Hogwarts' Last Fool

Ron awoke in the middle of the night – that night – the night they first saw the dog, Fluffy. Harry was awake – as he'd find him many, many times over the following years, staring through the window into the murky waters of the lake.

"You know," Ron said, yawning mid-sentence. "We never got any food yesterday – I'm dying here."

Harry, startled, cast his eyes to him when he spoke up, his green eyes impossibly bright in the darkness.

"I'm not hungry, Ron," he said, looking back out the window the way he had before Ron woke. "You go on ahead."

"And leave me with all the blame when I get caught?" Ron leaned out of his bed. "Scared?"

"Really? That's how you're gonna convince me?"

"Is it working?"

"Well – not really."

"C'mon, Harry!" Ron groaned, sitting up in his bed. "I'll get lost like a – well, a lot before finding it."

Harry laughed. "It's right beneath the Great Hall, Ron. And you don't need to moan about it!"

"I wasn't moaning! I was groaning – more manly."

"It was moaning, Ron."

"Okay, maybe it was." Ron grinned. "Just a little. Are you coming?"

"Sure." Harry looked out the window one last time, looking downwards. Down, down, down…

What was he looking at? Looking for something lurking maybe in the muddy waters of the lake? Looking, no doubt, for answers to questions only he could see. Well, Ron knew fuck all what was going on inside that head. Even years later, when friendship and hardship had forged their bond into something unbreakable, he'd still surprise Ron at every turn of event.

Ron sighed. Shit. Looking back, he know he had been insensitive back in the Trophy Room, gushing over his father's achievements without considering what it might do to Harry. What it might mean to him.

Ron understood that. Now. And afterwards. And always. He had been a bit of a dick, inconsiderate. Not thinking what it all meant for a boy like Harry – for an orphan…

"I'm sorry, Harry," Ron told him, almost out of the blue, conveying his thoughts with utmost sincerity. But it was, at some level, an honest lie. White as the purest of snow. Ron barely even understood it himself. "You know, for–"

"It's all right, Ron."

Somehow Harry got what was going on through his head. It wasn't all right, but it was what it was. Life's not fair and all that.

"At least we got to see a giant dog monster, right?"

Harry laughed. Years unbecoming on a face so young bled off his face, as his smile became genuine. And wasn't that a sombre thought, Ron felt – to think… what kind of childhood had let to the boy before him?

And he was only eleven years of age.

Ron searched for his clothes, scattered on the floor; he'd be in bed sometime later and therefore didn't want to put on something clean.

"I can't see a thing in this room!" Ron said. "Where's the damn light?"

"Here – wait a sec."

Ron waited. Suddenly there was a bright source of light. Looking to his left, at Harry, he saw him with his wand in hand, aloft, a pulsing, white light at the tip, banishing the shadows.

"Thank you." As an afterthought, curious about Harry rather than the spell, he added, "What was the incantation?"

He grinned sheepishly – almost apologetically. Another swish of his wand saw the light raised gently into the air above their heads, floating on a wind you couldn't feel, filling the whole room with its bright presence.

"Sorry, Ron. Dunno. It just… well, it comes to me."

Ron nodded. Secretly resenting it somewhat. Growing up in a household of seven kids – most of them competitive as brothers are wont to be – and being the youngest… Ron had learned that recognition was something you earned. Love, at times, could be given – especially to a child of loving parents – but not respect, not… attention.

When Ron had come about, the Weasley household were already full of boys, capable and special in their own unique ways – and Ron Weasley… well, Ron Weasley was decidedly average – with decidedly average hobbies… the last son in an already too long list of sons, followed by the sister – the girl – that was always wanted.

Ron knew that love – and he had been loved – could go hand in hand with neglect. Knew it first-hand.

He also knew that love could be forgotten. That a son could be forgotten…

And it struck him that Harry might just be lying, because he wanted to stand out – like Ron wanted to stand out. That he indeed knew the spells he used, but didn't want to share. That he wanted – needed – to feel special somehow. To live up to the legend that clung to his scar. Ron thought that maybe Harry needed to be better than him.

It was a preposterous thought, of course. But to an envious, eleven-year-old boy it made all kinds of sense.

But Ron knew, even back then, in his hearts of heart, knew Harry wasn't lying. It just… came to him. As a thought out of nowhere. True inspiration, which was impossible to fake, shone from him. You could see it. Whenever Ron saw him thinking about the magic he didn't know but wanted to do, to create, his eyes growing distant, that green light in his eyes dimming – contemplating it, as he'd say – Ron could see… see his mind slipping to some place Ron's own could not go and then brighten with comprehension moments later.

True talent. True genius. That annoying thing you couldn't replicate no matter how hard you work, or how many years you stare it in the face.

Ron knew it. Had seen it, too, in the twinkle of Albus Dumbledore's eyes. Being in the same room as him, he got the feeling of Harry's future. He got the sense that the old headmaster had known what went through Ron's head – went through all their heads – perhaps even better than they themselves knew.

It was… beyond infuriating. His brothers and their shadows had been one thing – how was he ever supposed to compete with this – stand out from something like the magnitude of Harry Potter?

It was infuriating to be around sometimes. Seeing his mediocrity painted for all to see on the canvas of life. Anybody – experiencing what it was like to be around someone vastly superior to them – anybody saying otherwise was a lying arsehole as far as Ron was concerned.

Almost from the moment he met Harry he knew he'd go places. He'd make something of himself. Destined for the stars or whatever shit you'd call it. Harry would never worry about such things as making ends meet, employment, paying the bills… getting the girl – the simple shit all fret about. His fame, his talent… whatever… it'd see him through such worries.

Ron was not… that. His silent dreams, from before Hogwarts, dreams of being special, of being revered, of stepping out of his brothers shadows, were shattered the moment he met Harry. Befriended him. His shadow was simply too great for his inferior talents. And even if Ron wanted to let go of him, say goodbye and chase his own way, he knew it was impossible.

Harry has this way, Ron thought, of drawing you in – once you got close enough.

And Ron loved Harry – even though he'd barely known the other boy for a week. Loved him like he loved his own brothers and sister.

And he knew it was a selfish feeling. He knew – feeling like this wasn't right. He felt bad just thinking about it. He knew you were not supposed to be envious of your friend's fortune. It was not Harry's fault. It was his fault. And… it was not his fault. Not anymore. Maybe it never truly was. He was the brother that should have been a sister, but… he was loved… he was…

His wand belonged to Charlie… his second oldest brother…

Ron considered that for a moment, as he often did. What did that tell him? What was an eleven-year-old boy supposed to do with that?

Charlie had outgrown it one day – that shit happened apparently. And suddenly his mother saw a way to save some money, never realizing what it might mean to him, both for his education, but also symbolically for an eleven-year-old boy, who was already riddled with insecurities because of the tales of his awesome big brothers.

Well – you're in second line, son. And mummy just won the lottery of the day.

Even Ron figured that out pretty quickly.

Fuck that whining, Ron thought, moving on. Nobody cares, anyway.

They sneaked into the kitchen, got they food, sneaked back without getting caught and were sound asleep within the hour. No fuss, no buzz.

At least Ron was sound asleep. He didn't think Harry slept much that night.

The weeks drew on, and somewhere within the weeks the Slytherin House stopped harassing them about what they'd cost. Sure they didn't forget the incident entirely. Some of the upper years – especially the seventh years, who known nothing but success – certainly didn't forgive them, but Ron and Harry learned to live with it. Looking over their shoulders.

Ron thought that was exactly what Snape wanted out of it.

One day he sat in the library, going through his Transfiguration book for a certain sentence to his essay. What was the fifth Pillar of Novice Transfiguration, anyway? It was due tomorrow and Ron had begun to worry.

He could ask Harry about it, but he kinda didn't want to – he relied enough upon Harry as it were.

Thinking of the boy, he glanced at his friend. Harry was slouching in the seat opposite him, everything about him screaming utter boredom.

That'd piss him off further down the road, too. The self-assured, unthinking confidence he developed as a result of his superiority. Right now, though, Ron barely paid attention to it. He went back to his book.

"Can I try something?"

Ron looked up, confused, brow creased in a frown, thinking he'd misheard.

"Sorry?"

"Can I try something?"

Instantly Ron was weary, brow furrowing further. Something was definitely wrong.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked.

"Sure, Ron, why wouldn't I be?"

"You never ask for permission. Usually."

"Oh." Harry blinked. "I see. I wanna try something on you."

That sentence floated like smoke between them, dissolving leisurely, leaving dread in his heart.

"No!" Ron shouted at last, holding the book up in front of him, in between them, with both his hands, as though it was a mighty shield. "I mean, the last time – I heard Malfoy ended up in the Hospital Wing, mate."

"He overstressed the severity of his lacerations." He waved a hand dismissively. Then looked at Ron funnily. "What?"

"I've no idea what you just said."

"Neither do I – Pomfrey said it. The point is he was fine. Still can't believe Malfoy didn't rat me out. I almost got caught looking in on the little prat!"

"He's taller than you," Ron said.

"Whose side are you on?"

"Blimey, whose do you think? Mine." Ron laughed. "Definitely mine."

"Wait, he's taller than me?"

"I think so."

"Nooo… Really?"

"Really."

"Hold still." He leaned over the table, tapping his wand to the cover of Ron's book before he could remove it. "There – try and let it go now."

"Let it go?" He studied the book. There was nothing different about it. He certainly didn't feel different. "Wha – AH!"

"Be quiet, you two!"

"Sorry, Madam Pince."

"Get this thing off, Harry!" Ron whispered furiously, shaking the book in my hands, now glued to his skin.

Harry grinned. "It's a Sticking Charm. Neat, huh?"

"I don't give a bloody fuck what it is!"

"Okay, okay. One moment, Ron. Hold still!" He studied it with his bright, green eyes, humming to himself in a quiet manner that seemed deceptively like a hunter prowling for its prey. "It wasn't supposed to stick to both hands – have to specify the parameters, I guess. The book said nothing about that. But I'd call it a success, anyway."

"I don't bloody care!" And Ron bloody didn't. He shook his hands continuously, gaining panicky vigour, trying to rip the book off, but it just stuck to his skin like resin.

"Now…" Harry's eyes gained focus, intent, as he raised his wand. He looked like he was about to manically strike Ron down. "For the second part…"

"Oh no you don't!" Ron snarled, raising his hands above his head, intent upon whacking Harry with the book.

A flick of his wand, faster than Ron could hit him, and the book in his hands gained weight. A lot of weight. Really fucking quickly. His arms boggled, his back cracked over, and gravity caught the book and crashed it into the table between them, cleaving it in two, dragging Ron with it through the pieces, and slamming him into the stone-floor. The two cleaved halves of the table toppled over and struck against his back, as his fingertips broke between the weight of the book and the stone-floor with a sickening crack that seemed to echo off the walls.

There was a second of silence, almost pregnant with unreleased tension, and then Ron screamed pure murder.

"AH! BLOODY HELL! HARRY!"

"MR WEASLY! POTTER!" Shocked, the librarian cam running as though out of nothing.

"Sorry, Ron!" Frantic, wide-eyed – and half-laughing – Harry waved his wand around aimlessly. "Sorry, Madam Pince!"

Ron gained his legs, eyes bulging – he could smell the stench of blood on the air – squatting low with feet centred firmly. He tried to free his hands with his entire body; the book pinned him to the floor.

"GET OFF OF ME, YOU STUPID BOOK!"

"MR WEASLEY!" Madam Pince seemed beside herself. "Never in my life–"

"I CAN'T FEEL MY DAMN FINGERS!"

Harry, ogling at the craziness of the librarian, had wisely distanced himself with muted steps. Seemingly deep in thought, he stood off to the side with eyes closed, brow furrowed in thought. He kept tapping the tip of his wand to his nose. Merlin, Ron had never seen anything so Merlin-fucking-ridiculous as that facial expression. And then Harry seemed to snap awake.

"Got it! Ron – oh for god's sake it's just a book–"

"It's a monster!"

"Stand still so I can aim properly."

"Stand still? STAND STILL! I CAN'T MOVE, YOU'VE TRAPPED ME-"

"DETENTION!" The librarian shrieked. "DETENTION! DETENTION FOR BOTH OF YOU!"

"Yeah, yeah – not now," Harry muttered, squatting down beside him and tapping his wand to my hands. "That should – look out, Ron!"

Too late! Ron had been trying to pull his hands free again, applying all of his bodily force away from an unmovable object; so when his hands were suddenly free, he almost flew backwards, banging the back of his head into another table behind him with a wet squelching snap.

The library swirled away from his watery eyes for a moment, and shrilly screams claimed the air. Ron would never, ever, learn whether the screams belonged to him or the librarian – mostly because he never dared to ask Harry.

Thoughts were too heavy to hang on to through the battering lances of pain that lurched through him. But a single thought persisted, a single thought clawed at him, anchored him to consciousness.

He was going to kill Harry Potter!

Half an hour later, they left the Hospital Wing for the Great Hall; it was almost time for dinner.

"Why in Merlin's name did you even do that?"

"To see if it worked," Harry said. "And it did."

"To see what worked? Torturing me?"

"No – layering different charms on top of each other on the same object."

"But why?"

He shrugged. "Something I read about. It could come in handy someday."

"Never on me again, Harry! Never!"

"It was only a few broken fingers, Ron." A second's pause, then he added. "And a minor concussion. Madam Pomfrey fixed you right up in less than five seconds."

"Never. Again. My fingers were almost ripped off!"

"All right, all right." He paused, thinking, and as he thought, he tensed further and further in frustration. "I just can't find a way to spell my things lighter. The opposite process is easy enough – as you saw."

"And felt, thank you." Ron thought about it for a second. "I'm sure I've seen my parents do it loads of times. Maybe you should just ask one of the Professors about it?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"At least it won't break my fingers," muttered Ron.

"That's a defeatist's argument."

"A what?"

"A defeatist's argument."

"You make no sense to me."

Harry sighed and spoke no more, and Ron took a look around. Nobody. They were alone in the corridor; he could hear the voices of hundreds of students, though. Somewhere close. Close, but not right here. For now, they were alone. Good. He turned to Harry and stopped him.

"What–"

"Harry, are you sure it's guarding something?"

He blinked, then caught on a second later. "The dog? No. Not sure. But it makes sense." He pulled a face and tilted his head momentarily. "Well, of all the possibilities my head's come up with, it makes the most sense."

"Harry – this is a school. Not a fortress. I know the magical community can be barmy, but that's just…"

"Crazy?"

Ron nodded. "Who keeps something on a school that needs that kind of protection?"

"I agree," Harry whispered, looking around, seeing something men like Ron – like the rest of them – no doubt couldn't see. "But, Ron, you didn't see Hagrid that day. I don't know what he pulled from that vault, but it must be valuable – or powerful. He looked scared of it. Besides, that break–in at Gringotts happened on my birthday. The same day, Ron. You saw how Hagrid reacted when I brought it up."

They'd been down by Hagrid's place a couple of days ago. That had been an experience. Hagrid didn't say much about the whole thing, but by the looks of it, it seemed Harry had been pretty close to things Hagrid had rather not divulge.

"And you think the dog is guarding whatever it is?"

"Yeah. Hagrid said he picked it up for Dumbledore. I think Dumbledore's protecting it for someone. A friend, perhaps."

"But why?"

"Dunno. But if you had something – something valuable, something dangerous – something you wanted gone, then who'd you like to protect it for you?"

Ron didn't need to think long on that. "Dumbledore. For sure."

Harry nodded. "Exactly."

Harry didn't offer more to break the edginess between them, and Ron shuffled nervously in the wake of his words. Harry didn't seem to mind the tension at all. Like he didn't even sense it.

"You think someone will come for it?" Ron finally asked, dreading the answer. But he needed to know for some reason.

Harry looked in the direction of the Great Hall, silent, listening to the large number of students gathering for dinner, happily chattering, laughing – everything Ron wasn't at that moment.

At last, Harry nodded. "You know," he said, turning to him. There was a fire in his eyes, a defiance that really shouldn't have been in a face so young. "I think someone already did. And whoever it is has got to be impatient – I mean, risking breaking into Gringotts. Who does that? What kind of desperate does that?"

Ron had a vague notion. It made him shudder. He sighed. "I don't know. Dumbledore will protect it, right?"

"Right."

Something in Harry's face bothered him. Like he wanted Ron to actually say it. Say his name.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just… Ron, remember, nobody's infallible."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Who'd dare go up against Albus Dumbledore, Ron? Can you imagine anyone?"

Shut up, Harry! Just shut up. "You can't…"

"My scar hurt when we first got here. It never hurt before. It hurt again the other night – that night. God, everything hurt then. First I thought it was because of Snape. I doubt it now. It's this place; it's someone in this place. Someone more powerful than Snape could ever hope to be."

"No…"

"I saw something…"

Harry paused, and he almost seemed frighten of what he'd been about to say.

"What?"

"You-Know-Who. Voldemort!" Harry said resolutely. The word was a curse, and the life in the very air was sucked into a void, leaving Ron gasping for breath. "It must be."

"Don't say that name!" hissed Ron.

"That's why my scar hurt, Ron. Voldemort gave it to me, and Voldemort's the one making it hurt now. He's the only one – as far as I know – who'd stand a chance against Dumbledore."

"Eh… shouldn't we talk to someone about this?"

Harry laughed. An actual, genuine laugh that filled the corridor. It didn't lift Ron's spirits, but it awed him. Who the fuck could he laugh in the face of such horrid thoughts?

"Talk to someone?" he said at last. "Who'd wanna talk to us?"


Ron spent many weeks afterwards thinking about their conversation that day in the corridor. Thinking about the dog. About what it protected.

About Voldemort.

He was dead. Had to be. The world had celebrated it like they had been granted back the gift of life itself. For some of them it was just that.

Harry did, too. He was just quieter about it. But Ron often found him pensive by the singular window, staring, a book or his wand forgotten in his lap. Thinking just as him.

But then time happened. As it always does. And they moved along with it. As they must.

School got harder. Snape got meaner. And Hermione and Ron forged a deep dislike with one another that would last through the ages.

Choices, man. Some choices stood forever. Leading down a road you could never get back from.

Sometimes it was best to just shut up. Let go of the ego and just accept that other people can have insecurities just like you. Manifesting in totally different and exciting ways.

Harry received a letter on the morning of Halloween.

Ron was enjoying his breakfast, gulping it down with sheer ferociousness, and Harry was enjoying… well, he seemed to be listening to the chatter and clatter of the Great Hall. But he showed no enjoyment – not even the smallest hint of interest in his food.

Ron frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You've been acting weird all morning. Are you sick?"

"No."

Frown deepening, Ron considered him for a second. And now that he thought about it, he had seemed tense the entire morning. Even their classmates seemed to have noticed. Daphne Greengrass looked on the verge of approaching them.

The darkened, sleep-deprived shadow beneath his eyes – the dangerous edge that hadn't yet manifested fully – kept her at bay, no doubt.

A moment later the peace of their table was broken as Hedwig, Harry's owl, swooped down and landed before him.

Harry blinked. "Hey girl. Oh. A letter, Ron." He sounded all confused. Like he was waiting for Ron to tell him what to do with it. "I never get letters…"

Ron nudged him gently, mindful of everyone around them.

As if snapping out of a trance, Harry's hand snatched the letter off Hedwig's foot. Petting her affectionately, Ron watched the bird nip back at his fingertips with what looked like mutual affection.

It was a preposterously clever bird.

And then she hopped past Harry's unused plate, stopped by Ron's and began nipping off different things on his plate.

"I'm really not…" Ron blinked, then smiled. "Well, go right ahead, why don't you? See if I care."

"It's from Hagrid," Harry said after a moment of silence. "Says he's got something to show us."

"What's the last thing we got today?"

"Ah… Charms. I think?"

"Right. After that, then."

"Right." He nodded. Ron nodded. Seemed about right, it did. Ron stood.

"Shall we? Your bloody bird ate my breakfast."

Harry looked up, eyes narrowed, then smiled, too. "Good girl."

A day in Hogwarts was never boring. Ron knew that. But even magic, and the study of it in particular, had reached a state of normalcy. He'd become so accustomed to extraordinary things – from the moment he was born, really – that they appeared entirely ordinary to him.

Even Muggleborns fell to this point of view eventually. It was natural. The mind simply couldn't keep coping on an everlasting high of excitement. At some point it just… gotta have to settle on an idea of how the world now worked.

They all lost that wonder. Like love – explosive and all-consuming at first, and then on the other side of that is the every-days of life.

Only… that wasn't quite the case with Harry, Ron knew…

Ron thought it was because he perceived it – magic, that was – differently. And that allowed him to retain his childlike awe. Everything was extraordinary to him because there were always new boundaries, always another limit to push against – always something new.

And somehow, impossibly, his mind could cope with it. Somehow there was no end to the wonder. At least, that was how Ron thought of it.

It was funny, really. Harry could go on and on about the classes they had that day, the magic they learned – and the way that learned magic would enable them to learn more intricate spells down the road. How one lesson would connect to another in a seamless string.

Ron couldn't. He'd only remember Charms for a single reason afterwards. The only thing that truly stuck with him. The only thing that his mind could possibly perceive as extraordinary enough to stick with him years later.

Forever.

A great parting of ways was incoming – something that could've, maybe even should've… never came to be…

Later on Charms would be by far his best class, but on this particular occasion he struggled. Most of them did. All of them, in fact, except Harry. A recurring theme. Flitwick announced to the class that they were finally ready to make objects fly. Something most of them had looked forward, too. Ron, of course, had already seen Harry do it, but he'd finally know the spell for it, at least.

Professor Flitwick put them into pairs, parrying Harry with Neville Longbottom. Harry didn't look very thrilled with the prospect (Neville was wildly considered the most useless student of their entire year, not counting Crabbe and Goyle, of course), but his displeasure was nothing compared to Ron's.

"Miss Granger, will you take Mr Weasley."

Ron had had no interaction with the good Miss Granger since that day in the Trophy Room, but he knew a recipe for disaster when he saw one.

Hermione looked about ready to rebel the request – something most would consider impossible for her – but she found the seat next to his as Harry rose to find Neville.

"Good luck," Harry muttered so only he could hear, sending Hermione a too-bright-not-to-be-fake smile before leaving.

Ron sighed, feeling his skin heat around the ears. "Thanks." He shot Hermione a tentative look, noticing her no-nonsense countenance. "I'll need it."

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing," Flitwick squealed happily. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick…"

"You done this charm before, then?" Hermione asked Ron. "Seeing as you apparently know curses outside of school's curriculum."

"School's what?" Ron said, missing her last word. He tried to keep the tone civil. He really did. He could feel Harry's inquisitive eyes on him from the table beside them. His feather – the object they should be focused on – was already gently floating along above them.

He did it without even paying it the slightest amount of attention.

Fuck him.

Hermione's eyes, briefly looking in Harry's direction with an emotion Ron couldn't place, gained a measure of distain when redirected at him. "Never mind. Show me," she said simply.

Ron could readily admit something about her just… got to him. The wrong fucking way. But he shouldered his irritation and grabbed his wand tightly.

I'd show her, he thought.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron said, almost shouted, pronunciation just right enough to make the spell actually take hold, but also askew enough that he quickly lost the connection.

The feather had twitched, taken to the air, and then flopped down uselessly.

"Hmm." Ron certainly didn't imagine the relish coming off her voice. He didn't. "Well, you're saying it wrong, you know that, right?" Hermione said, almost snapped. Ron felt rather than saw Harry deflate at the other table, as if he'd seen this train wreck coming all along.

His fingers tightened around his wand, knuckles white. And, really, he tried to keep his shit together, but anger born out of a low self-esteem, coupled with Hermione's own insecurities – manifested in a most obnoxious way – created the inevitable collision.

Really, looking back, Ron felt it was all Flitwick's fault. He should have known better. Should have seen the oncoming storm of disaster. Should have seen that they, in that point in time, were not compatible for this.

He should have just kept his mouth shut.

"You do it, then, if you're so clever! Go on! Do it!"

And, of course, she did it. Perfectly. And in that moment Ron hated her all the more for it. Flitwick's loud praise of her skill didn't make it any better.

"Nobody likes a show off!" Ron muttered just loud enough for her to hear him.

Her hurtful eyes felt good. The best feeling he'd had all day.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," Ron said as they left class. It was meant for Harry, but every Slytherin student – and unfortunately it was everyone – heard and laughed. That, for a wonder, felt good, too. "It's Leviosaaaaa. Honestly, she's a complete–"

"She's a Mudblood, Weasley," Malfoy said loudly as if that explained everything.

"Don't say that word, Malfoy!" Ron whispered darkly, though too late. Everyone heard, and he saw Harry getting shoved by a tearful Hermione, who hurried off.

Everyone had heard them.

"You take that back, Malfoy!" a Gryffindor boy, Dean Thomas, snarled, stopping in the middle of the corridor. The rest of the Gryffindors stopped beside him, all of them glaring daggers at Malfoy. Some even at Ron…

Now, Ron didn't particular care for Hermione. But his loyalty, contrary to the colour of his uniform, lay wholly with the Gryffindors here. There was nothing he'd rather want than to see Malfoy getting the good bit of magic-fisted, cock-punching justice that he deserved.

Unfortunately, the only one among them with the balls big enough to actually deliver was dragging him away.

"Harry! What the bleeding hell!" Ron snarled. Harry dragged him by the arm through the masses of Gryffindors with a strength that far surpassed the size of his body. Ron couldn't see his face, but the Gryffindors, taking one look at him, separated to let him pass.

"Hey! Potter! Weasley! Where're you going?"

"You're on your own, Malfoy," Harry called over his shoulder, then he turned to Ron as he let go of his arm. "Hagrid, remember?"

"But…" Ron's mind lurched for a thought that could make sense of his confusion. "Shouldn't we help… well… one of them?"

"Well, who'd you wanna help?" Harry waited for his answer. Ron had none. "Right. So I'd rather go see Hagrid. Come."

Ron had that feeling of guilt, that feeling that gnawed away at you, burrowed deep somewhere unseen. He wanted something to do, anything, to make it go away. Anything. Even fight for nothing. He didn't much care who they supported, Gryffindor or Malfoy, as long as it ended up in a fight.

Fucking Hermione Granger.

Harry had felt off, though, detached the entire day. For whatever reason, and there was always one, Ron just couldn't quite see it. But he could see his face, his not-so-hidden sadness, and Ron's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"All right," said Ron, and followed him out and away.

They left behind the rising commotion, the crowded corridors, and the students walking among each other in a familiar buzz of post-class excitement.

Ten minutes later, Harry knocked on Hagrid's door.

What would greet them would erase every thought of Hermione from his mind.

Hagrid opened the door. The giant man, filling out the entire threshold like an overgrown troll, looked round the entire grounds of Hogwarts.

There was dread. His eyes were flickering wildly to and fro. Seeing demons hot on his too fucking humongously large heels.

Ron looked over his shoulder, suddenly nervous, noticing that Harry displayed no outer sign of nervousness – he just stared at Hagrid, eyes dream-like and narrow, waiting to be let in.

"Can we come in, Hagrid?"

Spoken softly, but as the sentence left Harry's mouth, it lingered like smoke, drifting into Ron's mind and manifested like a battering-ram. Echo. Echo. Echo…

Can we come in, Hagrid?

Can we come in, Hagrid?

Can we come in, Hagrid?

Ron thought it did the same to Hagrid. Because his drifty eyes gained focus and, with a grunt of agreement and a dirty look Ron's way, he let them in. Somehow the giant of a man had gotten it into his head that Ron was the reason Harry had ended up in Slytherin – conveniently forgetting that Ron was sorted after Harry – and as a result he wasn't too fond of the redhead.

"'Arry, I 'ave to show yeh somethin'. C'mon!"

Ron always took a minute to get used to the smell of Hagrid's hut – it always smelled just a little bit too much of a man who'd rather use a charm to clean himself than an actual shower.

But he was a good man at heart. Innocent man, really. Big, scary fella with a big heart – it's the cliché of all clichés. And it was the truth.

His hut was a small, woody cabin by the edge of the Forbidden Forrest. Oval and cosy, it wasn't very spacious – certainly not befitting of a man of Hagrid's size.

Hagrid didn't seem to care.

Somehow it bothered Ron that day. Somehow everything bothered him that day at that point.

They settled down around the table, mugs the size of their heads in their hands, Harry and Ron not daring to actually drink the substance within, and waited for Hagrid to spill the gossip.

He always did.

Only this time, Harry was already ahead of him.

"Hagrid," he said, eyes glued to the fires of the fireplace. Ron didn't like his look one bit. "What is that?"

Ron had a funny feeling. Another one of those feelings. An epiphany of sorts. A certainty that something… unusual was about to happen to them. That it would change their lives – and not in a good way.

Hang around with Harry for awhile and you were bound to get them.

It was all in his eyes. Looking into Harry's gaze, as he stared at whatever lay within the fire, behind Ron's back, Ron knew without turning that he didn't want to look at it.

He turned.

Ah, Merlin's virgin cock.

A dragon, this wee little thing, almost no bigger than an infant, lay nestled in a pot, which hung and burned above the flames.

It almost looked like that Muggle Satan… thing… Harry once told him about.

Now, Hagrid had so far shown Ron nothing but dislike. He had no reason to have any kind of loyal feelings towards the man. So Ron's first instinct was not to help or whatever it was Hagrid wanted of them…

"Fuck this shit!" Ron leaped to my feet. "I know where this is going and I say to hell with it! We can't get involved in this!"

"Ron," Hagrid said, pleaded. It was the first time he used his first name and that almost caught him off guard.

Almost.

"Harry, that's a dragon," Ron said with a forced calmness in his voice.

Harry nodded. Too calm for his liking.

"We're already in trouble. Don't give me that fucking attitude! We are. This will see us expelled."

Harry sighed. "He's right, Hagrid. You have to get rid of it."

"I can' just let ''im go. He won' last a week!"

"If we're lucky, it won't last a day," Ron muttered.

"You have to." Harry turned to Ron. "How serious are wizards about their laws, anyway?"

"Depends on the law, I guess," Ron said, never taking his eyes of the fire. "But this one they'll take pretty seriously. Dragons caused problems back when You-Know-Who was still around. Don't want a repeat of that. Or even the possibility of it."

"I'm not releasin' him into the woods, and that's the last thing I'll say about that. Shouldn'ta shown yeh. I shouldn'ta shown yeh…"

"No, you shouldn't. But you have and now we have to do something about it," Harry said.

"I know just the spell," Ron said, extracting his wand from his pocket, "The Reductor curse will work wonders."

"YEH WILL NOT 'ARM NORBERT!" Hagrid roared.

Hagrid stood between the dragon and Ron, and Ron wondered almost detachedly why he hadn't approached him and pulled him apart yet. Only then did he realize that there was a sort of barrier between them, invisible yet tangible.

Of to the side, stood Harry, wand raised and a truly serious expression upon his underdeveloped features. It almost looked comically unfrightening.

Yet Ron could feel it… something malevolent that neither Hagrid's bulk nor his fright of will could ever hope to match. Something palpable, of ancient age and quiet rage, that rent the air heavy with energy.

"Sit down," he whispered.

Ron sat back in his seat at once, and it looked like Hagrid was being pulled as if by magic back to his own. Maybe he was and maybe he'd been, too.

"We're not going to kill it, Ron," Harry said, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that more than Ron. "But we need to do something about it. It can't stay here for long before someone finds out."

Ron really, really had no inclination to help out Hagrid. The man had been nothing but unfriendly to him ever since they met. Sometimes even downright hostile. But he knew he meant a lot to Harry, and, well, Harry meant a lot to him.

"Ron, your brother – Charlie, right?"

Ron blinked, then nodded.

"Didn't you say he works with dragons?"

"Yeah. In, like, Romania, Harry."

"Couldn't they pick up… er, Norbert here?"

Ron laughed. He laughed because despite Harry's obvious brilliance that was just about the stupidest thing he'd ever heard.

"Do you… really? Oh, that sounds like a wonderful idea, Harry. Hey, Charlie, listen, brother of mine, I got this wonderful little dragon on my hands here in Hogwarts. Yeah, you heard right – Hogwarts. That's the school, by the way, in case you forgot. Anyway, wonderful dragon! Barely dry behind the ears, if you ignore the fire coming out of its mouth! Trouble is it's kind of illegal for me to have it. So I'd really appreciate it if you came and took it off my hands, please. I'm sure the ICW will understand as long as you assure them it was for a good cause. And in the likely event that you do end up in prison for it – just like the rest of us – I hear that Azkaban is lovely this time of year."

Harry, unimpressed by his wit, continued as if he'd barely spoken.

"What about… under the radar?"

"Under the what?"

"You know, cloak and dagger kinda thing."

"You've lost me completely, mate."

"Can't you ask him to meet us and take it with him. Discreetly."

"Now wait a second…" Hagrid began.

"You mean asking him to come one night, without permission or anything, and fly it back all the way to Romania? Risking not only his job in the process, but also his freedom?"

"Well, yeah."

"Fuck you, Harry! I can't ask him that. And he won't do it even if I did. Nobody would."

"I would."

"Because you're dumbest smart person I know."

"He's your brother."

"And as my brother he'd say I should stay away from this – which sounds like pretty good advise come to think of it."

"I just… I can't see any other way."

"I'll keep 'im for the time being," Hagrid said eagerly, almost hungrily, "until we figure somethin' out."

"In a month it's too bloody late. He'll be too big to hide," Ron said, then shuddered. "And too hungry to satiate."

"There are some caves round the Great Lake. I'll 'ide 'im there by then."

Ten minutes later, Harry and Ron trekked back towards Hogwarts, dreams of a big ol' dinner mostly on Ron's mind.

Dinner and dragons, that was.

"Doesn't it just fill you with a sense of security," Ron said, "knowing we have people like Hagrid at Hogwarts, hiding dragons and shit on the school grounds where every student can happen upon them?"


End of chapter

If you read this far, please leave a review. Tell me what worked and what didn't. This was the first chapter from Ron's perspective, and though not much happened, I felt the perspective allows to explore Harry and the story from a different angle. Expect more of these sprinkled out over the course of the story.

Ta-da