Chapter 10 - New Signings

Lavender helped Ron to bed early on Monday night. Tomorrow he was off to his first physiotherapy session at St. Mungo's Hospital, where he would work on his ability to walk and run once more. Although Ron was eager to get started on this part of his recovery journey, he couldn't help but feel it was a little too soon—if he couldn't even feel anything in his legs, how would he move them?

It was like he was living out his recovery in fast-forward mode. Everything was just happening all too fast, but he wasn't sure if he was ready or prepared for the next step before it happened. It was all very conflicting, and Ron wished he had someone to discuss it with.

With a snort of derision, Ron realised he did have exactly that. Someone to talk to, someone who was paid to hear his thoughts and feelings and help process them. He had access to a professional who could guide him through the minefield that was Ronald Weasley's emotions. Hermione Granger, whom he now referred to as the therapist, was the one he was supposed to talk to, but he wouldn't be seeing her for another week.

Too busy in his own thoughts, Ron was reminded of his girlfriend Lavender's presence when the bed sank a little deeper as she climbed in beside him. Shoving his thoughts aside, Ron feigned sleep in the hopes of avoiding what he knew was coming.

Lavender snaked an arm around Ron and nibbled at the sensitive spot just behind his ears.

"Are you sure you can't talk about the sessions?" Lavender asked, breathing huskily over the spot she had nibbled. "Not even with me?"

Just as he had expected, she was going to try to coax information about his session out of him. Ignoring her mouth nibbling at his skin, Ron said nothing and remained still. This, of course, did nothing to deter Lavender, who slipped her hand inside his t-shirt and raked her fingernails across his back.

Ron couldn't hold back the groan that escaped him as Lavender dug her nails in deeper with each passing stroke across his back. She was playing dirty and winning. Usually, this would have excited Ron—he loved when Lavender took charge—but he had more pressing concerns.

"We don't have to let the injury stop any intimacy, you know?" she whispered. "We could talk or do other things…above the waist."

Sexual intimacy—a subject they had yet to breach in much detail. Because of the injury, Ron knew he couldn't perform in that area, as did Lavender. But since they had come home, it hadn't deterred her from trying to initiate intimacy with him, and each time, Ron had rebuffed her advances.

"I can't," Ron replied, indirectly answering both questions.

Lavender seemed to get the message. She abruptly withdrew her hand from under his shirt, rolled over to turn off the lamp beside her side of the bed, and went to sleep.

Teenage Ron would have had a heart attack if he could see his present self now. A beautiful woman latched on to him, desiring him, initiating the first move, and yet here he was, turning her down to think about his feelings. What on earth was wrong with him?

Any other time, Ron would feel guilty for not engaging in intimacy with Lavender, he enjoyed her company, and the sex was mind-blowing. But how could Ron satisfy her now with his restricted movement? Sure, there were ways he could do the deed, but right now, it just seemed like a logistical nightmare.

Of course, this was just a lie he had convinced himself was his reasoning for not being intimate with Lavender. Ron was an athlete who possessed impressive strength and stamina and therefore had no issues fornicating in unusual locations or positions. If he could have sex whilst carrying Lavender in an ice bath in Mykonos, he could pleasure her in a bed without his legs. Logistics be damned.

No, the reality was Ron was ashamed of keeping things from her, hiding his true feelings and thoughts and shutting her out. If he couldn't be open and honest with her about his thoughts and feelings, he certainly couldn't have sex with her. Ron considered himself a man of principle and sex after lying to someone listed high up on his list of scummy behaviour.

He had already lied to Lavender several times, and each lie just seemed to snowball out of control. That's the trouble with lying to those you care about—you've always got to maintain the lie going forward. Ron wasn't sure where the truth began, and the lies ended.

He would need to start being honest with someone.

Breakfast and the subsequent journey to St. Mungo's Hospital in the morning had been a tense affair. Lavender was clearly still upset at Ron's rejection of her advances the night before, as she maintained a stony demeanour throughout. She slammed down his plate of sausage and eggs with more force than necessary and huffed and glared at him when he had politely asked for the ketchup.

Her attitude changed when they arrived at the hospital. As Lavender helped Ron into his wheelchair, she was a lot more tender and offered him a weak smile when he had thanked her. As she wheeled him towards Hagrid, who was waiting for them at the entrance to the physiotherapy department, her smile seemed plastered and false.

"You okay?" Ron asked.

Lavender shook her head hesitantly and avoided looking at him as she mumbled, "If it's cool, I'll just wait here."

"It's going to take three hours," Ron explained.

"I know."

Ron couldn't help feeling disappointed and let down. Although he knew of Lavender's dislike of hospitals, he assumed she would be there to support him in this, just like she had during his initial stay after the injury.

"So what? You're just going to sit out here until then?" He asked, a slight edge in his voice.

"Actually, I was thinking of heading to work to make some more progress on my dress designs and artwork. Maybe then I have a chance of being selected to showcase some of it," she said, her expression changing to excitement.

"Right," Ron replied, unsure of what to say. He wanted her company and support throughout the intense physiotherapy. "I just assumed you'd be coming, considering you're on leave from work for a few weeks."

"I know, but honey, I don't want to mix that world and this world," she replied, gesturing between them and the hospital building. "It's like an energy thing, you know? Don't mix the positive energy with the negative energy. You really ought to read those articles by Sybill Trelawney I sent you. It explains it all."

Ron failed to stop his eyes from rolling. Lavender was into all sorts of energy and mystic mumbo jumbo, where everything had a meaning or cosmic fate.

Bitterly, Ron thought Lavender had made it clear, she didn't want to be here, and he wasn't about to try to convince her otherwise.

"Well, good luck with the designs then," he grumbled.

Lavender completely missed his aggrieved tone and instead hopped with excitement as she leant down to give him a kiss and said, "Good luck to you too. I'll be back to pick you up."

Once inside, Hagrid introduced Ron to his physio, a tall and good-looking man with dark hair called Cedric Diggory.

"Cedric here will be overseeing your recovery, but I'll be around to assist," Hagrid explained.

"Hey, Ron, let's get started. You'll have a few other patients of mine taking part with you each day. Everyone rotates between workouts and gets plenty of rest," Cedric Diggory explained. "Today, I'm going to get you started with some manual therapy, just to loosen you up a little. Then, hopefully, we can try to get you to stand up with some assistance."

Ron nodded. His nerves had spiked, and he wished Harry were here to give him some support. Still bitter at Lavender bailing at the last second, Ron tried to focus on the task ahead.

"Hagrid, Ron's ready when you are," Cedric called.

"What? Hagrid?" Ron yelped, terrified at the prospect of being manhandled by the burly man.

Hagrid and Cedric both shared a look before bursting out into laughter at Ron's reaction.

"Trust me, Ron. You'll be saying otherwise in thirty minutes. Once Flitwick is done with you, you'll be wishing it was me," Hagrid chuckled as he wheeled Ron into a private room.

The pair helped Ron into a massage bench and onto his back before leaving. Ron seriously doubted he would ever beg for Hagrid to be the one to massage him. The man was huge and looked capable of snapping Ron in half. Looking around the room, hoping to garner clues on his masseuse, Ron noted various tools and instruments on the wall and, oddly, a stepping stool beside the bench.

A squeaky cough emanated from the door, and Ron turned his head and saw nothing. Thinking he had imagined it, Ron turned his attention back to looking at the tools and instruments.

"Ahem!" came the same squeaky voice.

Ron looked around the room and again saw no one there.

"Down here, boy! Do use your eyes, won't you?" the voice barked.

Looking down to his side, Ron was surprised to see a short, wizened old man glaring up at him. Short was the polite way of putting it because, in Ron's eyes, he was a midget. The man couldn't have been more than four feet tall, and now the stepping stool made sense—how else would he reach the bench?

Realising both Hagrid and Cedric had played him, Ron relaxed and greeted the short man, "Sorry. Hey, I'm Ron."

"Filius Flitwick, a pleasure to meet you, Ron," the man greeted before hopping onto the stool.

Ron was used to deep tissue massages as a footballer and assumed he was prepared for what was to come. They were often painful but vital for recovery between matches over a season, with games every few days. Once you got over the initial sensation, it helped promote muscle recovery by increasing blood flow and reducing inflammation. What he wasn't prepared for was the sheer strength of the short, old man.

"Argh! Fuck!" Ron yelped.

Flitwick gripped Ron's arm like a vice and worked the muscle like a ball of dough, kneading and folding it as he worked down towards Ron's legs. Ron expected to feel nothing as the old man approached his waist. But he hadn't accounted for Flitwick's wizened hands and their ministrations.

As Flitwick pressed into Ron's waist and down to his thigh, Ron felt a slight twitching sensation deep inside his thigh muscle. It was faint but definitely present. Euphoria exploded inside Ron's mind. In just mere minutes, Flitwick had helped him feel something in his legs. Imagine what he could achieve in a few weeks or months?

Thinking back to his fears from last night, Ron berated himself for feeling like everything was moving too fast. He was making progress, and those around him were helping to make it happen. So what if it happened quickly? As long as the end result was positive. Ron made a mental note to discuss this with the therapist on Monday, eager to share his thought processes. With his mind in overdrive, Ron watched as the old man completed his work.

"That was incredible! I felt something in my thighs. It was like a heartbeat," Ron explained as Filius Flitwick had concluded the massage, his face lit up with excitement.

"It is progress, but it will take time. Don't rush it," advised the old man before asking, "How are you feeling?"

"Sore, everything feels like it's on fire. Not negatively, but yeah, everything just burns as it used to after a football match. But I think I'm at my limit for today," Ron replied, breathing hard as he recovered from the massage.

"Good. Then I think it best you just sit and recover for a bit before continuing with Cedric. I'll let him know to give you thirty minutes rest."

Flitwick then stepped off the stool and left the room.

Cedric seated Ron in a plush leather chair with a cup of cool water to recover from the pummeling he had received from Flitwick. Around him sat three other patients, all vastly older than himself. Two ancient-looking men, with dazzling blue eyes just like his own, sat conversing between themselves. Beside them, a middle-aged woman sat knitting as she listened to music on her headphones, a zen look on her face.

Ron focussed on the two elderly men, who looked like they could be related. They had the same blue eyes and long, majestic white beards that reached their stomachs. The pair must be brothers, Ron thought to himself. Too busy admiring their beards, he realised a split second too late that they had both spotted him staring and gave himself away as he jerked his gaze elsewhere.

"How old are you, kid?" growled one of the men.

"Twenty-four," Ron answered, hoping he hadn't offended them with his gawking.

The man shook his head in response, a look of pity on his face as he said, "Damn. A good youth wasted. Practically still a baby, and you've ended up here."

"Leave him alone, Aberforth. Don't worry about him. He's just toying with you. What did you do to end up here, then?" asked the other man, who looked to be the elder of the two.

"Got injured playing football," Ron explained. "S3, L4 and L5 vertebrae."

Both men let out puffs of air at his explanation, as Aberforth said, "Tough break, kid. The more letters and numbers, the worse it is. I'm Aberforth Dumbledore, and I've got an L1. This is my older brother Albus, and he's got a Th10."

They both reached out a hand for Ron to shake, which he gladly accepted before introducing himself, "I'm Ron, Ron Weasley."

"Listen to me, this SCI stuff is bullshit. First, you lose all the muscle and strength in your legs. Then on the off chance, you get to walk again, your legs are about as useful as an inflatable dartboard," Aberforth bemoaned. "And if that isn't enough, your dick becomes a constant source of disappointment."

Ron stared dumbfounded at his sudden outburst and looked to Albus to confirm that Aberforth was being serious. Albus, however, had a twinkle in his eye as he tried to stifle his laughter before giving up and chuckling at Ron's reaction.

"He makes a good point. You're a young, handsome lad. I'm sure you see a lot of action with the ladies," Dumbledore said before adding, "or men."

"Just the one lady, her name's Lavender," Ron replied.

"Well, take it from us, kid. Our things stopped working without help long ago, but even those little blue pills ain't raising this ship's sails," Aberforth grumbled.

"Just don't try to pop two or three, thinking it will somehow increase the strength. It doesn't, and you and your lady friend will just be disappointed. Don't ask me how I know—" Albus said, with a look of seriousness on his face as he trailed off.

Ron was speechless and didn't know how to react. Should he laugh it off or accept their word for it? Would he really have to live out the rest of his life impotent and incapable of performing sexually?

Just as he was beginning to get himself worked up, Aberforth and Albus both broke out into childlike giggles, clutching at one another as they observed Ron freaking out.

"We're just yanking your leg. You're young, so if you recover enough to walk, you'll recover enough to shag. Doesn't matter how long it takes. It's like riding a bike. You never really forget," Albus said, giving Ron a wink.

"I've got to tell you, I was really nervous about this whole physiotherapy thing, and then I met you guys, and boy, do I feel better," Ron replied, grinning at the pair.

The trio broke out into raucous laughter, loud enough to disturb the woman wearing headphones and knitting, causing her to glare at them.

Cedric Diggory eventually came over to collect them one by one as they went off to do their various physiotherapy exercises. When it was Ron's turn, Cedric wheeled him over to a set of parallel walking bars.

"We have to get you to stand up before you can get to walking," Cedric explained. "These bars will let you use your upper body to support yourself. I'm not expecting you to pull it off straight away, and neither should you. Push yourself, but don't overexert yourself."

Ron spent a gruelling hour trying to use his arms to hoist himself out of the chair and into a standing position. He grunted and groaned as he repeatedly willed his legs to perform a miracle. Unfortunately, as expected, they remained limp and unmoving. It wasn't long before Ron started to feel disparaged and disappointed in himself for not succeeding, despite Cedric's earlier advice. Ron never considered himself egotistical, but he couldn't help but feel resentful at not having mastered this physical activity. He was, of course, an athlete, and his mentality was always that of a drive and determination to succeed.

Taking a deep breath, Ron tried once more to heave himself up using the parallel bar. With his arms quivering under the strain of his weight, his elbow gave out, and he crumpled into his wheelchair with a pitiful groan. Cedric, who had been observing, rushed forward to check on him.

"I think that's enough for you today, Ron," he said, pushing him away from the bars and back to the plush seating area. "Take a seat and recover your breath, and when you're back on Thursday, we'll give you a fresh crack at it."

Ron sniffed in reply, unable to find the words or energy as he breathed hard and wiped away the sweat dripping down his face. As Cedric helped him out of the wheelchair and into the armchair beside Albus, Ron reached for the water dispenser nearby, desperate to quench his thirst and have a few moments to recover.

The last hour of the physiotherapy session was spent with Albus and Aberforth discussing their life and the various tales of their many adventures. The brothers were from a remote location in Scotland, where they owned and operated a farm since they had retired. Aberforth was once the landlord of a rowdy Scottish pub called The Hog's Head. He regaled Ron with stories of the various football hooligans and patrons he had served over the years.

"Champions League final, ninety-nine. An absolute madhouse it was. Sir Alex Ferguson, Scottish born and bred, heading towards a treble-winning season for Manchester United. The place was packed to the rafters with United fans and Scotsmen alike. We had to back our boy. He was about to make history," Aberforth told him. "When old Ole Solskjaer popped it into the net in added time, the roof almost blew off the place. More beer spilt and flung around that night than drunk, I tell ya."

Ron smiled at the memory. Although he wasn't a Manchester United fan, every football fan knew the story of the treble season, and every player dreamt of one day experiencing that euphoria.

Albus, meanwhile, was once a headmaster at a prestigious private school in a remote location in Scotland. Many of his former students had become incredibly successful or famous people in the public eye. Ron enjoyed trying to guess who they were based on the clues Albus gave him.

"It's over, Anakin. I have the high ground!" Albus quoted.

"What?" Ron exclaimed. "You taught—you taught Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

"No," Albus chuckled. "I taught Ewan McGregor."

Ron was in awe. Harry and he had loved Star Wars, having watched all of them during one summer that Harry had come to stay. He couldn't wait to tell him about this.

All too soon, the three-hour session was up. Cedric waved goodbye to them all as the various patients either went home or returned to their wards with Hagrid and a few other porters. Albus and Aberforth were permanent residents at St. Mungo's Hospital, and Hagrid had offered to take them back.

"See you, Weasley," Aberforth called as he was wheeled away.

"Until Thursday, Ron," Albus said with a nod of his head.

Ron waved goodbye to the brothers as he wheeled himself out to the car park, searching for Lavender. Slowly, as the minutes ticked by, the car park began to empty, and still Lavender was nowhere to be found. Thirty minutes later, growing frustrated and a little cold, Ron pulled out his phone and dialled her number.

It went straight to voicemail.

Checking his signal, Ron tried again and got the same result. He was just about to give up and dial Harry when a car honked loudly behind him, startling him and causing the phone to slip out of his hand and fall to the floor.

It was Lavender. She hopped out of the car and rushed over, her face flustered and harassed.

"Won-Won! I know. I'm sorry. Please don't be mad," she pleaded, rushing over to pick up the phone and wheel him over to the car.

"I've been waiting for over thirty minutes. I even called," Ron sighed.

"My battery died, and I didn't know."

"Lav, you don't have to do this, you know?" Ron whispered as she helped him into the car. "I gave you an out."

"I said I'm sorry. I know I fucked up!" Lavender snapped. Seeming to regret her outburst, she added, "Look, let's just go home. I'm sorry, okay? I'm doing my best, and this isn't easy."

Ron was pissed but said nothing. His bitter thoughts from this morning resurfacing once more. She didn't want to be here, and he wasn't about to try to convince her otherwise. He repeated this to himself mentally all the way home. She didn't want to be here, and he wasn't about to try to convince her otherwise.