AUTHOR'S NOTES: I've been dying to get this chapter of Mirror, Mirror done ever since I first started writing this story, and I'll tell you why...this is the final flashback chapter. From here on out, everything that happens isn't happening to AU Ron Weasley, it's happening to the REAL Ron Weasley. That means the action and the intrigue and all the juiciness can start to unfold now that Ron knows just how the other Ron spent his last four years.
This chapter might raise a lot of questions, and really, that's what I want. I've intentionally left some things rather vague...or omitted things altogether on purpose. After all, I don't want you, the reader, to have too much information just yet! The story is really only getting started! After all, I may've been posting this thing for the last five months, but it's still the same day it was when Ron woke up in his four-poster way back in Chapter 2. As things unfold and as the story becomes more and more of a woven tapestry, hopefully all the questions that have been brewing within the minds of my readers (still can't summon the ego to refer to you good people as FANS) will be answered.
Once again, I'm breaking my long-standing tradition of reviwer shout-outs...but as anyone who has reviewed my stories in the past knows, I answer each and every one and I appreciate them all (I even have folders set up in my e-mail client in which I save all your reviews!). Anyone who has taken the time to write me a review is an awesome person and they have my undying gratitude (and you all know who you are).
For the second time, I'm posting without first running this past my beta. As with Chapter 6, I just wanted to get this out there as soon as possible. Even though it's only been two weeks since my last posting, the two month hiatus between Chapters 5 and 6 have me feeling SO behind on my story-writing that I don't want there to be even the TINIEST delay in posting once I've finished writing the thing. So, to CutewithAcapital-Q, I apologize. My decision to go right to post is in no way a condemnation of you or your beta-reading.
As is usual, I'm not happy with this chapter. But, since I'm never happy, I won't dwell on it.
DISCLAIMER: JKR owns these things...God bless her for letting me fuck them up!
MIRROR, MIRROR
Chapter 7
"Reflections of the Love You Took from Me"
"KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!!"
The sounds of the crowd's cheers for the Bulgarian Seeker rang through Ron's head as yet another memory came into focus. The Quidditch World Cup was being contested between the Irish and Bulgarian National Teams, just as it had been on his own world.
Ron couldn't help scowling when he realized his fourteen-year-old counterpart was cheering as well, swept up in the furor of being on-hand to watch one of the best Quidditch players ever to ride a broom.
"Hard to believe he's only eighteen!"
Ron looked over and, unsurprisingly, Neville Longbottom was seated next to him.
"Hard to believe he doesn't fall off his broom with such a large pumpkin-head," Ron thought bitterly; deep down feeling disgusted with himself for ever having cheered Viktor Krum.
"He may be only eighteen, but he rides a broom like he's been doing it for a hundred years!" Ron's counterpart gushed as Krum executed a textbook Wronski Feint that sent the Irish Seeker ploughing in the pitch, "He's a bloody artist on a broom! An artist, I tell ya'!"
Neville grinned brightly at his friend's excitement. Ron was standing and leaning over the railing of the Top Box as he cheered his hero.
"This is bloody brilliant, eh Nev?" Ron said, smiling broadly at his best mate, "Who'd have thought we'd be here watching the World Cup from the best seats in the stadium?!"
"You said it, Ron," Neville replied, beaming, "I owe you one for inviting me."
"Rubbish," Ron said, waving him off, "What're best mates for?"
Sharing a knowing smile and a quick nod, the two friends turned their attention back to the match playing out before them. The Irish Seeker had been tended to and had returned to the air, where he continued to search for the Golden Snitch, desperate to find it before Viktor Krum.
Ireland seemed to be fired up by the mistreatment of their Seeker at the hands of the Bulgarians, and the team put on a scoring demonstration, quickly taking control of the game and leading by more than a hundred points.
Penalty shots quicklyracked up as the Bulgarians did whatever they could to try in vain to stop the Irish from scoring. The match became violent, and Krum, himself, took a Bludger square in the face, breaking his nose spectacularly.
There wasn't time for him to checked over by mediwizards, however, as the Snitch was spotted and the Irish Seeker, Lynch, was after it. Krum caught up quickly as they dived towards the ground once again and for the second time that night, Lynch ploughed heavily into the ground. Krum had managed to pull up and had also managed to grab the Snitch! Bulgaria took the Snitch, but the Irish won the match, 170 to 160.
With the match over, the two teams made their way up to the Top Box to shake hands with the British and Bulgarian Ministers of Magic, and for the Quidditch World Cup to be presented to the winning Irishmen.
Ron grew excited as Viktor Krum waddled in, all round-shouldered and duck-footed, his face still bloodied with two black eyes slowly forming. He wanted to rush forward and ask the Bulgarian Seeker for his autograph, but it didn't seem the appropriate time or place. And, suddenly, a cold hateful drawl from behind him caused Ron to lose all his excitement.
"This must have been a real treat for you, Weaselbee," Draco Malfoy sneered, "I don't know how your family of paupers weaseled their way in to the Top Box at the World Cup final, but we've just spent the better part of the summer traveling Europe seeing the qualifying matches and meeting the teams…Transylvania, Albania, Luxembourg, France…too many to waste my time listing for the likes of you. It was some of the best Quidditch I've ever seen; wouldn't you agree, Harry?"
"Absolutely," Harry said, nodding stiffly, his voice a bit hollow.
"There's even talk of father securing positions for myself and Harry on the English Team in time for the next World Cup! Considering they lost to Transylvania, they could use some good players on the team. Of course, I'll have to insist they up their standards on who is and isn't allowed into the stadium…"
"Now, now, Draco," came the silky, sneering voice of Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, "There's no need to be cruel to the less fortunate. No doubt they had to beg, borrow, and steal to get these seats. What was it, Arthur…enchanting Muggle devices to sell on the Black Market?"
"Dealing in illegal merchandise has always been your cup-of-tea, Lucius, not mine," Arthur replied, in clipped tones. It was obvious he was trying to maintain his temper.
"Mind your tongue, Weasley," Lucius hissed, "You don't want to impugn my reputation in front of the Minister. After all, who would Fudge believe…someone who just donated a million galleons to St. Mungo's, or someone known to be in possession of a flying Muggle car?"
Arthur Weasley bit his tongue and escorted his family out of the Top Box and out of the stadium to return to their tent for the night. He did his best to silence the grumblings of his children about Malfoy, but his heart wasn't in it, and he obviously wanted to grouse right alongside them.
"Bloody prat, Malfoy…has to ruin everything," Ron thought as the memory started to fade and his vision became a swirl of colors as a new one started to form, "And who would want to watch Albania play Quidditch? They didn't even reach the qualifying round of the World Cup!"
When his vision came into focus again, Ron found himself in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Neville was, once again, by his side, and they appeared to be seated just after the Welcoming Feast; Dumbledore was standing at the High Table, making his yearly announcements.
"As has become something of a tradition here at Hogwarts, we will welcoming a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year," everyone looked to the High Table at the headmaster's words, where there was an empty place between Professors Snape and Dumbledore, "Last year's instructor, Professor Lupin, resigned after reuniting with an old friend shortly after the term ended. He has decided to take an extended holiday reliving his youth and making up for lost time. We of course offer him our fondest wishes for all his future endeavors."
There was a chorus of disappointed groans amongst the majority of students. Professor Lupin had been almost everybody's favorite teacher, and there was a vocal majority of students who had been hoping for him to return this year.
"This year's Defense course will be taught by my old friend Alastor Moody…who will be arriving shortly," Dumbledore continued, paying no heed to the grumbling, "I have no doubt that Professor Moody will bring a new outlook to your studies this year."
The doors to the Great Hall banged open and Professor Trelawney entered, staggering a bit and bumping into the doorjamb. The students started laughing as it appeared she was drunk. At the High Table, most of the professors looked at the Divination teacher with looks of disappointment and disdain; only Professor Dumbledore seemed concerned by Trelawney's sudden appearance, and when her eyes rolled back in her head, the headmaster shouted for silence as he rushed to her side.
"Sybil, can you hear me? Are you ill?"
Trelawney didn't appear to have heard Dumbledore; in fact, she didn't seem to be acknowledging his presence at all. Every single person in the Great Hall, teachers and students alike, were silent. The only exception was Professor Dumbledore as he tried, futilely, to communicate with the entranced seer.
As a result of the tense silence in the hall, when Professor Trelawney, herself, spoke up finally, her voice deep and hollow, it was like a sudden clap of thunder, and more than one student – as well as little Professor Flitwick at the High Table – jumped in surprise.
"SEEK THE ONE WITH THE PUREST OF BLOOD AND THE HUMBLEST OF HEARTS; THROUGH HIM, ALONE, CAN THE DARK TURN TO LIGHT…THAT THE ONE CHOSEN TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD MAY SUCCEED IN HIS GRIM TASK."
All eyes were on Trelawney as she spoke, and no one was brave enough to make a noise as long as the Divination teacher continued in her odd tone of voice.
"ONLY THE LOYALTY OF THE TRAITOR'S BLOOD CAN SEPARATE THE CHOSEN ONE FROM THE DARK LORD SO THAT HE MAY FULFILL HIS DESTINY. SEEK THE BLOOD TRAITOR OR ALL IS LOST."
The voice that didn't seem to belong to Professor Trelawney faded away and almost instantaneously she was back to her confused, clumsy, slightly inebriated self.
"Professor Dumbledore," she said, a bit surprised by what she apparently saw as the headmaster's sudden appearance, "Is something wrong? Have I missed dinner?"
When Dumbledore escorted Trelawney to the High Table and it was apparent that everything was back to normal, the hall once more broke out with the buzz of conversation. Only now, the new DADA instructor wasn't the only teacher the students were discussing in hushed voices; Trelawney and whatever that had been as she entered the hall now figured prominently amongst the whispered conversations up-and-down the four House tables.
"What do you reckon that was all about?" Neville asked quietly as he leaned in close to Ron, "Do you suppose she just made some sort of prediction of the future?"
"I think she's pissed," Ron replied, smirking, "Probably been sitting up in that North Tower all day…drinking sherry between classes. Merlin knows I'd have to be drunk off my arse before I'd try to teach that Divination rubbish."
There was a derisive snort from across the table.
"Divination is a very wooly magical study, but even so, the idea of you teaching anything is just completely laughable!"
Ron gaped at the bushy-haired brunette as she sat across from Neville with a superior look on her face. Neville, too, looked shocked at the sudden, unprovoked insult…shocked and sad, as if he realized that the fragile truce that had existed between Ron and Hermione since the end of the last school year had just been shattered.
"How would you know what I'm capable of teaching?" Ron said snappishly, "I feel a prediction coming on right now; I predict that you're going to spend yet another year at school with no friends other than your bloody cat!"
Before Hermione could fire a comeback at Ron, the hall grew silent as Dumbledore once again stood up at the High Table.
"Now that Professor Trelawney has been squared away, I must inform you of an event that will be taking place for the entire length of the school year…an event that will disrupt your lives a bit, but in a good way, I hope; an event that will, unfortunately, cause the cancellation of Quidditch for the year."
There was a mutinous protest from the students, especially from the students who played on the four House teams. Why would anyone want to cancel Quidditch? Ron had hoped to try out for the team, now that they'd need a new Keeper – owing to Oliver Wood graduating last year – but now his hopes were dashed.
"I'm sure you'll all manage to live without Quidditch for one year, considering what will be replacing it. This year, Hogwarts will be playing host to two other schools from across Europe: the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic from France, and from an undisclosed location somewhere in Northern Europe, the Durmstrang Institute. These schools will be competing against Hogwarts in an event known as the Triwizard Tournament."
The buzz of excited conversation broke out amongst the students again as the memory started to fade and Ron found himself being pulled off into another.
"What the bloody Hell was that load of waffle Trelawney was spouting?" he thought as the memory shift overtook him, "All that talk of a blood traitor…I've got a really bad feeling about all this."
The scarlet and gold of the Gryffindor common room swirled into focus around him, and Ron found himself and his young counterpart face-to-face with the devilishly grinning countenances of his brothers, Fred and George.
"Pay up, little brother," Fred said, holding a hand out expectantly.
"You backed the wrong hippogriff," George added mockingly.
"What're you talking about? I won that bet!" Ron yelled, "You pay up!"
"Krum didn't win," Fred replied, "He tied with Potter."
"Serves you right for betting against your school," said George.
"Shame on you," Fred added.
"Where's your loyalty?" George asked with a smirk.
"Now, pay up!" the twins said in perfect synch.
"No effing way!" Ron snapped, "It was a tie! They both won! At most, it was a push and I don't owe you a knut!"
"In case of a tie, the House…" Fred began
"That's us…" George added
"Wins!" they finished together.
"That's not fair!" Ron shouted angrily, "Besides…Potter cheated! He doesn't belong in the Triwizard Tournament! How'd he get in when Diggory was already picked, eh? And what about the fact that he's too young?! He's a ruddy cheat and his win shouldn't count!"
"You need to get off this anti-Potter kick, little brother…" Fred said, clucking his tongue at him in a mock-approximation of their mother.
"It's not healthy…" George chimed in.
"Live and let live…" Fred said, smiling at his own profundity.
"Unless you can get away with feeding him to the giant squid!" George quipped, causing both twins to break out laughing for a moment until the both turned their eyes on Ron and extended their hands at him.
"PAY UP!"
Thirty seconds later and three sickles lighter, Ron was making his way towards the stairs leading to the boys dorm, his face a stormy mask, grousing about his brothers and their stupid gambling racket and the cheating nature of Slytherins and the unfair way Harry Potter seems to get away with everything. He was so focused on griping and grumbling that he didn't notice the superior-looking girl sitting nearby.
"Serves you right for gambling," Hermione said in her best I'm-better-than-you-are voice, "You do know it's against the rules. You're lucky one of the prefects hasn't given you a detention for placing bets on the Tournament…or worse! I'm sure if Professor McGonagall found out --…"
"And I'm sure you would just love to tell her, wouldn't you?!" Ron shouted.
"And why shouldn't I?" she replied, her chin jutting in the air and her arms folded across her chest.
"Why shouldn't you?!" he roared, gawping at her in disbelief, "How about because it's none of your bloody business?!!!"
"Don't swear at me!" she shouted, jumping to her feet, glaring hatefully at him, "If you get expelled for gambling it's your own fault, not mine!"
"And if someone drops your bloody cat off the Astronomy Tower, it's your fault, not mine!" he yelled, shooting an evil look at the ginger cat curled up in the chair next to Hermione.
"YOU LEAVE MY CAT ALONE!!!" Hermione shrieked, tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes.
Ron looked about ready to scream right back at her, but Neville Longbottom interceded. He stepped between Ron and Hermione, putting a hand on his best friend's shoulder.
"Ron…weren't you headed upstairs?" Neville asked, looking hopeful that his friend would continue on his trip up to the dorm, "And Hermione…could you help me with my Potions essay…please?"
Ron mumbled something that sounded remarkably like "this isn't over" and then turned and headed up towards his dorm, leaving Neville behind to take out his homework and enlist Hermione in helping him while trying to convince her Ron was not going to hurt Crookshanks.
Ron kicked open the dormitory door, cursing at the pain shooting through his foot. He hobbled over to his bed, tripping over a pair of his shoes sticking out from under the bed. The angry redhead flopped down onto the scarlet bedspread and glared up at the ceiling.
"Why does she keep having a go at me?!" he asked the air, "I was willing to let it go…I could see how fragile she was after last year. I never once brought up Scabbers! But she still keeps digging at me!"
The frustrated redhead sighed and rolled over, punching his pillow several times before burying his head beneath it, trying to block out the world around him.
"I hate fighting with her…but everything I do…even if I try to ignore her or avoid her…it just seems to make her yell and scream at me even more. I don't even hate her stupid cat anymore…I just know it's the quickest way to get to her!"
He sat up quickly, throwing his pillow across the room and hitting the poster of Viktor Krum above Dean Thomas' bed.
"Doesn't she know I came after her First Year because of that stupid troll? And I refused to call her a Mudblood no matter how mad she made me! And last year…when I came to help her against Potter and those bloody Slytherins! Doesn't she see…?!"
"Doesn't she see what?"
Ron blushed to the tips of his ears and looked over at the door where Neville now stood, smirking. Ron quickly turned and looked away from him.
"Doesn't she see what, Ron?" Neville asked again, entering the room fully.
"I thought you were getting Potions help," the redhead grumbled, not liking the fact that he'd been overheard, "Why aren't you downstairs with Miss Perfect Know-It-All?"
"If you mean Hermione," Neville said, sounding as though he didn't appreciate the name-calling from Ron, "She was too upset to help me, actually. The two of you really know how to get to each other."
"I didn't start it, Nev!" Ron snapped, glaring at his best friend, "I've been trying to leave her alone this year, if you haven't noticed!"
"And why is that, Ron?" Neville asked, smirking again.
"Shut up, Neville," Ron grumbled, "It's obvious that she's going to attack me every chance she gets, no matter how nice I try to be."
"Nice is threatening to throw Crookshanks off the tallest tower in Hogwarts?" Neville asked archly.
"That ruddy beast would probably bounce if I did it," Ron said sarcastically, "But no matter what I said, I have no intention of hurting her stupid cat."
"Maybe you should tell her that," Neville replied, looking serious.
"What…and give her another chance to start a row with me? No thanks!" Ron folded his arms stubbornly across his chest, his jaw set firmly.
"Ron, if you like Hermione why don't you --…"
"I DO NOT LIKE HERMIONE GRANGER!!" the redhead shouted angrily, causing Neville to back away.
"Alright, mate…whatever you say," Neville replied, making his way towards the door, "I reckon I'll go down and see if she's willing to help me with Potions now…"
"Yeah…you do that."
Neville left the room and Ron returned to his bed to brood. Watching his fourteen-year-old counterpart deal with problems he, himself, has been dealing with made Ron smile.
"Nice to see the thickhead is finally starting to show some interest in her; for a while, I thought he was completely stupid!"
The room started to shift from view as the memory faded and a new one took its place. The Fourth Year Gryffindor boys' dormitory disappeared and was replaced by the corridor on the Third Floor, leading to Flitwick's classroom.
"Bloody stupid Yule Ball," Ron grumbled as he and Neville made their way down the hall towards their next class, "Dumbledore must be completely barmy."
"I don't think it's that big a deal, Ron," Neville replied, trying to calm his friend down, "Just ask somebody already."
Ron caught sight of a head full of bushy brown hair a few paces in front of them on their way towards Charms class, and he lowered his voice as he posed his next question, as much to himself as to Neville.
"Do you think I could convince Granger to go with me?"
"What?!" Neville was so surprised by this question that he stopped walking only to be run into by Seamus Finnegan who griped at the round-faced boy before moving around him and continuing on to class.
"She's the least girly girl in the entire school," Ron said, stopping and turning to face his friend, "She doesn't care what she looks like, unlike Lavender and Parvati and the rest of those mental girls, so maybe she won't care what a bloke looks like either…like if his hair's bright red, or if his face is covered in freckles, or if his dress robes are hideous out-of-style hand-me-downs."
Neville clearly understood what his friend was on about, but there was something he obviously felt needed to be brought up.
"Aren't you forgetting that the two of you hate each other? I mean, didn't you threaten to kill her cat this morning?"
"He was staring at me…and I didn't really mean it!" Ron exclaimed, as if that was a perfectly reasonable explanation for his actions, "Besides, that monster ate my rat!"
"I thought you were done bringing that up," Neville sighed, "That happened last year, Ron."
"Yeah, well…what did that get me?"
"Nevermind…" Neville said, rolling his eyes.
"Fine…" Ron grumbled, frowning, "Maybe she and I can call a truce, that way neither one of us has to go to this thing dateless and looking pathetic. Besides, it's not like anyone else is going to ask her!"
"Don't be so sure," Neville said with a knowing smile.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, confused.
"She already has a date," Neville said matter-of-factly.
"How do you know?" Ron asked, stepping closer to his friend, looking distinctly disgruntled.
"Because, when I asked her to the Ball last week," Neville began, shifting a bit under his friend's scrutiny, "She said she couldn't go with me because someone else had already asked her and she said 'yes'."
"You asked her?!" Ron scoffed, "Merlin, Neville, I was right…you like her!"
"Look who's talking!" Neville laughed, "She's just my friend…"
"Right," Ron chuckled, "Well, listen, Nev…don't let it get you down; we'll find a couple birds for the Ball. Just you wait and see."
"Actually, Ron," Neville said, blushing heavily, "I already have a date."
"What? Who?" Ron asked, dumbfounded.
"Uhm…Ginny…" Neville spoke in a voice so soft it was practically inaudible. Ron had to strain to hear him, but the look on his face told Neville that he did, indeed, hear him.
"Ginny? My sister Ginny?!" Ron asked, his tone indicating he was none-too-happy with Neville's revelation.
"Is that a problem?" Neville asked, his voice cracking nervously.
"Too right, it's a problem!" Ron exclaimed, moving closer towards Neville in an intimidating fashion, "Ginny is only thirteen; she's much too young to be dating. Besides, you're my best friend…there's a rule against best friends dating baby sisters!"
"There's a rule…?" Neville looked surprised and even more embarrassed.
"Well, if there isn't, there ought to be," Ron said, knitting his eyebrows together as he glared at Neville, "Rule #32 of The Best Friend's Handbook: 'At no time will a bloke's best friend attempt to date said bloke's little sister.'"
"Rule #32?" Neville asked, a bit dumbfounded, "What are the other thirty-one rules about?"
"Important best mate stuff," Ron explained, "Like supporting the Chudley Cannons no matter what, sharing homework for Snape and Trelawney's classes, backing your friend up when he's beating up Draco Malfoy…"
"These rules seem oddly specific," Neville said, smiling.
"That's why there's so many of them," Ron said with a shrug.
The warning bell rang and Neville and Ron had to hurry to Professor McGonagall's class before they were late, tabling their discussion of dates for the Yule Ball until after class. Once class had ended, and they were on their way back to the Gryffindor common room, Ron and Neville continued their date discussion.
"I can't believe Granger got a date," Ron groaned after listening to Hermione play know-it-all for the last half-an-hour in Transfiguration class, "I mean, who in their right mind would ask her?"
"I asked her," Neville reminded him.
"That's just because you didn't think you could do any better," Ron said, slapping him on the back, "Which you obviously could, seeing as how you're now going with my sister – which I'm still not okay with, by the way."
"Do I have to remind you that you wanted to ask Hermione?" Neville replied, trying not to dwell on Ron's statement.
"I didn't want to ask her," Ron clarified, "I just figured it would be easier if I did ask her. I figured she'd have fewer options, so she might be more willing to accept. If you think about it, really, I was trying to do her a favor…offering her a way out, so she wouldn't look pathetic at the Ball when she couldn't get a date."
"Except she could and did get a date," Neville said with a wry grin.
"Yeah…awfully ungrateful of her," Ron muttered, "Getting a date before I could do her a favor and all…"
"I reckon you'll be the one looking pathetic and dateless," Neville chuckled, seeming to enjoy the irony.
"Oi! Not funny!" Ron yelled, glaring hard at his friend.
"It was a little funny," Neville said, bashfully.
Ron glared at him, but all Neville could do was grin.
"You could always ask Eloise Midgen," Neville suggested.
"Ha-ha, very funny, Neville," Ron growled amidst Neville's sniggers, "Seeing as you want to date my little sister, Neville, you really should try not to be such a prat to me right now."
"I'm not asking to date your sister," Neville explained, "All I did was invite her to the Ball."
"And that better be all it is," Ron warned, "Just an invitation to one Ball."
Neville and Ron's counterpary walked on down the hall in uncomfortable silence and entered Charms class as the memory swirled before Ron's eyes and started to morph into a new one.
"Whoever came up with the idea for that stupid Yule Ball should have gotten a lifetime sentence in Azkaban Prison," Ron grumbled, as he knew the memory of his own disastrous Yule Ball would be with him forever.
As if picking up on his thoughts, Ron found himself suddenly in the midst of a Great Hall with walls that had been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables were gone, and instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.
Couples were happily dancing in the middle of the Hall to the musical stylings of the Weird Sisters, although not everyone, apparently, had been able to secure a date. Ron was very glad to see that he wasn't the only one coming stag to the Yule Ball; Draco Malfoy and his goons Crabbe and Goyle were dateless as well.
While Crabbe and Goyle were busily stuffing their maws with various treats from the refreshments table, Ron noticed that Malfoy was currently glaring jealously at one particular couple doing their turn on the dance floor. To his surprise, the couple Malfoy was glaring at was Harry Potter and Pansy Parkinson.
"Oi, Malfoy!" Ron called out in a jeering sort of voice, "What's the matter…did Potter snatch Parkinson right out from under your nose and there were no more pug-faced girls left for you in all of Slytherin?"
"Shut your mouth, Weasley!" Draco snarled. He kept his eyes locked on the two Slytherins as they danced, awkwardly, to the music, "Besides, I don't see your date. What's wrong…did no one want to dance with someone so poor they had to wear that?!"
Ron glared evilly at Malfoy. He hadn't been that far off…not that Ron had actually asked many girls. There was Fleur Delacour, of course, but Ron blamed that fiasco on her being a Veela. He'd been making a fool of himself ever since Halloween when she first arrived. The truth was, with the exception of Hermione Granger, he didn't think anybody would be desperate enough to go with him. Of course, he'd completely missed the mark on her not being able to get a date. He was starting to think that she should have taken Ginny's advice and asked that Ravenclaw from her Herbology class…Lana Love-something-or-other…
"What's wrong, Weaselbee…can't think of a witty comeback? Don't bother…I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself," Malfoy laughed.
Using two fingers to answer Malfoy instead of words, Ron turned and started to make his way to the refreshments table in search of a butterbeer or something to wash away the bad taste that formed in his mouth whenever he was around the pale-haired Slytherin.
"I get that, too," Ron thought as his counterpart walked away from Malfoy, "Tastes like slugs."
Malfoy, however, had not quite had his fill of harassing the redheaded boy in the horrible, maroon robes.
"Merlin's sake, Weasel, even that Mudblood cow Granger could get a date…and a champion at that! Of course, if you'd heard some of the things I've heard about Krum, you'd understand why he's with her," Malfoy chuckled evilly at his implied secret.
"What? What have you heard?! Tell me, you bloody little ferret!" Ron tried to yell. Of course, no one could hear him.
Fourteen-year-old Ron walked away, determined to ignore the rubbish coming out of Malfoy's mouth. He couldn't help wondering why Viktor Krum would invite Hermione Granger to the Ball when he could have had any witch he wanted! Finally, curiosity got the better of him, and against his better judgment Ron turned around and faced Malfoy.
"And just what have you heard?"
Malfoy seemed almost giddy that Ron had taken the bait. "You never wondered why an eighteen-year-old Quidditch star would want to date a fourteen-year-old bookworm like that Mudblood?"
"She's fifteen," Ron corrected him, unsure as to why he did it, "Her birthday's in September."
Malfoy smirked broadly at Ron's revelation. "Are you the Mudblood's biographer, Weasley, or are you just that observant when it comes to her? Or…do you maybe have a thing for Mudblood's? Not surprising, really, coming from a family of blood traitors like you do."
Ron drew his wand from within his robes and pressed it hard against Malfoy's chest.
"Call her a Mudblood again, Malfoy, and see how observant I've been in Moody's class!" Ron hissed, glaring hatefully into the cold grey eyes of Draco Malfoy, "Now…either finish telling me what you've heard about Krum or bugger off and leave me alone; I don't care which at this point."
Malfoy looked worried for a moment before his smirk returned. "Alright, Weaselbee…no need for violence; it is Christmas, after all. As for Krum…I heard he likes an easy conquest…a young witch, no friends, easily charmed by an older wizard…sound familiar? He shows her some interest and she's so desperate for the attention that he'll be able to convince her to do just about anything. It's a pretty brilliant scheme, actually. I'll have to try it some day."
"You're despicable, Malfoy," Ron snarled, moving away from the blonde-haired Slytherin once and for all.
He tried not to dwell on what Malfoy supposedly heard about Viktor Krum. Ron wouldn't put it past Draco Malfoy to make something like that up just to start trouble. Even so, as Ron fetched himself a butterbeer from the refreshments table and found a place to sit and think, he couldn't help running Malfoy's words through his head over and over. After all, Viktor Krum could date any witch that he wanted. Why would a rich and famous international Quidditch star pick a shy and bookish girl who hated Quidditch? The very notion was just…
"Completely sack-o'-hammers," Ron muttered, taking a pull off his butterbeer.
Hermione Granger seemed more suited to someone normal…a virtual nobody…somebody like Ron Weasley. He scowled as the idea popped into his head. The chance of something happening between the two of them was about the same as the chance of Snape jumping up on the Head Table and declaring his undying love for McGonagall.
Despite that amusing image, Ron continued to scowl, and the scowl deepened when he turned his attention away from Hermione Granger and Viktor Krum and focused it instead on his best friend and his little sister.
He was still very put-out that Neville had asked Ginny on a date…without his blessing, yet! They did seem to be having a good time, though…even though Neville appeared to be stepping on her feet every so often. At least they were keeping a respectable distance when they danced. He decided to cut Neville a break and give him a pass on this. He'd let him have one date with Ginny, but if he expected it to go any further, Neville was going to have to go through him and the rest of Ginny's brothers.
Ron finished his butterbeer and as his gaze traveled around the room, he noticed Hermione was sitting off to the side by herself and there was no sign of Viktor Krum. He decided that now was as good a time as any to get the answer to a question he wanted to ask. Feeling that Krum might return at any moment, Ron hurried over to where Hermione was seated.
"Oi, Granger!" he called out to her over the din of the music.
She rolled her eyes at the sound of his voice and when she finally looked at him, she started laughing hysterically.
"Oh my God! Those are your dress robes?!" she said, laughing at the maroon monstrosity, "Please tell me you lost a bet or something!"
Ron's ears turned red and his jaw clenched in anger. Why did she always have to be like this? Did his actions over the last three years really cause him to deserve this?
"Thanks a lot, Granger," Ron said, trying to cover the hurt in his voice with anger, "I was going to say you looked nice tonight, but forget it!"
"Oh…" Hermione was taken aback and honestly looked as though she regretted laughing at him, "I'm --…"
"I said forget it," he grumbled, too hurt and angry to forgive her even if she did apologize, "I wanted to ask you a question."
"Oh…err…go ahead," she replied, looking nervous.
"How did you manage to snag Viktor Krum?" Ron asked. That wasn't the question he had originally wanted to ask her, but she made him mad when she laughed at him, so this was the question that came out.
"I…what do you mean?!" Hermione's nervous expression clouded over and she looked to be on the verge of anger.
"You're okay for a regular bloke to date," he said, not necessarily trying to be insulting, but he didn't really care one way or the other if he was at this point, "But Viktor Krum is a Triwizard champion and an international Quidditch star; he could literally have any witch that he wants!"
"Meaning…?!" she snapped, balling up her fists.
"Meaning," he echoed, "What the Hell is he doing with you?!"
Hermione jumped to her feet and Ron stepped back, remembering a slap she had given him near the end of term last year. Instead of slapping him, however, she poked him in the chest…hard.
"I don't know what your implying," she yelled, continuing to poke him in the chest as she backed him towards the oaken doors leading out into the entrance hall, "But I didn't snag Viktor! He asked me! It just so happens that he likes girls of substance…girls like me! Maybe if you win your bet on the next task, you'll have two sickles to rub together and you can buy yourself a clue and see that a girl like me is worth something! Something more than the beautiful, brain-dead slags you are attracted to!!"
Hermione was in tears now, but Ron didn't care. She had made fun of his family's financial situation with that 'two sickles' comment, so he didn't care if he hurt her feelings or not.
"Shows how much you know, you prissy little know-it-all!" he roared, slapping her hand away from his chest, "I just so happens that I --…"
"Vot is going on here? Vot is the meaning of all this yelling?"
Viktor Krum had returned. He had a bottle of butterbeer in each hand and his dark eyes flashed back and forth between Hermione and Ron. His face was etched with concern when he saw the tears rushing down Hermione's cheeks, and when he turned back to Ron his face was set firmly with anger.
"I do not know vot you haff done to upset Herm-own-ninny, but I vill not allow it to continue!" Krum said, waddling over duckfootedly towards Ron, "I do not vish to hurt you, boy, but I vill if you leaff me no choice."
A crowd was gathering and watching. He looked over at Neville and Ginny; she looked mad while Neville looked disappointed. His gaze moved back to Hermione who was standing behind Krum…she looked completely miserable and Ron felt as though he'd just ruined everyone's night and made a fool of himself to boot.
"I'm leaving," he said in a defeated sort of voice. Before anyone could say another word, Ron turned and left the Great Hall to the hoots and hollers of Draco Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. It was a long, lonely trek up to the portrait of the Fat Lady and the common room beyond, and by the time he reached his dorm, he felt exhausted.
His confusing feelings concerning Hermione Granger were throwing his life into turmoil. He was attracted to her, but she hated him…that much was certain. He got ready for bed and lay above his covers gazing up at the ceiling.
"What am I going to do?" he asked the air, "After tonight, there's no way she'll ever give me a chance. She's going to hate me for the rest of my life."
He rolled over and looked out the window into the dark December night.
"But what if Malfoy was telling the truth and Krum is just trying to get what he wants from her…trying to use her? I should warn her…but she'd never believe me."
He rolled back over, kicking the mattress.
"Bloody stubborn know-it-all! Serves her right is Krum did take advantage of her!"
The tolling of bells ringing throughout the school signaled that it was midnight; the Yule Ball was now over, and his roommates would soon be returning. Ron got under the covers and extinguished the lamp at his bedside.
"I'm done pining away for Granger…and Viktor Krum is dead to me…the great duck-footed, pumpkin-headed git!"
The sound of footsteps on the stone steps could be heard beyond the door as the memory started to fade and Ron found himself being cast into another one.
"I guess no Ron Weasley anywhere has ever had a good experience at the bloody Yule Ball," he grumbled as the boys' dorm disappeared and the dungeon corridor outside Potions class appeared, and Ron found himself walking behind a group of Slytherins on the way to Snape's dungeon.
"I can't believe you'd miss Draco more than me, Harry" Pansy Parkinson whined in a very unattractive way, "You should have been rescuing me from the lake; I was your date for the Yule Ball! You told me I was special!"
"That's because you kept asking me if I thought you were special all night!" Harry said matter-of-factly, "I only asked you to the Ball because I was expected to have a date. I'd have preferred racing brooms with Draco all night."
Draco Malfoy broke out laughing at this and Crabbe and Goyle started chuckling thuggishly right after.
"Face it, Pansy…you're annoying," Draco sneered at the pug-faced blonde girl, "You whine too much and you're too needy. Harry needs someone who won't cling to him like a Devil's Snare!"
"I'm not clingy!" Pansy said in her shrill, whiny voice, "Am I clingy, Harry?"
"Yes, Pansy," Harry replied, sounding terribly bored, "You're horribly clingy, and you're really not my type."
"I'm blonde!" Pansy screeched, "You told me you liked blondes!"
"I do like blondes, Pansy," the scar-headed Slytherin assured her, "Your hair is not the issue; it's the rest of you I don't find attractive."
Pansy Parkinson seemed beside herself at Harry's pronouncement, while the other three Slytherin boys walking with her and Harry seemed to find great comedy in her distress. Ron, too, found it funny, but for different reasons.
"So Potter," Ron called, causing the group of Slytherins to turn and face him…except for Pansy who huffed at the boys and continued on towards Snape's class, "If you're into blondes, and Malfoy is the thing you'd miss most…does that mean the blonde you're into is him?"
Potter and Malfoy glared at Ron as he laughed, while Crabbe and Goyle just looked confused. Soon, though, Draco's glare turned into a smirk.
"I do believe the Weasel's jealous, Harry," Malfoy sneered, "He must realize that no one would miss him if he was gone!"
"I do believe you're right, Draco," Harry replied, smiling cruelly, "Doesn't he have like twenty brothers and sisters? Who could miss one with so many others to take his place?"
"Shut it!" Ron growled, his jaw setting in anger.
"Oooh…touched a nerve, have we, Weaselbee?" Malfoy laughed, enjoying the fact that he had turned the tables on Ron. Crabbe and Goyle, as usual, chuckled alongside their ringleader, "Now that I think about it, though…if Weaselbee were gone, who would they pass all his brothers' clothes down to? Do they at least give you your own kegs, or are they hand-me-downs too?"
Ron pulled his wand out of his robes, but he was quickly staring down four wands pointing back at him.
"You shouldn't mess with us, Weasley," Harry Potter said, looking at Ron as if he was an insignificant fly, "I keep telling you that…but you're too stupid to get the message."
"Go bugger yourself, scar-head," Ron growled, "You strut around this school thinking you're untouchable…that you're Merlin's gift because once upon a time you survived You-Know-Who's Killing Curse. Well, all I have to say is You-Know-Who must have been a real shite-for-brains if he couldn't do you in."
"I'll be sure and let him know you said that next time I run into him," Harry said, glaring viciously at Ron.
Before Ron could say another word, the rustling of robes and the annoyed sneering voice of Professor Snape filled the hall. At the sound of his voice, Ron quickly pocketed his wand; the Slytherins didn't bother.
"I do hope you have an adequate reason for being late to my class once again, Mr. Weasley," the Potions Master said, "Twenty-five points from Gryffindor for tardiness and causing other students to be late. As for the rest of you, be late to my class again and you'll find yourselves losing points as well. Now…go!"
Ron didn't even bother to argue. What point was there? Snape would never cut a Gryffindor a fair break, let alone punish his own House. Ron moved on down the corridor, glowering at the Slytherins as he went. No matter the amount of rules he broke, Potter always came out on top…it was a situation Ron would rectify if only he could; but no one seemed to want to punish the Boy-Who-Lived. As long as Harry Potter was at Hogwarts, the Slytherins would rule the school.
"I wish he'd never gotten on that bloody train three years ago. My life would be better off without Harry Potter in it."
The memory started to fade and Ron couldn't help feeling sorry for his counterpart. Life without Harry Potter for this world's Ron would be a joy, but for himself it would be a nightmare.
The dank, grey stone of the Potions dungeon faded away to the dark sky outside. Ron found himself sitting in the bleachers of the Quidditch pitch looking down at the massive hedge-maze that served as the setting for the final task of the Triwizard Tournament.
It seemed like forever since Cedric Diggory had been pulled from the maze after sending up a shower of sparks with his wand to signal for help. Four champions had entered the maze for the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, and so far three of them had been pulled from the maze, unable to finish the task and find the Triwizard Cup. Only one remained: Harry Potter!
"It's all over but the cryin', now," said Seamus Finnegan, watching the maze's exit intently, "The only one left in there's Potter; looks like Slytherin wins again."
"Still…a win for Potter is a win for Hogwarts, yeah?" Neville was doing his best to look on the bright side.
"That's what you think," Ron grumbled, "A win for Potter is one more in a long series of the bloody Slytherins getting away with murder; they cheat to win and get rewarded for it."
"I take it you didn't bet on Potter to win then, eh Ron?" Dean Thomas quipped, smirking.
"Shut it, Dean," Ron growled, causing the other boys to laugh.
The four Gryffindors were sitting in the bleachers of the Quidditch stadium along with the rest of Hogwarts and the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations. Every eye was glued to the exit of the enormous maze that now occupied the school's Quidditch pitch, waiting with baited breath to see if Harry Potter would complete the final task of the Triwizard Tournament and come away with the Triwizard Cup.
Well, not every eye; the hard blue eyes of Ron Weasley had moved away from the exit – he lost his bet, so he didn't care of Potter won the Tournament – and began observing the sea of faces.
His gaze fell immediately on a bushy head of brown hair down on the field sitting next to a raven-haired woman and two raven-haired men. Hermione Granger was sitting next to Viktor Krum, patting his hand while he conversed with his parents in Bulgarian.
"Fraternizing with the enemy," Ron grumbled, shaking his head bitterly.
"What's that, Ron?" Neville asked, leaning closer to try and listen to what his friend was saying over the noise of the crowd.
"Granger's down there with her boyfriend…no doubt comforting him for losing," Ron said loudly, wishing his voice would carry enough for Hermione and Krum to hear him.
Neville opened his mouth and seemed about ready to say something when a flash of light at the maze exit drew his attention. Harry Potter had just appeared out of nowhere, holding the Triwizard Cup…Potter had just won the Triwizard Tournament.
"Bloody Hell," Ron groaned.
The crowd…at least the portion of the crowd from Hogwarts who viewed Potter's win as a win for the school…erupted in cheers, applause, and catcalls; it was a celebratory ruckus in Potter's honor.
The Slytherins poured from the stands to more closely celebrate with the man-of-the-hour. Dumbledore, too, and Cornelius Fudge himself, acting as one of the Tournament judges for the final task, rushed to Potter's side as the rest of Hogwarts decided to follow suit.
"Come on, Ron!" Neville urged, grabbing Ron's arm and dragging him towards the field, "Hogwarts won the Triwizard Tournament!"
Ron grumbled at his best friend, but it was lost amongst the din of the crowd. He followed Neville towards the center of the commotion where Harry Potter was, apparently, explaining his sudden appearance while being congratulated by the masses.
"…Cup was a Portkey. It took me straight into the clutches of the Dark Lord himself."
"Are you saying…Voldemort is back?" Dumbledore asked, blue eyes full of shock and worry. Several nearby students gasped at the sound of You-Know-Who's name being spoken.
"Preposterous!" Fudge exclaimed in total disbelief.
"Hardly," Harry snapped, glaring at Fudge, "I saw his loyal Death Eaters restore his body with my own two eyes…and then I killed him."
"You what?" Dumbledore looked completely beside himself, "How did you manage that?"
"Lord Voldemort sought to duel me too soon after his restoration; he wasn't strong enough," Potter said in a cold voice, a smile drawing up his lips, "The effort was too much and he died as a result of our battle."
"How, exactly, did Voldemort meet his end, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked impatiently.
"Lord Voldemort fell in the same manner as before," Potter said, his voice tinted with contempt, "He cast the Killing Curse, but as happened thirteen years ago, the spell rebounded, and as he was in a weakened state, he was slain."
"Are you sure?" the headmaster replied, his eyes flashing strangely.
"Of course," Potter answered, grinning, "Now…if you don't mind, I do believe I have just won this tournament…for the glory of Slytherin!"
Harry Potter raised the Triwizard Cup high into the air and a raucous cheer went up from the Slytherins in the crowd. Crabbe and Goyle lumbered forward and hoisted him up on their shoulders and began carrying Harry Potter around the pitch like a conquering hero.
"Potter!" Moody growled before the Slytherin goons had gone too far, "I want to see you in my office when all the pomp-and-circumstance is over!"
"Of course, Professor," Harry replied with a grin.
"What'd I tell ya', Nev?" Ron said as the Slytherins began following Harry toward the dais where Ludo Bagman from the Ministry's Department of Magical Sports and Games would be awarding him his winnings and the title of Tournament Champion, "A win for Potter is a win for Slytherin…and only Slytherin!"
"Still…do you really think he killed You-Know-Who?" Neville asked, sounding hopeful.
"Neville," Ron said, glaring at Potter across the field, "If that slimy git did anything to You-Know-Who, it was lick his boots. Potter's lying…I'd bet my life on it!"
"Don't look now," Ron thought as the memory started to fade, "But I think you just did."
The Quidditch pitch disappeared from view and Ron now found himself in his bedroom at the Burrow, standing in front of his mirror, admiring the way a certain scarlet-and-gold badge looked as it glinted up at him from his faded old school robes.
"Prefect," he said, looking at his reflection, "Who'd have ever thought I'd make prefect?"
"Nobody, you great preening prat," Ron grumbled, remember his own receipt of the prefect's badge, "Not one of them think you're worth it! And look at you…acting like Percy for Merlin's sake! There'll be no help for it if the twins see you!"
"And just think…as soon as Mum gets back I'll be the proud owner of a brand-new broom! No hand-me-down Shooting Star…not this time! The Cleansweep Eleven!" Ron moved across the room, taking off his robes and laying them across the back of his chair, "Who knows…I might even make the Quidditch team on my new broom…"
He flopped down on his bed and began tossing an old, deflated Muggle football up in the air and catching it over and over again, imagining himself defending the goal hoops for the Gryffindor House team.
A sudden loud bang from downstairs startled Ron and caused him to drop the ball as it fell back towards him. He sat up quickly, grabbing his wand.
"What the bloody Hell was that?"
He got up and left his room, making his way down the rickety, winding stairs. The house was quiet except for Ron's breathing and the sound of movement coming from the ground floor. He hurried down, wondering if his mother had come home and dropped something, or if perhaps the twins were back and had set off some new prank of theirs.
"Mum, is that you?" Ron called as he descended to the ground floor. The front door of the Burrow was hanging off its hinges, and he knew immediately that it was not his mother he heard in the house.
"Oh God…this is it," Ron gasped as he realized what memory he was being shown now.
A floorboard creaked behind him, and Ron turned in time to see a cloaked figure step into the room and raise his wand.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green light filled the room and Ron seemed blinding by its brilliance. When the green light faded, there was nothing…nothing back blackness as the memories came to a sudden unavoidable stop.
Ron Weasley was dead.
AUTHOR'S END NOTES: And there you have it...one dead Weasley. I think I might miss AU Ron just a little bit...the poor sod.
Let me know what you thought of the chapter if you want. As I said above, I reply to all my reviewers.
Chapter 8 is well under way, and after I get home from my night hanging out with "The Fellas" tonight, I'll get back to work on it...and with faith, trust, and a little pixie dust, I should have it out to you fine readers within a fortnight.
See you then!
~Hawk~