"Would you say it was nothing if one of us turned up with a pound of mince instead of a face?"
Ron Weasley, Order of the Phoenix, Hagrid's Tale
A Pound of Mince
He should have known better. He should have known bloody better.
Wincing, Ron tried to shift into a more comfortable position, which, seeing as he was perched in a stuffed corner of the broomshed, wasn't such an easy task.
He only just stopped himself from groaning, as the movement caused his already throbbing nose to sting painfully.
Clinging to his broom, Ron told himself for the umpteenth time in the last fifteen minutes he had been hid- no, casually sitting in the broomshed – that he should have known better than to believe he was truly good enough for playing Quidditch. After last year's disaster, everyone knew anyway that he wasn't any good, even though Harry had constantly assured him otherwise. But that's what friends were doing, wasn't it? Telling the other one it wasn't that bad, even if it was.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
He was stupid. For thinking his qualities as a Keeper had improved since last year. And most certainly, he had been stupid for thinking Gryffindor's victory would have done anything to stop Malfoy from singing this bloody song.
Ron growled in frustration, as he felt tears stinging in his eyes at the memory of the whole Slytherin crowd laughing at him, embarrassing him, insulting his family. But he wasn't going to cry. Not again, damn it.
He couldn't prevent himself from whimpering softly though, as his whole face seemed to scream in pain when he tried to wipe the tears out of his eyes. It hurt. It bloody hurt.
But what in the name of Merlin was he to do? He wouldn't dare to go to the hospital wing now. No way was he going to explain to Madam Pomfrey why he had been down at the Quidditch Pitch after dark, and how he had run into Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle on the way back.
Bugger it all, he had lunged at his stupid, sneering face first.
But only because of that bloody song.
And he wasn't going to tell Harry or Hermione either. He could just imagine what Hermione would tell him.
"Honestly, Ronald, you should have just ignored them. Seriously, it's your own fault. Why did you have to try to hit him anyway? And what please, were you doing outside at this time?"
And he most certainly didn't need Harry's apologetic smile, and sympathetic look either. And even more so, he didn't need Harry to know that he had sneaked out to practice a bit of Quidditch on his own after the disastrous team practice yesterday afternoon.
He should have just never tried out again. He was dragging the whole team down with him. Damn it, why did he have to be so pathetic?
Clenching his fists around the handle of his broom, Ron looked up. Well, seeing that it was pitch black inside the shed it didn't exactly help him.
"Lumos", he whispered, and the tip of his wand started to glow softly.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he laboriously scrambled to his feet, knocking a few brooms down in the process.
By the time he had finally reached the door, he was panting, and his face was on fire.
He had to be looking horrible. Ron could feel the dried blood on his lips, and he was certain the rest of his face wasn't looking any better. If he turned up like this in the common room, he would never make it to his bed in peace.
Muttering a curse his mother would have probably jinxed his lips shut for, he steadied himself at the wall, trying to think.
He needed help. He needed someone to deal with … this mess. But he couldn't go to the castle, he'd never go through the corridors like this, lucky as he was, he would probably run into the next group of Slytherins that could use him as a punching bag as well.
He was just about to curse again when the solution came to him.
Hagrid.
Alright, it was pretty late, and Ron wasn't sure if Hagrid would be particularly happy to see him at this hour, or if he knew how to fix his face for that matter. But at least, he would try to help, right? He wouldn't be mad. And … well, he wouldn't have to sit in the broomshed all night.
Taking a deep breath, that caused him to sneeze from all the dust, and immediately afterwards to wince, he carefully opened the door.
The grounds were still and deserted. Against the pitch-black darkness, the huge castle rose up, its windows glittering almost mockingly in the distance. The moon hung low in the sky, and occasionally a few stars blinked through the veil of clouds. Farther down by the forest, smoke was rising upwards from Hagrid's hut.
A cold breeze caused Ron to shiver, and he quickly shut the door behind him, and made for the forest. He was hurrying down the lawn as quickly as he could without wincing in pain.
By the time he had finally reached the small hut, which's windows were fortunately still glowing in the flickering light of a lamp, he was panting once more, and he was pretty sure his nose was bleeding again.
One second, Ron hesitated. Then he knocked.
From behind the door Fang's barking started, and he heard Hagrid muttering. Something moved, and then he found himself face to – well stomach – with Hagrid.
"Wha- Ron? What're yeh doin' here at this time?"
"Uh…"
Somehow, his voice didn't seem to work so well anymore.
"Are yeh alone here?"
Why did his eyes have to start stinging again?
"Are yeh … galloping gargoyles, what happened ter yer face?"
And before Ron knew what was happening, he felt tears dripping down his long nose, burning when they met the cuts and scratches.
"Wha-"
And suddenly, Ron felt himself being hoisted over the threshold and he was shoved into one of Hagrid's enormous armchairs, trying and failing to stifle his sobs.
"Blimey, Ron, wha' happened?", Hagrid demanded, rummaging frantically through one of his cupboards.
"I – I-"
But his voice still didn't seem to obey him, and the only thing Ron managed were more pitiful sobs.
Suddenly, it was just all too much. Why did it always have to be him? Why did he have to be the one who got beaten up by Crabbe and Goyle? Why couldn't he, for once, not be the one who was mucking things up? Why did everything he did never just turn out well?
"Damn it", Hagrid cursed, dipped a cloth into a bucket with water, and pulled a second chair just in front of Ron. Heavily, he lowered himself down on it, and moved even closer. "Tha' looks, ah … pretty nasty…"
"I – I'm sorry", Ron finally managed, as Fang began drooling over his robes. "I – I did-didn't m-mean to show u-up here this-this l-late…"
"Ah, rubbish", Hagrid growled, and with astonishing gentle fingers, he grabbed his chin to carefully turn Ron's face for him to examine. "Bloody … yer nose looks pretty bad."
Ron only sniffled at that.
"Ah, nuthin' we can' fix, eh?"
And with this, he almost tenderly moved the wet cloth upwards, and started wiping away the blood. Ron winced as the rough cloth rubbed against his sore cheek, but he bit his lip (not a good idea, his lip was split as well) to prevent himself from bursting into tears again.
A few minutes passed in silence, and only the occasional hiss of pain and Fang's heavy breathing could be heard.
"Here yeh go", Hagrid said after a while, lowering the cloth and surveyed his work. "Can' help yeh with the bruisin' 'm 'fraid, but at least the blood's gone."
"Thanks, Hagrid", Ron mumbled, eyes fixed on his knees.
He could hear Hagrid getting up from the chair and moving back towards his fireplace. He cautiously glanced up and watched him pouring a cup of tea.
"Don' s'pose yeh wanna tell me wha' happened ter yeh?", Hagrid said, handing Ron the streaming mug.
Ron shrugged, still not meeting his gaze, but accepting the tea.
"Yeh know, yeh should go an' see Madam Pomfrey", Hagrid mumbled, pouring himself a cup. "She'll fix … this."
He gestured to Ron's face.
"And what am I supposed to tell her?", Ron asked quietly, fidgeting with his tea. "I'm not even supposed to be out here still and … and damn it, Hagrid, I think it was all my fault!"
"How?"
"I – I ran into … into Malfoy."
"Ah", Hagrid made. "Thought so."
"It – It was that stupid song, Hagrid", Ron murmured, his hands starting to shake. "He was doing it again. And then he started on my mum again. I … I just didn't think, I was just so angry and … and then I-"
"Ah, we all do stupid things, Ron", Hagrid said reassuringly. "An' tha' bloody song … Oughta go ter McGonagall with it."
Ron shook his head, gaze dropping to the floor again.
"She's got enough to worry about. With the war and all. It's – It's not as if I really need … I mean, it's fine. It's nothing."
"It's not nuthin', Ron", Hagrid said, and he winced a bit at how angry his voice sounded. "Have yeh actually seen yer face? That's not nuthin'"
"Actually", Ron said, grimacing, "I'd rather not see my face, thanks."
"Seriously, though", Hagrid said, shaking his head, while Ron sipped a bit at his tea. "Wha' were yeh doin' out there anyway?"
Ron choked at his tea as he felt himself blush.
"Uh", he coughed. "Nothing, I was just, uh, practicing."
"Practicing? At this hour?"
"Uhm. No, I mean yeah", he stammered. Then he sighed. "I was just trying to get some more practice for the – well – practice. It's just … I'm a lousy Keeper, Hagrid. I – I really need this."
"Yeh were practicing fer practice?", Hagrid repeated, his bushy brows shooting upwards.
"Uh … sort of."
Ron squirmed in Hagrid's gaze, that didn't seem to leave him for a while.
"Yeh know wha'?", he finally asked. "Yeh think too much, Ron. Far too much."
"What?", Ron snorted.
From all the things people had said to him, he had most certainly never been told to be thinking too much. More the opposite was the case. Most often by Hermione, to be honest.
"Yeh think far too much abou' wha' others might think of yeh", Hagrid continued. "Or wha' they don'. It's something I had ter learn the hard way too. Ignoring wha' people say. Coz they'll always talk, no matter wha'. An' yeh think too much abou' how yeh can fail. But I think yeh really shouldn't. Yer a good person. A very good one, an' yer pretty good at many things." He smiled at Ron's furious blush. "Harry can be lucky ter have yeh. Not only as a Keeper, yeh know. More so as a friend."
Ron mumbled something incoherent, as he awkwardly scratched his nose – only to wince in pain again.
"Ah, come on now", Hagrid smiled, getting to his feet. "I'll get yeh ter Madam Pomfrey. I don' expect yeh wanna walk around the school with a pound of mince instead of a face tomorrow, eh?"
With a lopsided grin, Ron emptied his cup, and followed Hagrid to the door.
"Uh, thanks though, Hagrid", he said quickly, squinting up at the giant.
"Rubbish", Hagrid said, patting him on the back rather enthusiastically. "There gotta be someone ter patch yeh kids up again, righ'?"
"Yeah, right", Ron said, feeling a lot lighter than he had done just a while ago.
And thus, the two of them trotted up to the school, and somehow, Ron thought, the glittering of the castle's windows seemed a lot more inviting, now that Hagrid was by his side.