The next morning found Hermione sitting at the Great Hall with a giant book in front of her, casually spooning oatmeal up to hover uncertainly by her mouth for a few seconds before putting the food back down in a repeating loop. Her eyes were intent on the book she was reading, and it took Harry and Ron two tries to gain her attention. "Oh, sorry, did you say something? Yes, good morning," she said distractedly.
Exasperatedly, Ron grabbed the book that was in front of her. "What's this then? Triwizard Tournaments Through the Ages? What are you reading this for?," he demanded, taking some bacon off the serving dish.
Finally, Hermione looked up with a frown. "Give that back, Ronald." She looked around the room, blinking a little. "Is it nine already?"
"Hermione, how long have you been here?" asked Harry, somewhere between amused and concerned.
"I've been here since six. And honestly, Ron, did you really just ask me why I might be reading a book about the Triwizard Tournaments? You literally just got picked to be a champion. Why do you think I'm reading it?" she'd have sounded a bit more scathing, but having realized she hadn't actually eaten any of her oatmeal, she was quickly shoveling it in now.
"Oh, do you think this might have some useful information?" asked Ron, grabbing a fifth piece of bacon.
"Yes, Ronald," Hermione replied with a bit of a sigh, in-between a mouthful of her breakfast. "That is what I've been hoping."
"Well, thanks, Hermione. I can't imagine reading something so boring looking!"
"Hah. Hah," Hermione dead-panned.
"I don't get it?" said Ron, obliviously. He took a large bite of his eighth piece of bacon and accepted a letter from one of the school's mail-owls.
"Never mind, Ron. For a moment I thought you were trying to make a self-deprecating joke, but obviously not. … I need a lot more caffeine" Hermione sighed again.
"So, do you think you learned anything useful?" asked Harry.
"Well," Hermione began, "I did learn that many of the first tasks in these tournaments involve somehow battling a dangerous magical animal. In 1499, they actually brought in a Nundu! But they ended up having to cancel that tournament after it killed more than thirty wizards, including one of the judges. As a matter of fact, -"
"Look, nevermind that," Ron said, interrupting Hermione and provoking a rather annoyed glare in response. "Charlie's just sent me a letter."
"Your brother?" asked Harry.
"Yeah, he already knows that I've been chosen as one of the champions. Apparently one of the handlers on the reserve where he works is related to one of the judges. Gossip spreads fast, huh? And this time the gossip is about me!" he grinned, clearly thrilled.
Harry attempted to share a concerned glance with Hermione, but she was focusing all of her attention on her breakfast, still offended by Ron's earlier interruption.
"Oh, huh, this is weird," said Ron, grabbing an eleventh bacon slice.
"What?"
"Charlie gave me a bunch of advice on how to deal with dragons. I guess he's hoping I'll follow his path and become a dragon handler… Guess he realizes how much potential I have now that I've been selected as a famous TriWizard champion, huh?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Or maybe, Ronald, he was trying to help you out in case you have to fight a dangerous beast in the first task? Like how I was saying before you interrupted me to read your letter aloud!"
"Yeah, maybe," Ron allowed, still seemingly oblivious to Hermione's justified anger. "Or maybe he just wants to tell people he helped me. Y'know, when I win the tournament?"
This time Hermione did participate in the sharing of concerned glances with Harry. Concerned and confused. "What?"
"Well, when I win the tournament, he probably wants to be able to tell people he helped me win." Ron nodded in a knowing sort of way. "People can be kind of silly when fame gets involved. Right, Harry?" he nudged him commiseratingly. "They don't realize how hard it can be sometimes, y'know? The sacrifices it takes to be a hero."
Hermione was dumbfounded. Was it even possible for Ron's (limited amount of) fame to have gone to his head this quickly? He had to be setting some sort of record.
Harry chuckled. "No being a hero for me this year, mate. That's all up to you now," he nudged him back.
"Right," Ron grinned. "I'm gonna kick ass." He popped the last bite of his fourteenth piece of bacon into his mouth.
Hermione poured herself another cup of coffee. It was honestly too early to deal with whatever was going on here.
Throughout the day, Hogwart's residents and guests approached Ron to offer their sympathy... "Bloody Ravenclaws, what are they on about, eh?"; support... "Go Gryffindor!"; forgiveness… "Hufflepuffs are weird."; and heckling… "No one cares what you have to say, you slimy Slytherin!"
"Ronald! That was a first-year Hufflepuff!" Hermione pointed out irately.
"Eh, really? Probably mis-sorted."
McGonagall approached Ron after class with a pinched look on her face. "I am required to inform you, Mr. Weasley, that champions are not required to take end-of-the-year finals. Instead, you shall be given an automatic pass into next year's classes, dependent only upon your survival."
Hermione's face was a painting of horror. "B-but, Professor! You know what this means…"
"I don't have to do any studying this year!" Ron cheered, pumping a fist into the air.
McGonagall's face drew itself up even higher. "You would be well-advised to continue to complete homework assignments and attend classes, Mr. Weasley, if you want to have any hope of passing your O.W.L.s, which are to be taken at the end of next year."
"I don't have to go to class?" Ron wondered aloud, a stupefactious grin appearing on his face.
Her shoulders ram-rod straight, McGonagall did not deign to grace him with a response before turning and exiting the classroom apace.
Hermione moaned into Harry's shoulder, where she'd buried her face.
"There, there, Hermione," Harry said, patting her back gently. "Let's just get you back to the Common Room, yeah?" He gestured for Ron to follow, but Ron took no notice. He was still staring into space with a dazed expression of glee. Harry shrugged and led the incoherently muttering girl out of the room, trying to ignore the growing concern that this was the year both of his friends were going to finally lose it completely.
A week passed. Ron hadn't attended a single class since McGonagall's begrudgingly given permission. Hermione was not taking it well; she'd actually growled at Neville Longbottom the other day when the boy had tried to take Ron's usual seat in Herbology.
Ron had never been so happy. Everyone in the castle knew his name. His mother had taken to sending him a care package almost every day, filled with his favorite sweets and tearful notes. He wasn't sure why she was so worried, but maybe that was how it was for the mother's of heroes. Lavender Brown kept offering to play chess with him, and even though she was spectacularly bad, her low-cut tops and tinkly laughter were unusual and welcome additions to his life. If only Hermione would stop acting so jealous, practically begging him to spend time with her in the library instead. Women.
Harry was far more rational. In fact, Harry was really stepping up as his mate this year, Ron mused. Just this morning, Harry had suggested a brilliant way to shake off over-eager fans - pretend to be studying for the tournament! He'd even given Ron a giant book on dangerous magical creatures, which Ron had open in front of him now. The cover of the book was wicked cool, and Ron had already noticed a couple of younger girls giving him admiring glances from the other side of the Common Room. Hermione was even leaving him alone for once! And, well, he wouldn't admit it to Harry, but some of the information in the book wasn't half boring.
Time flew by, and before Ron knew it, the tournament was upon him. "How are you feeling?" Harry asked, pouring him some more juice.
Ron actually felt completely fine. Maybe reality just hadn't hit him yet, but somehow he wasn't nervous. Across from them, Fred and George were passing out "Ron for President!" buttons to a steady stream of well-wishers. "I think I'll be fine. It's all about preparation, y'know?" Ron said sagely, winking at a cute Ravenclaw getting a button.
"'Course it is mate," Harry said bracingly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're gonna be fine."
Hermione, on the other side of Ron, looked ill. "You know we love you, right?"
"I love you guys too," Ron said, patting her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry so much."
Tearfully, she pulled him in for a hug. "I'll never forget you."
Ron shared an incredulous glance with Harry.
An hour later, Ron sat in the champion's tent, waiting for the tournament to start. It turned out the task was stealing an egg from a nesting dragon. Blimey! This might be harder than he'd thought. 'Course, he'd handled Norberta perfectly easily back in first year, so how hard could it honestly be?
Each of the champions picked a small model of a dragon out of a bag, to decide which of the four dragons they'd face. Fleur went first. She rummaged in the bag determinedly for over a minute before pulling out the fiercest of the dragons, the Hungarian Horntail.
Poor girl! Ron felt sorry for her. There was no way they taught her how to deal with this at that poncey French school. Weirdly, she was smiling. Grimly, but still.
Viktor Krum nodded at Fleur, almost giving a small bow. Then he too rummaged through the bag for a ridiculously long time, finally pulling out the Chinese Fireball, the second-fiercest of the dragons. What bad luck! He too, looked oddly pleased with his selection.
Cedric went next, nodding solemnly at Fleur and Krum. He pulled out the most dangerous of the two remaining dragons, the Swedish Short-Snout.
That only left the Common Welsh Green dragon. The weakest and most boring one. Ron had read that they usually just slept all the time.
All three of the older champions looked terrified, yes, but also proud. Out of nowhere, Fleur gave Ron a hug. Woah.
"You can do it, little boy. Do not be worried. The handlers are brave men who will rescue you before anything too terrible can happen."
Ron frowned, distracted from her beauty for a moment. "... Thanks?" He pouted.
As he waited for the rest of the champions to complete their tasks, Ron tried to remember what else he'd read about Common Welsh Green dragons. Something about their ears, maybe? He wished Harry was here. Harry was brilliant at this sort of thing. Not remembering stuff from books - actual, real-life stuff. He deserved to be here instead of Ron... No. He couldn't think like that. Ron was a hero too now!
"RONALD WEASLEY!" shouted the announcer, some idiot from the Ministry.
Ron strode out into the arena, his arms spread wide, a big grin on his face for the audience. He waved up at the stands, throwing McGonagall a cheeky salute. Then he looked at the dragon he was supposed to face.
Ron thought he might throw up.
This was the weak dragon described in his textbook? This thing was enormous! Way bigger than Norberta.
He straightened his back. The crowd was deafening.
Right. This was it. Ron walked towards the deadly creature, trying not to shake. The dragon was pretending to sleep. Hah! As if Ron would fall for such an obvious ploy. He continued to approach, his wand in front of him. The dragon lifted one lid lazily. Ron froze.
The dragon slowly stood up, stretching its wings. It was magnificent.
Ron glanced sideways at the audience. Time to be a hero.
Carefully, Ron raised his wand. Taking a deep breath, he shot a third-year sleeping charm at the dragon. Heart pounding violently, he ran and took cover behind a rock. He wiped the sweat off his brow, his chest heaving. If this didn't work...
The dragon considered the red-headed child cowering in front of him. It snorted. This babe was clearly not a threat. Perhaps he would make a nice snack later, but right now the dragon was full. She lay back down and closed her eyes again.
Ron couldn't believe his luck! Maybe he really was cut out for this hero business. Now he just had to get the egg. Creeping forward, Ron tried to think of how he could get under the giant creature.
He'd just have to try to nudge his way under the wing. Now next to the dragon, Ron gingerly placed his hands on her. He pushed. He pulled. Nothing.
The dragon peered down at the annoying child, lids barely opening. She sighed. Clearly, the babe was lost and wanted to huddle under her for warmth. She sighed again. Curse her mothering instincts. Begrudgingly, she lifted her wing, folding the red-head underneath. Troublesome child. Sleep now.
The audience fell stunningly silent. What was happening? Ronald Weasley had disappeared underneath the dragon, after somehow forcing it into an enchanted sleep. Such a thing was unheard of! There was no spell that could do such a thing! Only the Veela had magic like that, and they weren't even human. They began muttering amongst themselves.
It was surprisingly cozy under the sleepy dragon. If his adrenaline weren't still so high, Ron would genuinely consider taking a wee nap. Alas, he had a heroic quest to complete.
Shuffling around, Ron located the golden egg. He tucked it in the waistband of his trousers, pulling his jumper over the small bundle. Time to get out of here. But how? Again, he began pushing and shoving at the underside of the dragon's wing. It was to no avail. This dragon was not budging.
Ron started to feel like he couldn't breathe. There was plenty of oxygen, but the potential embarrassment of needing to be rescued was making him claustrophobic. He shoved harder.
Irritating child. The dragon was losing her patience. She was also beginning to feel a bit peckish. Maybe it was time for that snack… She lifted her wing to release the child.
At last! Ron tumbled out from under the dragon, red-faced and out-of-breath. He looked up at the dragon. The dragon looked down at him. She sniffed him, considering.
No, this child wouldn't be tasty. She let out a huff, flame pouring from her snout. The child scampered backwards, frightened by her casual and majestic display of power. As it should be. Perhaps the child was less simple-minded than it seemed. She huffed again, amused. Farewell, pesky child.
The audience roared in confused delight as Ron reached the exit of the arena. He lifted the golden egg high in the air, turning to face the crowd. So, this was what it felt like to be the hero of your own story. He saw Harry in the stands cheering like a madman, his hair and glasses helplessly askew. Ron felt something warm and bright expand within him. He grinned at his best friend. "Gryffindor forever!"
Then Ron fainted.