Summer 1992
Ronald Weasley
The Great Hall had transformed once again, draped in towering banners that shimmered between deep emerald, crimson, blue, and gold. The ceiling, which usually bore the night sky, was filled with large fluffy white clouds that almost seemed to devour the tops of the banners. For the most part, the usual end-of-year excitement hummed in the air and settled over the students filling the four house tables. The Slytherin table on the other hand was almost unbearable, excitement rolling off in waves of murmurs and buzzing voices. Ron didn't share their feelings, his chest felt heavy and overburdened with everything that had been happening.
He sank into his usual seat beside Blaise, his posture stiff. His thoughts churned relentlessly, dark and unwelcome, twisting around each other until they felt suffocating. Across the table, Daphne's gaze flickered toward him and their eyes met for just a moment. She stared at him blankly before letting a deep frown spread across her lips. Ron sighed quietly and Daphne glanced away.
His stomach twisted with something unpleasant and whatever appetite he had drained away from him. It felt like the people around him lived in a different world than he did. A safer world. One where the ground beneath their feet wasn't constantly threatening to crack open. And, he guessed, in many ways they did. They weren't haunted every time they closed their eyes. He expected Daphne to be cross with him, but he suddenly felt as if things might be worse than he realized.
Across from him, Theo looked infuriatingly smug. His usual lazy grin had sharpened into something gleeful, his eyes practically gleaming in the torchlight. "I checked the points before the feast," he announced. "There's absolutely no way we won't win."
There was a collective ripple of agreement from the table. Even Millicent Bulstrode, who sat beside Theo usually quiet and unbothered, gave a small nod.
Ron didn't bother to respond. His thoughts were tangled, pulling in too many directions at once. He clenched his hands in his lap and willed the knots in his chest to unravel themselves, to allow him just a single night of feeling somewhat normal. His mind flooded with more questions, more doubts about what he should be doing and whether or not Daphne was right or wrong. He didn't really care who won the house cup, it wasn't like it mattered, not when the entire school could crumble around them at any moment. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands to stop himself from panicking.
He felt as if he should have been relieved, after all they had dealt with the Philosopher's Stone. What threat could blood magic be when compared to the dark lord himself? Yet, the reality of everything was far less satisfying than it should have been. Questions lingered stagnantly and burned at Ron to find them answered. He couldn't help but see his sister torn apart by a monster's fangs, it nearly made him shiver where he sat. The Great Hall buzzed around him, voices rising and falling in eager murmurs as students speculated on the final house standings. It felt strange, wrong even, how easily everything had gone back to normal as if none of it had ever happened; as if Voldemort hadn't almost returned.
Which, he frowned, was why he couldn't understand Daphne's point. No, he couldn't just ignore everything fucked up in Hogwarts for the sake of chasing after blood magic. Not when it was those fucked up things that made everything the way they were. Everything had returned to normal and nobody seemed to realize just how mad that was. Nobody except him. He exhaled sharply through his nose and forced himself to tune back into Theo's ramblings.
"Which is why, we will win next year's Quidditch tournament," Theo finished.
Blaise who had been listening intently frowned. "So your plan to win is for Potter to die over the summer break?"
Wait? What?
"Of course," Theo nodded. "Muggles are horrible people, or so my father says. It's only a matter of time before they end up killing him. I don't see why it can't be this year. I mean, Potter has some good blood in him but… you know." Theo gave a small pitiful look in Tracey's direction.
"Prat," she mumbled. "My blood is just as good as yours."
Ron fought back yet another .After everything happening all year, he had forgotten about Harry's situation with the Dursleys. Even though he disagreed with Theo's reasoning he couldn't help but agree with the end result. He just hoped that Dumbledore was right, that something about the Dursleys was protecting him from harm.
"Who do you think is making the team next year?" Theo asked, his eyes shifting from Blaise to Ron.
Ron just shrugged which earned him a strange look from Blaise.
"For Slytherin?" Blaise frowned. "I'm not certain. Malfoy says he's going to try out, but I've never seen him play. He seemed… confident during our broom lesson earlier in the year."
"Ugh," Theo rolled his eyes. "In that case, I hope that Potter lives. Just to put a damper on Malfoy's mood." His smile grew more wickedly. "Maybe, we will get lucky and our next defence professor will try to kill Malfoy instead."
"Lucky…" Ron muttered.
"Ah, sorry," Theo said. "I almost forgot that you watched Potter murder him. Maybe, you or Potter could murder Malfoy instead? I'd do it myself, but it's almost beneath me."
"Almost?" Blaise asked.
"He thinks he's better than he is," Daphne cut in. "He'd rather have other people do his dirty work."
"Woah, I'm not above dirty work," Theo defended. "I'm just not interested in spending the rest of my life in Azkaban. At least, not without having a whole lot of fun first."
Tracey snorted. "Please, they'd have you kissed."
"Dreaming about me being kissed?" Theo asked, raising an eyebrow. Tracey's cheeks grew scarlet and she quickly looked away.
"Anyway," he continued. "Looks like the old man's here, so we will know for sure in just a few minutes." Theo tilted his head towards the front of the room where Dumbledore had seemingly appeared without Ron noticing him enter. The headmaster looked much more tired than Ron had last seen him as if he had spent a number of days without sleep, which Ron understood completely.
Dumbledore approached the lectern that faced the tables. "Another year," Dumbledore said cheerfully, "vanquished. And I must trouble you all with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into yet another delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are a little fuller than they were when you started. Now, as I understand it, there is still the matter of the House Cup."
Dumbledore stopped and waited as a large chorus of cheering crossed the room.
"There are still some points that need to be awarded, but so far, the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred points; in third place, Hufflepuff with three hundred and thirty; and Ravenclaw in second place with four hundred and twenty-six. Which means, of course, that Slytherin is in the lead with four hundred and seventy-two."
Another chorus of cheering erupted from the Slytherin side of the room. Ron flinched as one of the older girls seated near him, screamed as loudly as she could. The cheering was met with booing from the other side of the Great Hall.
"Yes, yes, well done," Dumbledore said with a small nod. "However, recent events must be taken into account."
The sounds in the Great Hall vanished at once. The entire room became incredibly still, as if everyone, except for Ron was holding their breath. Once again, Daphne caught his eye, this time very clearly directing her annoyance towards the headmaster and not him.
"First," Dumbledore shattered the quietness, "to Miss Hermione Granger for her devotion to her fellow students and her selflessness in the face of danger; I award Gryffindor house fifty points!"
The room erupted once again this time almost exclusively in booing and guttural noises from the Slytherin table. Ron tried to make a note of who booed but it was practically every student who wasn't in first year. His face shifted into a heavy-set frown; there was something seriously wrong with Slytherin house.
"Next, to Mr Harry Potter, for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house one hundred points!"
The booing and jeering grew louder this time with the Slytherin table being joined by both the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.
"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, a small smile growing on the old man's lips. "And sometimes we must all remember to have the courage to seek help when we need it. For that reason, finally, to Mr Neville Longbottom, I must award Gryffindor House twenty-five points."
All around Ron, Slytherin students stood to their feet, boots and shoes stamping against the floor as they booed the Headmaster who stood at the front of the room with seemingly a genuine smile. Ron stared at the man in disbelief.
With a wave of a hand, the shimmering banners hanging from the ceiling all turned a bright shade of red with large golden lions embroidered into them. The fluffy white clouds grew heavy and grey as they started to rain little star-shaped pieces of red glitter.
From somewhere behind Dumbledore, Snape stood to his feet and trod down the Great Hall, passing the protesting Slytherins and disappearing through the doors. Ron watched his cape as the professor left, before standing up himself and very quickly mumbling an excuse to Blaise before chasing after the head of the house.
Ron barely managed to catch up to Professor Snape just as he neared the staircase.
"Weasley," Snape said with a disgusted tone before he had even turned around.
"Sir," Ron mumbled. Snape turned to face him, surprisingly without a sneer on his face.
"Well, what is it?" Snape asked.
Ron took a small breath. "The headmaster," Ron said carefully. "He gave the Gryffindors points, but not me. I was there with them when they went after Professor Quirrell."
"Yes," Snape said tightly. "You were. And, perhaps, had you not the misguided nature to lie to Dumbledore we would not be in such a position."
"What?" Ron's stomach sank. The puzzle pieces in his mind fell into place. He had been punished for lying, and he hadn't even realized it.
"There is one thing, Mr Weasley, that the headmaster values above all else; loyalty. Albus Dumbledore fancies himself a good man, and such sentimental notions are the burden of good men. You, however, lied to him. And as a result, your housemates have paid the price."
"I—" Ron stammered. "I didn't mean to lose for everyone."
"No, I suspect you did not. Which, in your case, Mr. Weasley, is very lucky indeed. I am not in the habit of indulging in idle gossip, and so your little deception will remain between us. But make no mistake, were your housemates to learn of this, the consequences would be... unavoidable." Snape's dark eyes bore into him, his frown deepening. "The sooner you understand where you stand in this school, the better. Do not lie to the headmaster. And, for your sake, do not lie to me."
That's not going to happen.
Ron swallowed and Snape's eyes only grew sharper.
"Tell me," Snape demanded, his voice cutting through the air like the lash of a whip. "Tell me why you're an Occlumens. Who taught you?"
Ron's mouth went dry. His fingers twitched at his sides, but he forced them to stay still, to not betray the storm of thoughts that threatened to consume him.
"I—" Ron swallowed hard. "I wasn't taught."
Snape's nostrils flared slightly, a sneer beginning to curl at the edge of his mouth. "Do not insult my intelligence, Weasley." His voice dipped lower. "Occlumency is not a skill one stumbles into. It is deliberate, practiced. So tell me. Who. Taught. You?"
Ron clenched his jaw. "No one," he repeated, slower this time.
Snape's eyes narrowed, his fingers twitching at his sides as if resisting the urge to reach for his wand. A tense silence stretched between them. "How very… interesting," Snape murmured. He studied Ron for a long moment. A headache flared in the back of Ron's head and he had the distinct, crawling feeling that the professor was trying to pull his mind apart.
Finally, Snape exhaled sharply, his lip curling once again. "I do not appreciate being lied to, Weasley," he said. "And I assure you, if you are playing a game you do not understand, it will be a very painful lesson when the board is overturned. When we speak again, I expect you to have an answer worth my time."
Ron swallowed hard. "Quirrell," he said, his voice a little unsure. "He said that you saved Harry's life but that you hate him. That you hated Harry's father."
Snape's eyes opened wider, hurt and anger swirling behind them. "Tread carefully," Snape warned.
"I can tell you hate him and he hasn't done a single thing wrong. I want to know why?"
"Yes, I suppose you would like to know," Snape murmured. "As I would like my question answered."
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his gaze never leaving Ron's. "But I suppose we both have secrets worth keeping. Perhaps, Mr. Weasley, if you were more cunning, you would already know your answer. Tell me the truth, and I will tell you mine. Until then, I don't want to see your face."
Snape's robes billowed as he turned sharply, his boots clicking against the stone floor as he strode away. Ron remained rooted to the spot, frozen in place.
"Tell me the truth, and I will tell you mine."
His stomach twisted. He had been prepared for Dumbledore to be disappointed in him, but he hadn't expected the rest of the school to suffer for it. The Headmaster was harsher than he expected, and it wasn't a mistake he would make again. He also hadn't expected Snape to see right through him. And yet, Ron refused to regret his choice. He had done what he thought was right, and both Professor Snape and Dumbledore would have to live with that. He would make the world better, with or without their help. Even if it meant he was entirely alone.