morning," Lavender snapped, attempting to gather the box back up.

"The shelter? What'll happen to him there?" Harry asked.

"He'll be put back in this tiny cage with several other dogs who will bully and rape him. He'll rarely get any exercise or food, and, eventually, if they don't find another home for him, he'll be euthanized," Lavender said with a loud sniff.

Harry looked around the room as if hoping someone would contradict her, a stricken look upon his face. Ron felt sympathy for his best friend, who had grown up as an orphan, and quickly said, "Fine, I'll keep him."

Lavender's face lit up into a smile, and she leant down to give Ron a kiss on the cheek.

"What's his name? I still think he looks like a pig," Ginny commented as she eyed the dog.

Ginny took a few steps back from the box and knelt down.

"Here, Pig! Here boy!" she called, clapping her hands at the dog. The dog let out a bark of satisfaction and leapt out of the box and into Ginny's outstretched arms.

"Well, I guess that's his name now," Harry laughed, moving closer to Ginny to ruffle the dog's fur.

Ron let out a groan of disappointment. Who the hell names their dog Pig? He already knew it would be useless to try to call the animal anything else now. The name had already stuck. Ron would have to wheel around with a recovery pug named Pig.

"He'll be good for you, I promise," Lavender said as she leaned down to capture his lips.

Breaking the kiss, Ron grumbled to himself, "Man's best friend," before pulling Lavender back in for another.

Ginny left soon after meeting Pig, and Lavender had popped out for some groceries and Ron's prescriptions. The boys, meanwhile, wasted away the afternoon watching football.

Ron didn't have the opportunity to keep up with the progress of Chudley United's league games whilst at the hospital. Even though Harry had filled him in or Percy occasionally stopped by with the back pages of the newspapers, Ron was eager to finally watch some live football. How would the team fare without him?

He shouldn't have bothered to watch. They were being obliterated.

Forced to play their backup goalkeeper, thirty-five-year-old Jeremy Corbyn, the team had been completely blown away by the opposition, Chelsea FC. Corbyn had somehow fumbled several easy saves and was clearly out of his depth. By the time he had fished the ball out from his net a third time, the Chelsea fans were singing in full force.

"Oh, Jeremy Corbyn… Oh, Jeremy Cooorbyn…"

At half-time, Harry refilled their teacups with fresh tea and added a plate of Jammy Dodger biscuits.

"I forgot to mention," Harry said, dunking a biscuit into his tea. "Your first therapy session is at four on Monday, with a Hermione Granger. Judging by the name, I bet she's an old dinosaur. Lavender's got the address."

"Shakespeare," Ron said.

"The Romeo and Juliet guy?"

"Yeah. Hermione was the name of one of his characters. Did you ever pay attention in English? Ron asked, turning to Harry.

"Nah, I was too busy thinking about playing football after class," Harry replied with a grin.

Ron smiled before getting lost in the memories of a simpler time. Their shared love of football was the driving force behind Harry and Ron's friendship, and it would later result in successful careers for both of them.

"I'm not great at talking about my feelings. Can't I just skip the therapy sessions? Focus on just the rehab?" Ron asked, pushing away the memories of his youth.

"No," Harry sighed, clearly frustrated. Ron had asked this question several times over the past two weeks. "You need to follow the recovery plan set by the doctor and the club, and it's part of your contract. Don't fuck it up by deviating."

"Fine, fine. I heard you the first hundred times you said it," Ron muttered under his breath.

Harry and Ron endured the remainder of the match and were glad to turn off the television when the full-time whistle blew. Chelsea had won six-nil.

"Jesus Christ, they're completely fucked without you," Harry moaned.

"Poor Corbyn, he's a decent guy. He was planning on retiring at the end of this season, too. What a way to go out," Ron said, shaking his head.

Ron's new pet, Pig, chose this moment to scratch at the front door, indicating his desire to go for a walk. Sighing to himself, Ron looked at Harry and asked, "Can you take me to the pet store? Guess Pig's going to need some supplies."

Harry downed his remaining tea, grabbed a biscuit from the plate he had served earlier, and stood up.

"Yeah, let's go," he said, shoving a whole Jammy Dodger into his mouth.