Chapter 6: The Rumble

That night, the Dementors and Phoenixes were preparing for the Rumble under the highway. Harry had selected his lieutenant Neville to battle Draco. Ron was blissfully wandering around town, waiting for the time of battle- 10:00 p.m.- to draw near so he could head for the highway to stop the fight. At first, he tried to think of a strategy to halt the bloodshed. When he couldn't think of one, his thoughts turned to Hermione, his love, and how he couldn't wait to return from the fight-that-never-happened to be with her. Hermione was thinking similar thoughts. Pavarti was also in lover's mode, preparing for her date with Draco after the rumble. Finally, 10:00 arrived.

The stretch of blacktop underneath the highway bridge was surrounded on all sides by a mixture of fences and stone walls. From the top of one tall stone wall bordering a strip of court, Harry appeared. He glanced furtively around before whistling out a simple tune. Phoenixes began to appear beside him and then drop to the court below. On the other side of the court was a fence. Draco appeared, and he and his fellow Dementors scaled the high fence like cats. The two gangs regarded each other from across the court. Finally, Harry stepped into the center and cleared his throat impressively.

"Ok, now, shake hands," he instructed. He motioned for Neville and Draco to come forward. Neville obeyed his leader's command, but Draco didn't move.

"Why?" the latter asked, clearly suspicious.

"Well…that's the way it's done, buddy boy," Harry explained.

Draco plastered on a fake smile. "Ah, more gracious traditions. Look, every one of you hates every one of us and we hate you right back. Let's get at it!" The two gangs huddled up for a brief moment to discuss strategy. Then, Neville and Draco began to circle each other like tigers locked in a cage. Neville put up his fists first, followed by Draco. The gangs began to call to their respective representatives words of encouragement….

Ron arrived at the highway. The time on his watch read 10:03. He hoped he wasn't too late. He slipped under the bridge and ran. Up ahead, he could see Draco getting into his stance and raising his fists. He and Neville began to take quick jabs at each other, but before either one of them could hit their target, Ron was climbing the fence on the third side of the court.

"HOLD IT!" Ron cried out, as he swung his legs over the fence and dropped to the ground. The fight abruptly halted. Most of the boys looked confused, except for Harry, who was surprised/scared that his friend had decided to come, and Draco, who looked as though Christmas had come early.

"Ron!" called Harry. "Come here with us, you'll get a front row seat," as he motioned for Neville to resume. But, Ron instead intercepted Neville and tried to push him back.

"No!"

"Ron, what're ya doing?" asked Seamus.

"Maybe he's found the guts to fight his own battles," suggested Draco with a sneer, hoping this was the case. Ron turned away from Neville to face the Dementor leader.

"It doesn't take guts to have a battle, and we don't have one, not any of us. Okay, Draco?" he explained, holding out his hand as if to shake it. Ron had decided on this strategy on the way over, and even though it seemed too simple, he figured its directness might do the trick.

He couldn't have been more wrong. Draco was now more eager than ever to fight, only this time, with Ron. Disgusted that Ron was giving up before they had even begun, Draco punched Ron in the arm and pushed him to the ground.

"Hold it!" yelled Harry, now diving in before things escalated with his wrong combatant. "Now, look here, what are you playing at? We agreed that this would be a fair fight between you and Neville," he admonished Draco. The Phoenix leader helped Ron to his feet and began to guide him back amongst the gang. Draco observed this exchange with scorn.

"Mother hen protecting the little one," he mused, before pointing a finger at Ron. "I'll give you a battle, blood traitor!"

"You've got me," growled Neville, leaping forward to challenge Draco. Needless to say, he was annoyed when Ron blocked him again. "No!" the latter protested. Draco held up his hands in mock surrender. "It's okay, I'll take Pretty Boy as a warm-up," he assured Neville, the nickname of course referring to Ron.

"Pretty, pretty boy," Draco continued to Ron's back. "Afraid, gutless. Afraid, chicken!" He gave Ron a slap on the arm. Harry, meanwhile, was beginning to lose his patience, and moved in to confront Draco himself.

"Shove off…"

"No!" Ron yelled for the third time that night, restraining his best mate. He let him go when Harry had calmed down, and the leader moved back to his brothers. Ron could now see that Draco was only interested in fighting him, likely in revenge for kissing Hermione at the dance. Therefore, he concluded that he might be able to talk some sense into Draco by refusing to fight at all, thereby ending the conflict.

"I don't want it, Draco," Ron admitted honestly.

"Oh, I'm sure," Draco answered sarcastically, before giving him another goading punch on the arm.

"Now listen to me-"

"Are you chicken?"

"There's nothing to fight about-"

"Come on, come on-"

Throughout this exchange, Draco backed Ron up, giving him punches in the arm all the way. Shouting and protests arose from both sides, but Ron held firm. Frustrated at his "opponent's" resolute pacifism, Draco finally slapped Ron across the face. The Phoenixes tried to push Ron forward, but Ron wheeled around and shot down their encouragements to fight. "You don't understand!"

"Understand, chicken!" Draco roared before kicking Ron in the back from behind.

That did it. Ron spun into the center ring, fists cocked. Cheers rose up and words of encouragement; even the Dementors were encouraging Ron to fight now, curious to see what he could do. And it looked as though Draco was finally going to get his wish. But as Ron looked at Draco, he couldn't help but think back to Hermione. He had been sent here to stop a fight, not start one. He also recalled how much Hermione loved Draco as a brother, and that he, Ron, loved Hermione more than anything. He couldn't do it. He unclenched his fists and lowered them.

Draco looked shocked. Just when he thought he would be getting his revenge that had been brewing for the past day, Ron gave up. "Say," he called for all to hear, "he is chicken!" He spun around Ron to get to his gang brothers, giving his enemy a tiny kick as he went. The Dementors laughed at the taunt and began to join their captain in the fun. Draco now began to give Ron playful slaps in the face and tousle his hair, the other Dementors following his lead with taunts of "Pretty Boy" and "Chicken." They even clucked like chickens, too. All the while, Ron backed away, refusing to fight and pleading with Draco to stop. In fact, he was so focused on getting away from the Dementors, that he didn't watch where he was going and backed up right into the Phoenixes- Neville, to be precise. Neville reflexively pushed Ron away. Ron wheeled around, even his patience beginning to thin. "DON'T PUSH ME!" he screamed at Neville.

If you had asked anyone who was there, there was some wonder as to just what made Harry do it. Maybe it was because he couldn't stand the sight of his best mate being humiliated any longer, or maybe it was because he panicked at the thought of his rumble unraveling into a circus sideshow. Whatever the reason, some have concluded that the Boy Who Lived simply snapped.

At Ron's latest outburst, Harry hauled and punched Draco across the face with all the strength he could muster. The Dementor leader fell backwards about 10 feet and hit the ground, yet was back on his feet in an instant. Draco's hand flew to his right eye, where a black bruise was already beginning to form. He turned back to Harry. If he had been shocked before, he was now stunned.

Harry looked just as dumbstruck. For a long tense moment, nobody spoke. Nobody moved. No one even breathed. Without speaking or taking his eyes off of Draco, Harry shed his robes and cast them aside; some Phoenix caught them. After a moment, Harry and Draco simultaneously drew a small object from their back pocket. It glinted in the moonlight, and at first, Ron thought they were wands. But, no, it was a Muggle weapon, one that his father had showed him with great care as a child. He had to search before the word came to him: switchblade.

The gangs' two commanders began to circle each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Ron knew that if he wanted this thing to end peacefully, he had to end it now. He launched himself at Harry.

"No! Harry what are you doing?"

"Get out of here, Ron!" Harry ordered, throwing his friend off of him and turning back to Draco. "Harry, don't!" When Ron persisted in his advance, Harry yelled to no one in particular "Hold him!" Neville and Seamus rushed forward and dragged Ron away. So great was their unease about the impending confrontation that neither of them noticed when they brought Ron over to the Dementor side of the court.

"Neville! Let me go!" Ron screamed. Members of both gangs formed a circle around their leaders, ready to jump in at a moment's notice if things got out of hand.

For a minute, two, Harry and Draco took tiny stabs at the air, trying to wig their opponent out. Finally, Draco slashed in a circle; Harry jumped back and kicked Draco's knife away when his opponent advanced. The pair spun around to new sides of the ring. The two took jabs at each other's arms and missed, until Harry blocked Draco's arm with his own as the latter tried to perform an overhand stab. The jolt from the contact caused Harry's knife to fly out of his hand in a high arch. Harry kicked Draco in the butt so that the latter fell, thus allowing the former time to retrieve his weapon. When Harry couldn't find it, he turned back, now defenseless, as Draco came at him again. Harry fell into a backward roll as Draco tackled him, flipping him off, then kick-flipping back to his feet. He whirled around as Draco crawled forward to recover his knife, which had fallen from his grasp during the roll. Harry tried to stomp on the knife or Draco's hand as he came near, and Draco retaliated by swinging his foot around into Harry's leg, knocking the Chosen One to the ground. The two leaders jumped to their feet and Harry flushed himself against the fence Ron had climbed over, just as the Phoenixes and Dementors rushed in to assist.

"KEEP OUTTA THIS!" Harry roared. Everyone froze. An eerie silence fell upon the court, broken only by Ron's cries.

"Somebody stop him! Lemme go! Neville! Seamus!"

Slowly, the boys backed up to the outside of the ring. Draco turned back to his enemy; he was breathing heavily. He flipped his knife to his left hand unexpectedly, then back to his right, before rushing Harry again. Harry sidestepped his jab, grabbing Draco's knife as he tried to desperately wrestle it away from the Dementor leader. The two spun around, arms linked, and Draco twisted Harry's arm to loosen the latter's grip and throw him off. Harry fell to the ground.

"Harry!" called out Dean Thomas. Again, Draco charged, but the two slid along the concrete to opposite sides to avoid each other. Harry scrambled to his feet. "Harry, here!" called Dean again, offering his captain his knife. Harry took it gratefully and turned to face Draco. Both took wider jabs at each other and missed; Harry kicked Draco's knife away for the second time, this time with such force that Draco fell to the ground. Draco frantically rolled away as Harry rushed forward and pounced on top of him. The Boy Who Lived held his knife high over his head, ready to deliver the Slytherin's death-blow.

At that moment, Ron broke free of Neville and Seamus. "Harry, don't," he cried as he grabbed Harry and physically dragged him away by his knife arm. Harry squirmed out of Ron's grasp and charged forward…right into Draco's waiting knife. Harry's eyes bugged out. Silence reigned as the Phoenix leader slowly turned to look at his best mate. With his last ounce of strength, he held the knife out to Ron before collapsing to the ground. Ron caught Harry and examined him. The Boy Who Lived was dead. Draco could only stand there with his knife, now stained with Harry's blood, staring uncomprehendingly at what he had just done.

Ron's grief suddenly turned into a rage long overdue. He took Harry's knife and glared at Draco.

"Draco, run!" called Cormac, but Draco didn't move; he was in a state of shock. Ron rushed forward with a great yell and plunged Harry's knife into the stomach of his lover's adopted brother. Draco screamed as he fell to the ground, now dead himself.

The tension broke with the force of a bomb. "Get him!" someone yelled as several Dementors pounced on Ron, pummeling him. Those that remained engaged with each other one-on-one. The rumble was now a full-fledged melee. Ron struggled futily as he was punched, clawed and kicked on all sides; he could hear the screams and yells of his mates ringing in his ears. I'm sorry, Hermione, he thought, I'm sorry I couldn't stop it. I love you so much, please forgive me.

After only a few minutes, sirens pierced the air. One by one, all combatants' heads snapped to the sound and the fighting ceased as quickly as it had started.

"Out of here, quickly," hissed Neville. The groups split; Dementors scaling the chain link fence, Phoenixes clearing the stone wall with one leap and a pull-up from a friend. No one remembered Ron, and he was left to lie there, battered but alive, besides the bodies of Draco and Harry.

With great effort, Ron dragged himself over to Draco's corpse. Only then, as he stared at the body, did the full realization of what he had done hit him in the face.

"HERMIONEEEE!" he screamed in anguish and his body convulsed with sobs; he didn't even hear the sirens coming closer and closer. Suddenly, he felt someone shaking him.

"Come on, Ron!" Colin Creevey's voice broke through the fog. "Ron, what are you doing? The Aurors are coming! We have to move!" Ron allowed himself to be dragged away from the courts and into a tunnel and safety, as the lights from Auror's sirens danced over the two forms lying on the blacktop.