CHAPTER 11: The Game That Moves As You Play (Part 4)

Ron woke up before his alarm went off. His eyes opened, and he exited the bed before fully realising he was awake. He showered without his mother having to yell at him, cleaned up his room without anyone telling him anything, and was downstairs before anyone else had even woken up. And not for the first time this summer, he cracked a couple of eggs on the edge of the table and threw them on the pan. He cut up a sausage and added it to the mix, as he used the wooden stick he'd seen his mother often use and scrambled the eggs. Once they were set and done, ready on his plate, Ron toasted a few pieces of bread and poured himself a glass of orange juice. The product was rushed, not nearly as perfect as the way his mum made breakfast, but it was edible enough he ate it without complaints. Sometimes, even, he thought he was getting better at it with every passing week.

By the time Ron was done and rushing up to his room once more, his mum was bustling down the stairs and his father was loudly singing in the shower. "Good morning, Ron."

"Morning, Mum!" Ron yelled out, and that was that. The first few times, his mum had questioned him, but by now, this may as well be business as usual.

Everyone else was still asleep, even Ginny hadn't woken up. They weren't supposed to head over to Blackstone until noon, but Ron didn't care about that. He plucked his wand from his nightstand and summoned the books Harry had given to him as he kicked the door shut. Ron had always had trouble focusing. Reading and studying were things he never did, and if someone had told him last year how he would be spending his summer, he would have most likely cried and begged for a way to change it.

He switched from one book to another over and over again. Whenever he got stuck. Whenever he started focusing too much on the posters on his wall. Whenever his mind would drift and he'd start casting random spells to keep himself interested. He went from reading and practising some new spells Harry had underlined for him to learn about the various strategies there were in duelling. It was interesting, or at least more than any of his other classes at Hogwarts, and Ron was eternally grateful Harry had actually taken the time to circle specific paragraphs and note things in each book, so Ron wouldn't get lost in the meat of the text. It was the thing Hermione usually did for him, but he couldn't keep asking that of her, not when she could barely read through a chapter without getting a headache.

But soon enough, he grew too tired of acting as Hermione. He shut down the books and threw them over to his bed before leaving the room. The Minister's permission Harry had gotten from them didn't include much of the grounds of the property, but thankfully it covered enough of it that he could stretch his legs and walk outside. He found Ginny awake by the time he made it downstairs. "Wait for me," she called out to him, her mouth full as she ran across the kitchen and took off her shoes at the same time. But even if Ginny wasn't a girl's girl like Lavender or Parvati was, she would take too long showering and changing for his taste. So he gave her that same non-committal answer as he shut the door behind him.

He busied himself with the target practice system Harry had set up for him and Ginny a couple of weeks ago, and an hour later once Ginny finally came down, the two of them began their mock duels. They were calm and simple, nothing like the ones they had at Blackstone with Harry there watching. Here, they used non-lethal spells and focused more on their aim and reflexes than actually beating each other. The rest of the morning went by quickly, and though Ron was thoroughly spent, he was more excited than drained. Instead of wishing for his lessons with Harry to be over and sleep in all day, he was filled with more energy than he knew what to do with it. Nothing Harry had them do - whether it was reading a few chapters of his books every day or the gruelling practices that kept him in shape - seemed as daunting as it first had when he'd told them of it during their first lesson.

Entering back into the house felt just like the first time he'd crossed the entrance to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He felt those tingles on the back of his neck, the odd feeling spreading through his body as he crossed through the threshold. The sun had been dimmed, and the air had grown heavier. Mum was already eating lunch, and while in any past summer, she would have been with the twins or Percy or Charlie or Bill, now she was alone. Ron briefly looked upwards, bothered by the lack of sound that had usually shaken the house, before joining his mum at the table.

"You should've told us lunch was ready," Ginny berated his mother, somehow angry and sad at the same time.

"Oh, it's fine," his mother smiled, or at least she tried to. "It's still hot. Sit down, sit down, let me get the plates."

She fuzzed over them, as she usually did, serving the food on their plates and talking. Though these days, she mostly talked to herself. Despite her best attempts, very few words were said after. He could hear how softly his mother chewed, the way Ginny scratched her fork on her plate. The sombreness didn't have the novelty it did when summer first started, but it didn't feel normal. Ron didn't have much of an appetite, but he still stayed there until both finished their meals. He washed his own plate, despite his mother's protestations, and when he eyed the other two full plates on the counter, he looked at Ginny. But she just shook her head and walked away.

He hid his sigh and looked away from his mum. If he didn't do this or even whined about it, his mother would. The last thing they needed was another fight.

The door to the twins' room was locked. Ron had to fumble for his wand, and somehow, he managed to pry it from his pants while keeping both plates steady in his hands. The room smelt of dirty underwear and dried sweat, the scent overtook him before he fully opened the door. The drapes were closed. The room looked like the aftermath of a battle with a miniature tornado. George was lying on his bed, holding his pillow over his head with a grip that whitened his knuckles. Fred wasn't. His chair took over most of the room. Floating in the centre, still and rigid and ugly. It was made of wood, large enough that only a few of his red hairs peeked out from behind the backrest. Ron couldn't remember the last time he saw Fred out of that chair. Sometimes, he doubted he even used his bed.

A thousand words burned in his throat. None of them good. None of them worth it. None of them had ever changed anything. So he just set the plates on the table beside the bunk bed.

"Food's ready," he said, and then he left.

There were only fifteen minutes before they had to leave, and Ron still had to brush his teeth and change into less sweaty clothes. Instead, he went outside and smashed Harry's targets. The fact that they would reform almost instantly took away any satisfaction he got from it.

When he and Ginny flooed to Blackstone, they found the house empty and cold. Only Harry was there. Ron looked at his watch. "Where's Hermione?" He asked.

"She said she couldn't make it today," Harry shrugged. "Something about her OWLs."

"Oh," the word escaped from his mouth. It was barely a whisper, something that no one had meant to hear. He didn't know she was already taking her OWLs. "Alright then."

He lost himself in his talk with Harry, trying to push down the ugly feelings that kept squeezing at his chest, as they were heading to the Auditorium. It wasn't an actual auditorium (the house actually had one), instead, it was the room Harry had been using to train them. It had been magically enlarged by Dumbledore, fitted with a duelling platform that would rise from the ground whenever two people got into position, a couple of iron-made dummies that moved around the room and occasionally launched stinging hexes, as well as targets that would sprout from nearly anywhere in the room. He felt himself relaxing, letting go of all the burdens of his mind as he prepared himself for the session.

It didn't last long, though, as it all came back when he saw Neville already waiting for them in the Auditorium. Ron smiled. It didn't feel natural, but he kept it up anyway as he went over to Neville. Neville had come back a few days ago and trained with them for a while, but Ron didn't think he would actually see him here again today. It wasn't that he didn't want Neville to return. After he quit, Ron wasted parchment after parchment asking him to give the lessons another chance, only for no response to come back. But these days, he found it harder to talk to Neville than it was to talk to Harry bloody Potter. Hell, even talking to Hermione was becoming quite the chore. He felt like a bad friend, as if he was betraying them for someone Ron had cursed and hated for the past year. But it didn't make it any less true.

"Hey, mate," he called out, feeling as if he should try to clap Neville's back or hug him or shake his hand or something, but instead he awkwardly raised his hand in a wave.

Neville just grunted back.

Harry had them warm up. He had them run laps around the room and stretch and cast random spells, just to make sure they could. As if suddenly their magic would fail them. He was even being polite to Neville, or well, not reacting to Neville's insults. It was the only time he would speak up, the only time when he would do anything other than grunt or hum. Ginny was about to burst, the tinges of her face growing red. This time, it was Ron's turn to shake his head at her. She didn't like it, but at least it stopped her from making a scene. Ron knew she would make him pay during their duels. Or, well, at least she'd try to.

Harry seemed to notice the quiet animosity growing between the three of them. It wasn't something that usually happened, at least it didn't before Neville came back into the mix, but Harry was surprisingly good at noticing it. He separated them and gave them their own tasks. Neville took over the third of the room nearest the door. Targets would pop out now and then for him to hit. They were larger than the ones Ron used to practice, and they didn't appear as far as they did for him and Ginny, but Neville was still learning how to use his new arm. Ginny took over the centre of the room. Harry gave her a few books and let her be. He probably had her researching a few spells. Sometimes, he even quizzed them on what spells should be used in what situations. It wasn't written or anything like that, they were just questions he'd ask them throughout their lessons. Hermione loved it when he did that.

"Come on," Harry said to him after leaving Ginny on her own.

"The dummies?" Ron asked. It was what Harry had made him do for the past couple of weeks whenever he'd split them up like this. None of the others had actually faced them yet. Ron wasn't too sure why Harry had never let them. Ginny he understood, she was younger and the less experienced of the group. But Hermione was smarter than him. Even with her problems, she knew more spells than Ron and could understand more of the theory than him. And Neville, well, he was more powerful than Ron. It wasn't something Ron fancied admitting much, but Neville was more powerful than nearly anyone else, so it didn't hurt him much either. It was just the way things were. And yeah, he was training with his left arm now, but one good spell from Neville was enough to blow the dummy into pieces.

"No," Harry gave a small laugh. It would have seemed sinister a few months ago, now it was just worrying. "Come on, up you go."

Harry got into position, his feet right above the mark Dumbledore had made for them, causing the floor to rise and the duelling platform to set in.

"You're joking."

"Ron," Harry said. "Get on the fucking stage."

Ron snorted, somewhat in a daze, as he jumped onto the platform and placed himself on the opposite side of it. He pulled out his wand from his holster, moving it inside his hand as Harry smirked lightly. "Don't go too hard, yeah?"

"I won't fight back," he pulled out his own wand, twirling it around his fingers. "Just try to hit me. Stinging hexes only."

Ron didn't wait for a signal. The moment Harry said it, he attacked, launching five concurrent hexes at him. Harry dodged the first four easily, only to parry the fifth right back at him. It hit Ron on his arm, sending a jolt that tensed his spine and nearly made him drop his wand.

"Good," Harry said. "Again."

The Department of Magical Education wasn't like the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or the Department of Mysteries. It didn't have its own floor, even though it had various subdepartments. Instead, it shared a floor with the Department of Magical Games and Sports. What those two had in common, Hermione had no idea. It was a sad but not surprising look as to what the Ministry thought of the education of its wizarding population. She was just glad she had been one of the lucky ones who had gotten admitted to Hogwarts.

Hermione wasn't sure what had gotten her into Hogwarts instead of the Ministry school. When Professor McGonagall first came to her house and explained all about Magic and the wizarding world to her and her parents, she had explained why she had been chosen. Just like the sorting hat, the Hogwarts founders had left a magical book and quill behind. It had been after Salazar Slytherin had left, once it had become clear that their time at the school was ending. They created this magical book and quill to continue in their stead, a way for muggle-borns to be admitted into the school. Its process wasn't formally known, and the Hogwarts Headmasters had always protected the magical artefact from much examination from tertiary parties.

Ever since she learned about it, Hermione wondered why it had written her name down. Her intelligence, she had first assumed. She was smart, she was back then and she still is now. Her name had been written down because of her good grades, because of her studying habits, and because of that brain that she constantly fed and nurtured. But then again, it wasn't as if the book and quill were updated with her Muggle grades, was it? Magical power was another criterion Hermione considered. She didn't know how powerful she actually was, it wasn't something she spent nights thinking about much, but she was fairly powerful. Above average, she would say, but nowhere near Neville or Harry or someone like that. But if she was just above average, would that really mean she would have been chosen because of that? She didn't think so. Money? Her parents were definitely wealthy enough to afford Hogwarts without the need for a scholarship. But it felt too superficial, and Hermione didn't think something like that would have mattered to the founders nearly a millennium ago. Bloodline? Maybe one of her great great great great great grandmothers had been magical. But that felt like a reach. Fate? She hated that word.

Whatever it was, she still had it, Hermione reminded herself as she stepped outside the lift and into Level Seven. That was something no one could ever take away from her. She belonged here.

"Good morning," she told the secretary, making sure not to trip over her words. She wouldn't stumble while she talked. Not here.

"Oh, hello Hermione" Ava, the secretary, greeted her. Her voice was soft, kind, the type someone would use when speaking to a baby who was trying to reach a toy. The same tone she had used all week. "Last day, right?"

"Yes."

"Oh, that's good," she praised her, as if managing to take all her OWLs was some sort of accomplishment. "Take a seat, honey, Mister Tofty will be right with you."

Hermione gave a stiff nod and complied. She reviewed everything while she waited, going over potion recipes and the various runic alphabets in her mind. Whenever she would drift, she would pinch her leg, and during those times when she'd stumble for an ingredient or the name of a specific rune, she would violently shake her head until it came to her. This was her last day, the last effort in a long, arduous week. She wouldn't fail here.

Professor Tofty came only a few minutes after she arrived. He had been the examiner who had taken over her case, evaluating her practical work and supervising her during the theoretical exams. Tall with a large belly, Professor Tofty wasn't much of a talker, something Hermione appreciated. He was nice, if sometimes a bit too much for her taste, and he gave her more chances than she had the right to. But considering what treatment she got from everyone at the Ministry, he was the most impartial of them all.

She spent the entire day with her examinations. Professor Tofty started her off with Potions. First by having her perform the written test and then moving on to the practical examination, during which she had to brew a wit-sharpening potion as well as an antidote to uncommon poisons. The colours of the final products didn't look quite right, and she had left a few questions blank in the written exam after being stuck on them for too long. But that wasn't surprising.

When it happened on her first day, she returned to Shadowfield devastated. For as long as she could remember, this had been the first time she had ever left a question without answering. And it hadn't just been one question, it was nearly one-fifth of the exam that she had left unanswered. It made her begin to doubt the answers she actually wrote down, made her question if she would even manage an Acceptable. Late that night, she had even decided not to show up to the other exams the following morning. In the end, she didn't follow through with this. Every day she went, and every day she was disappointed with her performance. But every day, it hurt just a little bit less.

After the Potions exams, she was given a free hour before her Runes exam. She went back up to the Atrium for a quick lunch. She focused on her steps, her breathing, and the various alphabets she had to remember for the exam rather than the feeling of being in the Ministry again. The Atrium had been fixed, but it also hadn't been destroyed when she was being tortured and mocked as the Death Eaters waited for Neville. The place didn't seem any different from that night. She wasn't either, Hermione reminded herself. Nothing had changed, nothing so insurmountable had happened, so there was nothing she should be ignoring. She ate in silence, aware of all the pitiful glances and the shaming whispers.

Everyone avoided her. They all acted as if she carried some incurable illness that would pass on if they even breathed the same air as her. And yet, it didn't stop them from looking at her. They were waiting for her to break down and cry, or thinking she would suddenly collapse and die, maybe explode or be suddenly filled with boils. She was their freak, there so people could talk and watch, pity, and thank Merlin for their good health and their good life, and that was it. That was who she was now, her entire purpose. The martyr who had somehow survived, the person you thought of when you realised life wasn't so bad.

She left her food unfinished, abandoned on the table, without a second thought. Maybe someone would pick it up, keep it, hide it, and a hundred years from now put it in a museum and explain how the freak, too, ate just like everyone else. How anyone could become like her if they weren't careful enough.

Her Runes exam was just like all the others. Her mind wasn't cooperating, time ran faster than it did outside the doors of the exam. Only this time, she barely paid any thought to the questions she didn't manage to answer. She was ready to go back to Shadowfield, ready to lock herself in her room and throw herself onto her bed. A day or two like that, with no one to remind her of who she now was, without having to worry about her grades or her parents or the war or Neville or anything else. Maybe she could make it a week, somehow find a way to get her hands on a time turner and use it over and over again until she felt complete again. But then Tofty had said, "If you wait a little more than an hour, I could have all your results back." So she stayed. It was that or waiting weeks before even getting her scores. It was the practical thing to do, so she did it.

Time was a traitorous force. Running away when you most needed it and stretching when it hurt the most. Minute after minute passed and with it, her tolerance left her. She was going mad. Her mind started to drift off more, her fingers desperately sought for something to do, something to cling to. She didn't have a book to distract herself with. Couldn't even talk to Ava out of fear that she would sound like an incompetent, illiterate child. She rocked back and forth, watching the minutes on the clock tick away so slowly, it almost seemed static.

It took Tofty nearly an hour and a half before he came out of his office. An envelope in his hand and a patronizing, false smile on his face. "Well done," he'd said and left before she could see her scores.

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS

Hermione Jean Granger has achieved:

Ancient Runes A

Arithmancy E

Astronomy E

Care of Magical Creatures A

Charms E

Defense Against the Dark Arts A

Herbology E

History of Magic P

Potions A

Transfiguration E

Hermione read the parchment once, twice, thrice, four times, and then she folded it three times until it fit in her pocket. She didn't say goodbye. She kept her nose high and didn't blink as she walked to the lift, rose to the Atrium, and then took the floo back to Shadowfield. She pulled out the parchment again, opening it and reading it over again and again, as if it would somehow shift the ink on the page. Change the As into Es, the Es into Os, erasing that disgusting P staining her record. If she hadn't known about the anti-writing jinxes on the parchment, she would have grabbed a quill and done so herself. She'd passed, done better than the average Hogwarts student, she knew that for sure. This was what she wanted. What she'd worked for day and night for the past two months, studying until her eyes stung and her stomach growled.

It wasn't enough.

She crumbled the parchment and threw it in the rubbish. Her hands shook, and her chest tightened. She was forgetting how to blink.

"Your results?" A gruff voice asked from behind her. She hadn't known her father was there, would have never thought he was watching her. Maybe a year ago, she would have cared.

"Four Acceptables and Five Exceeds."

"That's nine."

"I know that's nine!" She snapped, the venom pouring out of her as she refused to look at her father. "I- I got a P in History."

Her father hummed.

"It's not fair," Hermione ranted. "I- I- I studied every day. Every night. I know everything they're asking, I just- I just- I… I… I know it. I have it, I have it here," she hit her head. "If I'd just had more time. Or some notes. Or… Or…"

"You said you didn't want any pity privileges," her father reminded her.

"I don't. I don't. I- I never said I did."

"It sounds to me like that's what you're asking."

"I'm not."

"Then stop," her father's words were cold. So unlike anything he had ever said to her. It hurt her in ways she couldn't even describe. "You had the exam. Your results are yours, don't put them on anyone else. You gave it your best, just like everybody else."

"Well, I'm not like everyone else, am I?" Hermione shot back. "They don't have this… this… thing inside their minds trapping them and making them a useless retard. If any of them had to take their OWLs, they wouldn't have even managed a P!"

"You said you didn't want any-"

"I know what I said," she cut him off harshly. She wanted to say so much. Wanted to yell and blurt out everything in her mind. She wanted it so bad. But she couldn't. She wouldn't even find the words if she tried. "You should see the way they look at me. The way they treat me. They look at me like- like I'm tainted. Like I'm worthless. I'm nothing but a pity project to them. Why do they get to do that? It doesn't matter if I continue rejecting their patronizing charity, they're never going to stop looking at me as if I'm some… some sort of broken thing."

"It's not fun, is it? Having people look down on you." Her father asked calmly.

"I…"

"It hurts when people demean you for not having something, doesn't it? To be treated like an animal for it. Like you're less than human."

"Of course not!"

"Why does it surprise you? You do the same to us Muggles," he spat the word as if it had been phlegm that had been stuck deep in his throat. "Why did you think the other wizards would act any differently with you?"

"I- I… I don't! I don't do that," she protested. "I've never said I view you and Mum as less!"

"You never had to," her father said.

He left her alone, leaving her before she could say another word. And for the first time in her life, her father wasn't there to hug her when she fell on her knees and sobbed.

That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!

By the time I'm posting this, I'M THIRTEEN chapters ahead, and finishing the final arc of the summer titled A Creature That Bleeds!If you're interested in learning how to get early access to the chapters, join my discord server using the following link: /jyPfbGqhJT

As always, thank you for reading, favoriting, and commenting. I appreciate all of you!