Chapter 11 - The Grass is Green

The tension between Ron and Lavender following the visit to St. Mungo's persisted during the ride home, well into the evening at their flat, and throughout the following day. Waking up early on Thursday and eager to avoid another day like the two before, Ron fired off a text to Harry inviting him over to spend the afternoon before slumping back into his pillow.

Early mornings were once a time for solitude and reflection for Ron. During his morning run, he would have time to analyse his match performance, think about the future, reflect on his thoughts and feelings, and enjoy the time to himself. Since that was no longer a possibility right now, Ron settled for quiet contemplation in bed. But, all he could seem to focus on were the harsh tones he and Lavender had used over the last two days. The venom they had exchanged back and forth during dinner rang out inside his head, causing him to wince at the memory.

Feeling guilty for his comments towards Lavender at the car park, Ron reached an arm over to her side of the bed but found it was cold and empty.

Turning his head, he saw the made sheets and stacked pillows on the other side of the bed, looking as if no one had slept there through the night. Grabbing his phone to check the time, he confirmed that it was only six-thirty—far too early for Lavender to be up.

Frowning to himself, Ron looked around the room for signs of Lavender's presence. Nothing looked out of place or missing. Perhaps she had awoken early to prepare him an apology breakfast, he thought to himself, ignoring the uneasiness that had developed in his stomach.

Lavender couldn't have just left him, could she? Or had his reaction been the last straw, and she had finally taken the out he kept throwing in her face?

She didn't want to be here, and now she's gone.

Disgusted with himself, Ron yanked his pillow from under his head and placed it over his face. He took a deep breath before releasing a muffled roar filled with anguish and despair into it.

"What on earth are you yelling about?" the voice of Lavender came from the doorway of the bathroom.

Ron allowed the pillow to fall away from his face to look up at her as she stood towelling her wet hair.

"You're—you're here?" Ron spluttered, relief flooding through him as his eyes began to water.

Lavender peered at him in confusion before answering, "Well, I live here now, don't I? Of course, I'm here."

She walked around the room to the dressing table with just a towel wrapped around her. Ron watched, mesmerised as the water droplets cascaded down her hair and onto her exposed back and as the towel clung to her damp and curvaceous form.

He continued to ogle her as she got dressed, momentarily forgetting she had just caught him yelling into his pillow.

He snapped back to focus when Lavender spoke once more, "I'm going to get you ready for St. Mungo's and then head to work once I've dropped you off."

Ron could only muster a weak "Oh," in response as he brushed the escaped tears from his eyes.

"So, what were you yelling about?" she asked.

"Uh—well, Chudley United are playing Corbyn in goal again this weekend, and well, you know how hopeless he is," Ron lied, doing his best to push aside the voice in his head. That's another lie added to the tally it kept reminding him. "But you're not due back to work for another week."

Lavender's shoulders appeared to sag as she replied, "My career is important, and I want to pursue this. Things are tense between us, and I deserve a break."

There it was again, Ron thought—guilt.

"I'm sorry things are this way, Lav. If that's what you need, then I support it."

What way things were exactly, Ron wasn't sure he could describe. The partnership they had formed over the years together was crumbling around them, and Ron knew the blame lay with him. Lavender was here making the sacrifice, putting her aspirations and life on hold and taking one for the team. For him. He, meanwhile, was shutting her out and lying his ass off at every opportunity.

"Ron, I meant what I said. I'll be here for you. I need—need some me time, you know?" Lavender explained, walking over and leaning down to plant a kiss on his lips.

Just as he was about to open his mouth and deepen the kiss, she pulled away and looked down at him with a stern face.

"Time to get you freshened up and ready for your appointment," she said, retreating to the bathroom and leaving a stung Ron behind.

It would have been foolish for Ron to think any of the bad blood between Lavender and himself had evaporated after their brief morning reconciliation and kiss. During the drive to the hospital, Lavender weaved through traffic at breakneck speed as Ron clung to his seat with his eyes clamped shut in terror.

She hurled expletives at her fellow drivers and pedestrians alike for either lingering at a green light for a split second too long or crossing the road at a slow pace. Ron was flung from side to side as she took each corner at speed, navigating through the busy streets of London like a Formula One driver. The concept of brakes seemed to be foreign to her, as she twice narrowly avoided colliding with other vehicles, having only just managed to stop with inches to spare.

"Lav, you need to slow down!" Ron bellowed as she surged through an amber light seconds before it turned red.

"No! We're going to be late," she snarled back in response.

Deciding it was safest to avoid furthering her state of anger, Ron opted to keep his mouth shut until they reached their destination. If she had maintained a safe and steady speed, they would still have made it to the hospital on time, but Ron suspected she was referring to something else. His session was scheduled for nine, as was the start of Lavender's shift at the Tate Modern. Perhaps she planned to drop him off early to ensure she made it to work on time?

As they pulled into the car park of St. Mungo's, Lavender continued to grumble and moan, this time about the lack of available parking spaces. Instead of driving around to look for a free spot, she sped up towards the entrance of the physiotherapy department as the car violently mounted the pavement and several onlookers dashed out of the way in fear. She stopped the car and applied the handbrake before exiting to withdraw Ron's wheelchair.

Lavender bundled him out of the car, his head smacking the frame of the door on the way, before wheeling him over to Hagrid, who stood watching, his mouth agape.

"Bye, Ron. I'll see you later for pickup," Lavender said.

"Thanks, Lav. Have a…" Ron started, but Lavender had rushed back to the car and jumped in without even waiting to hear his reply. "… Good day," he finished lamely as the car and Lavender sped off.

"Someone's in a bit of a rush," Hagrid observed, his voice gruff and aggrieved. "Come on, Ron, let's get you inside. Flitwick's ready for you."

Ron said nothing and instead tried to resist the harsh shade of red creeping up his neck, face, and ears as Hagrid wheeled him inside.

After yet another physically draining massage at the deft hands of Filius Flitwick, Ron needed a breather to recover before resuming his exercises. As Cedric set him into a chair amongst a fellow group of patients, Ron noticed that today the physiotherapy department was a lot busier than the last time. More people were milling around the various activities, and Ron spotted a few who looked like they weren't even patients taking part. There were children, families, and the elderly all gathered around the spacious area.

"Thursday's here are a little different," Albus explained as Ron continued to observe the room. "Cedric likes to include family members and local groups for the day. He says it helps us feel closer to home and promotes positive energy."

"Always got something planned, Diggory does," Aberforth said, leaning in to join the conversation. "He seems to sparkle with energy. I don't know where he finds it, but I reckon it's drugs."

Ron snorted with laughter at Aberforth's claim as Cedric cleared his throat and called for everyone's attention.

"Welcome, everyone! It's Thursday, and you know what that means?"

Ron watched as Albus, Aberforth, and just about everyone else yelled back, "Zumba Thursday!"

"What's Zumba Thursday?" he asked as the crowd clapped and cheered.

"Just you wait," Albus replied, chuckling as his dazzling blue eyes sparkled with youthful energy despite his age.

Completely thrown off guard, Ron was unsure of what to do. He had been eager to try the parallel bars again and practice standing up. His recovery was of paramount importance, and Ron had no interest or desire to spend the day dancing. It wasn't as if he could move around much anyway.

"Ron?" Cedric called as he walked over to the seating area. "I know I mentioned trying those bars again today during the last session. Zumba takes place during the last hour, so if you want to spend some time on the bars now, they're free?"

Feeling relieved that he wouldn't be wasting three hours, Ron gave a quick nod, eager to get started.

The hour spent on the parallel bars today was just as gruelling as the time on Tuesday. Ron pushed himself mentally and physically to his absolute maximum, straining and urging his legs to bend and propel himself into a standing position. The pain in his elbows was now excruciating, but still, he persevered. He was determined to use his negative thoughts from the previous two days and channel every bit of confusion, resentment, and anger into something positive for himself.

Taking a deep breath and gritting his teeth, he gripped the two bars on either side of himself and tried to hoist himself out of his wheelchair. With a bellowing roar as his muscles burnt with searing pain and the veins in his forearms threatened to burst from his skin, Ron lifted himself onto the bars and looked down.

His legs had risen several inches above the ground and were now hanging slack as his arms strained to hold him aloft.

"Cedric! I did it! I fucking did it!" Ron yelled out.

The physio beamed with pride as he rushed over to see for himself.

"That's it, mate," Cedric encouraged. "Now, try to transfer some of that weight to your legs. Here, I've got you."

Ron watched as Cedric moved the wheelchair away from underneath him before positioning himself under his armpits, ready to catch him if he fell. Taking several steadying breaths and trying to ignore the soreness in his arms, Ron lowered himself using the bars. He watched his feet make contact with the floor, but there was no sensation of touch to confirm it.

Throwing caution to the wind, he let his body weight transfer from his arms to his legs, hoping and praying he wouldn't crumble to a pathetic heap on the floor if his legs gave out.

Deciding to take it one further, Ron released his grip on the bars, only for his body to lurch sideways before his hip buckled and gave out from underneath him. Afraid that he was about to hit the floor in pain, he let out a yelp of surprise before Cedric's strong arms hooked him up and held him upright.

"I've got you," he said, sliding the wheelchair back under Ron and setting him down into it. "That was brilliant, Ron."

Ron slumped into the chair as disappointment coursed through him. He had once again failed. His absolute best was not good enough, and he now had nothing else left to give.

"Listen, I know you're disappointed, but don't be. No one is standing up after two hours. If you could, then you wouldn't have needed physiotherapy, to begin with," Cedric consoled. "You're progressing rapidly, and I'm confident you'll get it. But for now, it's the same as Tuesday. Rest, and then you can join in for the Zumba. You won't need your legs for that because you can always just wave your arms and nod your head along to the beat."

Ron gave a weak nod in acknowledgement and sat breathing hard in his wheelchair. Cedric made sure he was unhurt before wheeling him back to the seating area and handing him a large cup of water.

Ron, Albus and Aberforth were soon sitting together and preparing to share stories as Cedric's big group session kicked off. Grabbing a microphone, Cedric stood facing everyone as they assembled, neatly spaced apart and ready to dance. The participants closest to him consisted of energetic children and eager, lycra-clad adults. Meanwhile, situated towards the back were those limited in their movements or physically incapable of taking part.

"Hit the music!" Cedric instructed a nurse sitting by a laptop. A funky and upbeat rhythm erupted out around the space from the speaker system as Cedric dived straight in to demonstrate the moves. "Show me your best step-out, everyone."

He stepped his legs in and out whilst alternating his hip positions as the crowd followed along with varying degrees of skill.

Ron found the whole thing utterly ridiculous but spotted Albus nodding along to the beat with his eyes closed and a serene look upon his face. Taking a glance around the room, packed with other smiling faces and people having a great time, Ron soon found himself unable to resist the tug of the smile that formed on his face.

"Now we're going to jog on the spot, and if you're comfortable, throw in a few knee kicks like this!" Cedric called, switching to another move.

As Ron sat watching the participants, Aberforth leaned in and shouted over the noise, "He's high."

"What?" Ron asked, assuming he had misheard Aberforth over the loud music.

"Albus. He's high, I'm high, and I bet Cedric's on something even stronger," Aberforth explained, gesturing towards Albus, swirling his arms around in the air. Aberforth reached for the table beside him before holding out a Tupperware box for Ron. "Have a brownie."

"You're playing me on again, aren't you?" Ron asked, eyeing Aberforth and the brownies with suspicion. "Thanks, but I'm alright."

"There's weed in them," Albus said, leaning in and wiggling his eyebrows before grabbing a brownie and popping it into his mouth.

"I don't do drugs. It'll cost me my career if I get selected for testing."

"Surely, they're not testing you while you're recovering?" Albus asked. "Besides, it will leave your system fairly quickly, so you can stop before you go back to training."

Ron was still unsure. He valued his career above all else and failing a drugs test for marijuana usage seemed like a stupid way to lose it. But, Albus did have a point—he wasn't about to be drug tested anytime soon.

"Come on, kid. Just get high with us!" Aberforth barked, shaking the container at him.

Ron reluctantly popped a brownie into his mouth and began to chew.

As he swallowed the brownie, the two brothers nodded with encouragement, and it became clear to Ron the pair were high. Their eyes were glazed over, and they had matching lopsided grins on their faces as they bobbed their heads along to the music.

Albus leaned in once more and said, "Marijuana helps with the pain." Before adding, "It's medicinal," in air quotes.

Ron settled into his chair and felt himself begin to relax. The music drifted in through his ears, and it wasn't long before he too was affected by the earworm. Unsure of the speed and effectiveness of the weed he had just consumed, Ron popped another brownie into his mouth before swaying around with the music.

When the song changed to Mambo Number Five, Cedric called for a new dance move as Ron, Aberforth, and Albus sang along to the lyrics.

Eventually, Cedric called an early end to Zumba Thursday as the porters and families descended on the patients to take them home or return them to their wards. Too spaced out to notice that Albus and Aberforth had left his company, Ron continued to hum the lyrics to Waterloo by ABBA as he wheeled himself to the car park.

Realising that Lavender was not there waiting for him, Ron had the sudden urge to take his wheelchair for a drive. Grinning at his own marvellous idea, he propelled himself between the rows of parked cars and down the ramps leading to the various department entrances of St. Mungo's Hospital.

Several onlookers tutted and glared at the sight of him occupying the ramp spaces and weaving in and out between the cars. Ron, meanwhile, just laughed and made race car noises as he sped off around the car park.

Soon, however, his giddiness from the brownies morphed to paranoia and anxiety. He became increasingly aware of the disgruntled occupants within the car park and feared the worst. What was he even doing here, and how was he supposed to get home?

As his stomach lurched with hunger, Ron recalled the possible side effects of marijuana and realised he needed help. Could he ask a receptionist at the hospital for assistance? What if they reported him to the police or the football club?

"Fuck!" Ron swore.

He needed to contact someone he could trust to come and get him, someone who wouldn't judge him or turn him in. He needed someone like Harry—but who could he call? Ron spent several dazed and confused minutes attempting to work it out before the realisation struck him.

"Who needs someone like Harry when I've got a real Harry?" he shouted before chuckling at the reaction of a passer-by who had jumped at his sudden outburst. Pulling out his phone and squinting at the screen as it went in and out of focus, Ron dialled Harry's number.

It rang twice before Harry answered, "Lavender called me earlier to pick you up. I'm turning into the car park now."

"Thanks, Harry," Ron replied, feigning seriousness. "Remember, if you can't see me, I'll be the one with the ginger hair," he added, laughing uncontrollably at his poor attempt at a joke.

When Harry ended the call, Ron kept the phone to his ear, humming the tune to Weasley is our King until he spotted Harry's white Range Rover pull up beside him.

Harry leapt out and helped him into the car.

"Lavender called me out of the blue and asked me to pick you up," he said, climbing into the driver seat. "Said she was stuck at work and couldn't make it. I didn't know you finished early."

Ron, who was still in a state of paranoia, was desperate to get his situation off his chest. After all, confession was supposed to be good for the soul, and Harry seemed like a good listener.

"Harry, I'm high as hell."

Harry gave a brief look in Ron's direction and said, "Yeah, I reckon you'd need some morphine to help with pain during a physio session."

"No, Harry. I ate some brownies, and now I'm tripping balls!"

Harry looked over at Ron and scrutinised him before bursting into laughter.

"You? On drugs?" he said, now doubled over at the wheel. "Oh, what will the club say?"

Harry's comment set Ron off into a panicked, marijuana-induced frenzy.

"You're going to turn me in?" he howled. "Please, Harry! I didn't even want to. Albus and Aberforth, the old gits, convinced me to try some. Don't tell the club, please?"

"Calm down! I'm not going to tell anyone," Harry assured him before adding with a wink, "Bring me some next time."

"There's not going to be another next time! No more drugs for me, brownies too. Just promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Harry replied, resuming the drive home.

"It's just after everything that's happened and the whole Lavender thing. I just needed something to help me ease up."

"What Lavender thing?" Harry asked.

"We've been having issues lately, and things are tense between us, especially after Tuesday," Ron explained. "She flaked out of coming into the physio with me at the last second and went to work instead. Then she turned up thirty minutes late to pick me up, and we sorta just kept biting each other's heads off after that."

A dark expression passed over Harry's face for the briefest of moments at this explanation before being replaced by a look of restraint. Harry was holding back, and even in his current state, Ron knew him well enough to know he wanted to say something.

"Say it," Ron demanded.

At this, Harry launched into a tirade, "Who the fuck flakes out when their partner needs them for support? What a fucking shitty thing to do. Don't tell me it's this bullshit about energy and hospitals again?"

When Ron nodded in confirmation, Harry thumped the steering wheel in frustration and repeated, "It's fucking shitty. She's a shitty person. Don't try to defend her because I know you will. Okay, fine, so she didn't go inside, but how can she turn up late and leave you alone in the car park like that? And then act like she didn't do anything wrong? Fuck off."

When he finished, Harry was breathing hard, and his face was red from anger. Ron almost laughed at a mental image of smoke billowing from Harry's ears. However, the gravity of the situation overrode his marijuana influenced imagination.

He was taken aback by his best friend's outburst towards his girlfriend. Whilst Harry and Lavender had never been close enough to be friends, Ron had assumed no hostility between them existed. Hearing Harry's tirade now made him feel otherwise. It was here that Ron knew that his best friend would always be honest with him. Something that he was currently failing to do himself. If he couldn't get along with his girlfriend, and nor could his best friend, was the relationship with Lavender now doomed to fail?

Once again, deciding it was best to say nothing, Ron kept quiet until his stomach gave a loud grumble. Sighing to himself, he asked Harry, "Can you stop for drive-through? I'm starving."