Many thanks to abradystrix for betaing!
Previously in Waking Up:
- The outing to the club goes poorly, and it ends with George getting kicked out of the club and being vicious with Ron
- Hermione and Ron have an intimate evening
- Next day Ron's cooking lunch, Harry's set off by some loud noises
- Hermione goes to find Ron- turns out Mrs Weasley is crying in her room bc George got arrested for breaking his parole- then Ron leaves the house with a pair of rubber boots in his hands and no explanation
CHAPTER 7 - PUBS AND WINDOWS
A cheap scratchy t-shirt and a flimsy apron were tossed his way. Ron deftly caught them, though his left arm ached at the sudden twist he had to do.
"We have chef's trousers you can buy, so you don't mess up your jeans," he was told by Eckles, the pub owner who had hired him. He had a first name that no one at the pub knew. Ron was fairly certain they were too afraid to ask it.
"How much are the trousers?"
"Twenty pounds."
That was worth a lot of groceries, if he remembered his Muggle money.
"I'll stick with my jeans, thanks."
Eckles gave him a long look before introducing Paul, a weedy twenty-something with the patchy mustache of a fourteen year old making his first foray into facial hair. Paul walked him through the back kitchen and dishwashing areas. The thin man enjoyed talking, which worked out well for Ron, who had little energy for minding his Wizarding references. He demonstrated how to use the automatic dishwasher, and Ron wished he had some parchment to write down all the random words Paul kept throwing at him.
"It isn't a waste disposal so you need to make sure to pre-rinse it before the wash cycle starts. Make sure not to crowd in the plates or stack 'em, and you'll be fine. If you put 'em too close together you'll have to do it again, which wastes water, which Eckles don't like to see. And check your detergent levels each day too."
Ron leaned close to look up inside it. There were no sponges or scrubbers inside. His confusion must have shown on his face, as Paul asked, "Do you have an automatic dishwasher at home?"
"No."
"Who does?" laughed Paul. "You've seen one though, yeah?"
"Er, no," Ron said with a wince, hoping it wasn't a Muggle faux pas.
"I want one. Me mum thinks they're something from the Devil 'cause it makes us lazy and makes such a noise, but I says to her, there's no time for us to be faffing about with our own dishes when we's working two jobs. Just 'cause it's convenient don't mean it makes us lazy, y'know?"
Ron nodded. "I'm all for convenience."
Paul smiled and quickly rattled off confounding instructions for the machine, the buckets for cleaning, how water needed to travel between dishes somehow, and dire warnings not to spray himself in the eye 'like the last guy.'
Disappointingly, bussing did not include driving a vehicle and was just moving dirty dishes to the dishwasher in a sticky plastic bin. They ended the tour in the lavatory. He was distinctly NOT looking forward to changing the plastic mats around the men's urinals.
"So you'll get to bussing once you're changed, then you can try out the dishwasher. You can change here, if you like." Ron nodded before stripping off his shirt to change. "Blimey! What happened to you!"
Ron quickly slipped the pub shirt on.
"Nothing," he said in as airy a tone as he could. He left the bathroom, and Paul followed him.
"Those don't look like nothing," said Paul, handing over one of the plastic bussing bins. Ron shoved a bunch of dishes into the bin, a bit more loudly than he needed to. "It's cool, though. I mean your shoulder looks a bit like Freddie Kreuger, so that's wicked."
"I don't know who that is."
The sound of dirty dishes clanging into the bin failed to stop Paul from continuing on.
"Freddie Krueger's the man from 'Nightmare on Elm Street.'"
Ron gave a shrug.
"You're joking! He's the villain what haunts teens' dreams and murders them. Bloke in the red and black sweater and a hat? The one who was burnt all over?"
The water he'd poured into the bin mixed with the half eaten meat and chips in a revolting slosh.
"Is that what happened to your shoulder and arms? Are those burns?"
"Shut it and get back to work," Eckles said in a low voice behind them, startling both his employees. The bin dribbled water into one of Ron's boots.
"I was just wonderin','" Paul cheerfully explained.
"No one wants a nebby tosser like you about. Go wonder about the urinal cakes. They need replacing."
"Wha- I thought he was going to do that tonight," said Paul, giving a nod to Ron.
"Keep protestin' and I'll make you scrub the inside of the skip later."
Paul made a barely contained sound of horror.
"Urinal. Cakes." said Eckles.
Paul immediately scrabbled for the supply closet, and grabbed as many new urinal cakes as he could hold before puttering towards the lavatory.
"Was he bothering you?"
"He's fine," Ron said, left arm struggling to hold the heavy bin of dishes in front of him.
Eckles gave a growling 'Hmph', before he went to get some pints of beer for a few patrons near the end of the bar.
The rest of the evening Ron shifted between being elbow deep in dishes or bussing dirty tables, but besides the ache in his lower back from having to stand so long and lean down over a much too low sink, and the pain radiating up his left arm, and the general exhaustion, it wasn't half bad.
He had a radio he could listen to. He occasionally used his wand to scrub dishes that looked a bit manky, or to dry out his boots he kept spilling water in. Paul wasn't the worst coworker, despite his ability to talk for ages about things Ron couldn't give a rat's fart about.
It was surprisingly easy to fit in with Muggles. Just be quiet and nod along and they would accept most moments of ignorance on cultural and mechanical stuff.
The main issue with his job was that it would take a while to 'process his paperwork' and Ron wouldn't see any money for weeks. He tried to see if he could get it any sooner, but soon Eckles was asking questions that Ron hadn't sorted out proper Muggle answers to, so Ron let it drop.
So tired he could barely see, and smelling a bit like chips and wet dog, he changed back into his own shirt and began his walk home. He'd managed to Apparate the night before, but at this point he was running on about four hours sleep over a span of three days. He could feel his knees wanting to buckle with each step, and given his track record with Splinching, he didn't want to risk it.
The village was quiet during evenings, but well past midnight it was completely void of people. The air had chilled a great deal since before he'd entered the pub.
Wind whipped through his hair. His eyes shot up to the sky but found nothing but stars and thin lines of clouds in the sky. The hairs on his arms stood on end as he looked about him. He felt the wood of his wand minutely slip in his sweating palm. There wasn't enough light to tell if he was truly alone or not. With a hitched breath he Apparated with a loud 'pop!'
He nearly toppled to the ground as he landed in the field. Taking a deep breath, he fixed his eyes on the crooked silhouette of the Burrow. A lone light shone in the kitchen. He gave a small rap at the door, which elicited a squeal from behind it.
"Ronnie?" His mum asked as she opened the door. She was wearing her old green dressing gown and had a rag in hand.
"Hi Mum. Where'd we stay the summer I got my Prefect badge?"
"Those blighted security questions," she muttered. "Grimmauld place."
"Ask me my security question too."
She didn't realize how easy it was to pretend to be someone else. She rolled her eyes, but he refused to enter until she asked.
"What's your Patronus?"
"Jack Russell Terrier."
"Yes, now get inside!"
"What are you doing up?" he asked.
"I've been waiting for you, of course," she said, ushering him inside before scrubbing some nonexistent mess on the butcher block. "I wasn't the only one. Harry and Hermione stayed up until I finally sent them to bed. We've all been worried sick!"
"I left a note in my room."
"Oh yes! 'Gone out. Be back later.' A very reassuring note for a mother."
"I didn't think I'd worry you."
"Of course we were worried! Where were you? You smell like a tavern!"
He pondered not telling her. He wasn't exactly proud of the work he'd been doing; scrubbing dishes at a random Muggle pub was pretty pathetic, even for him.
"I got a job to make some extra money."
"Oh, Ron, we're fine and don't need— "
"It's not for the family… It's for Hermione."
He explained the notes of Hermione's he'd found, and the financial predicament Hermione was in to retrieve her parents.
"My Auror signing bonus doesn't come in for who knows how long… And that's if I get in. I have all sorts of assessments to pass, so who knows how it'll go."
"You and Harry will do fine with those," she said, putting a kettle on to make some tea.
"I'm not Harry," he let out, wincing at how pathetic it sounded out loud. Fuck, he needed to sleep. He was saying shit he usually kept tapped down.
"Well you don't need to be Harry to do well. You were Prefect, after all. And you did quite well on your OWLs! And you just received an Order of Merlin! You could pass any Auror test you put your mind to."
"Thanks, Mum…"
"Of course, you could always forgo it all and take your NEWTs if you like. Return to Hogwarts with Ginny."
The thought of going back to Hogwarts- seeing the corridors where Fred, Tonks, Remus and Colin had died… Ron looked at his shoes. They had a bit of muck still on them from his dishwashing. He peeled them off and placed them outside the kitchen door as his mum continued.
"Hermione hasn't said what her plans are, but I imagine she'd enjoy going back to school as well."
"I'm not going to go back."
Her hand stilled on the kettle.
"I thought as much," she said quietly, bringing her special blend of tea. One sip and he felt warmed through. She gave a tut and held his chin. "You need to shave, though, if you're going to be at the Ministry. You can't be hiding your face behind a bunch of whiskers and looking like a feral raggamuffin."
He didn't bother mentioning how Mad-Eye looked quite feral every day— acted it too.
"Are you hungry? I can knock something together for you."
"Tea's fine, thanks."
"You're too thin. I'll get you some biscuits." She bustled to the panty and retrieved some ginger biscuits. He dutifully ate them as she brushed crumbs off the table and started re-organize a shelf of cookbooks, floating them along with a swish of her wand.
"I didn't get a chance to tell you," she began, in an unconvincingly airy tone. "Your father told me some of what you did for George and what all you've been doing for the house. I didn't want you to think I hadn't noticed, and wanted to give a proper thank you."
He was quite used to not being noticed by her, and was certain she hadn't noticed until Dad had brought it up.
"You won't have to do it anymore, of course," she said, waving her wand with too much flourish, making the books push the bookend off the shelf. He managed to catch it before it fell. "I've been a little under the weather, but I'm certain it's passing."
"I know, Mum," he said, putting the bookend in its place. "Thanks for the tea."
"Of course, dear," she replied, looking at the spot on the floor where the bookend would have crashed. "George is staying at Bill's for a few nights."
"That's good," Ron replied. He didn't want to think about George or what he'd said and done.
"I think I'll make them some pies," she said, grabbing baking supplies.
"Don't you want to do that in the morning?"
"Oh no, I'd better do it now while I'm thinking of it," she said, not bothering to look from the flour she was measuring into a bowl.
Ron decided it wasn't worth arguing. Keeping busy was better than crying.
Ron took a quick shower to get rid of the stale beer and dishwater smells, then made the journey to his bedroom. He could practically feel the cool pillow against his cheek as he slumped up the stairs. Fantasies of going straight into an easy slumber stumbled to a halt as he opened the door. Harry was up in the camp bed with a Quidditch magazine.
"You're back!"
Great.
"I'm back."
"Where were you!" Harry cried out, throwing aside the magazine and putting his feet to the floor.
"I just needed a breather from… everything…" he said, tossing his bar shirt across the room where it slid behind the bed.
Harry's face had that guilty little wilt to it Ron was all too familiar with. For a Wizarding World hero, he really was all too easy to read the expressions of.
"Not you, you wanker," Ron said, leaning down to give his friend a small punch in the arm, even though the movement made his arm twitch in pain. "There's been a lot going on, and I needed some time to think."
The lines between his friend's brows deepened.
Friendly punches wouldn't work. Harry needed an explanation.
"I needed a breather because I sent in my forms to the Aurors."
"Really?" Harry asked, relief flooding his face. "That's brilliant, Ron!"
"Yeah, well… Apparently there's all sorts of assessments I'll have to do, so we'll see."
"I'll fill mine out tomorrow, then," Harry said, nodding, getting the packet of papers from under his camp bed and excitedly leafing through them. "Maybe we can go at the same time for the assessments."
"For some of them, maybe… yeah, Brilliant," Ron said through a forced smile. The idea of Harry being there made it worse, somehow. If he fucked up he'd rather not have a witness who then would show him up and wow everyone in the building. They'd probably lay the robes at Harry's feet just for showing up. "Some of them are tomorrow. Some pre-screening stuff, they said. Then if I pass that I should be scheduled the next day to begin the actual assessments."
He fished the letter out from his drawer and handed it to Harry to read.
"Kindly arrive at the Ministry at 10:14 to finish the paperwork — How could there be more paperwork? The forms were at least thirty pages!"
"Right?"
Harry nodded and read, adjusting his glasses. "Medical assessment and… And mental health exam?"
Ron could see the tinges of the stiff-jawed shaking Harry from earlier that day coming back.
"Moody and Tonks were both nuts, so I think the mental exam is sorted," Ron said with a shrug, hoping to disarm any neurosis his friend might have about his recent episodes. "We're as vigilant as Mad-Eye, so we should be shoe-ins."
"I guess…"
"Did I tell you I stunned Kingsley the other night?"
"What? No!"
"He came to give a message to Dad and I didn't know who it was— Just some apparition in the night! So I went and spelled him. Must've hit his head, because he invited me to be an Auror after… If a nutter like me stunning the Minister of Magic is invited after, they'll let anyone in," Ron said with a laugh, which finally got Harry smiling, if a bit reluctantly. Ron was too tired to say more, but he saw the tension leaving his friend's shoulders enough to not feel too guilty about it. "So I'll be out tomorrow for a bit for those assessments, but don't mention it to Hermione."
"What? Why?" Harry asked, putting down the letter.
Too tired to get into his own issues, Ron calmly replied, "Can you promise without me having to explain?"
Harry looked cross and like he wanted to say something.
"You two need to talk," was his cryptic reply.
"And we will, but she's asleep and I'm knackered, so it's not happening right now, is it?"
"You will soon, though," Harry said with that somber sort of authority he'd always been able to say things with. Ron had never been able to sound or look that commanding in his life.
"Course," Ron said with a nod. Harry still had a dubious look on his face. "I will soon. I promise!"
"Okay…" Harry replied with a skeptical look before a yawn took over and distorted his face into a specky teen who wouldn't harm a fly.
"Get some sleep, Harry," Ron replied, stripping off his shirt.
"Can now that you're back," he said with a nod, getting a Dreamless potion out from his bedside table and downing it. In seconds his eyes grew hazy and he took off his glasses.
Ron began to change into pyjamas when he caught his own reflection in the mirror. His shoulder scar stood out in an ugly contrast to his pale freckled skin, puckered and a dark reddish purplish color that twisted and stretched the skin oddly. The paler brain scars swirled around his arms in a strange almost serpentine pattern, a few ending at the bottom of his neck. He had a few other scars here and there from various battles, childhood accidents, and the top ends of two of his fingers were still gone. At least he looked the part of a grizzled Auror. He was well on his way to looking as disturbing as Mad-Eye.
"Hey Harry?" Ron asked, limply holding his shirt between his hands. "Have you heard of a Muggle thing called… shit what was it… Nighttime on Elm Street?"
"Wha?" came Harry's muffled reply from deep in his pillow.
"Something that— you know, nevermind. I'm being stupid."
Harry's almost imperceptible snores answered him.
Ron flopped onto his own bed. Despite his churning worries he had barely adjusted the blankets about him before sleep claimed him.
The next morning Ron woke to the sound of whispers. He rolled his eyes when he heard soft giggling. He cracked open an eye to see Harry at the door with Ginny giving him a soft kiss before shutting the door behind her. Disgusting. He pushed his head further into his pillow to shield his eyes from the morning light filtering in.
If he tried very hard he could scrub the picture of his besotted best friend from his brain and fall back to sleep. He didn't have to be up for another—
With a bolt he sat up and reached for his watch, arm twinging at the sudden lurch.
It read 8:17 am. He didn't even have to be up and dressed for another thirteen minutes.
He relaxed.
Ron gave a small smile and almost laughed. He hadn't slept that soundly, or that late, in months. It was a bit pathetic to rejoice over sleeping a measly seven or so hours straight, but he'd take it. He didn't need a potion or anything! He wasn't sure how to repeat it- but working hard during the day before seemed to be a contributing factor. He could repeat it easily enough. He could take more shifts from the pub. And whatever they had lined up for him for Aurors, that could help too. He just had to push himself hard enough and then sleep would come, Hermione would be taken care of, and it'd all work out.
Harry was still smiling at the door.
"Stop looking like you're going to snog my door."
"Hmm?" asked Harry, distracted.
"Pathetic," Ron said, throwing a pillow that knocked Harry's glasses off. He managed to catch them in the crook of his arm. "Stop mooning over my sister when she's not even here."
Harry looked sheepish as he put his glasses back on. "We're going to go play Quidditch in a bit, if you want to come."
He shook his head. "I have the Auror assessments."
"Oh yeah! You'll be brilliant, Ron."
Harry said it with such earnestness, Ron had to look away. "Right, well… I don't want your soppy arse around here. Go snog or whatever—"
"We're playing Quidditch."
"You make that sound like a euphemism," Ron replied, nose wrinkling. Harry flushed, but quickly got dressed to go meet Ginny.
Ron took his time to dress right, finding his more respectable looking trousers that were nearly long enough, and packed a rucksack with extra clothes for his shift at the pub.
When he went downstairs his mum was up and cooking, the kitchen humming along with magic in a familiar way. Tea was brewing, a bowl was whisking away, while a fork gently rolled sausages on the back burner. It was all smooth going until the spatula faltered and trembled while trying to flip undercooked eggs.
Mum was holding a newspaper and looking pale.
"Mum—?" Ron asked, gently taking the spatula. "Everything alright?"
"Of course, dear," she said, crumpling the newspaper into a ball and tossing it into the fireplace. The mystery article succumbed to the flames rather quickly. She straightened her apron and looked to Ron. "You're looking smart."
He ducked his head, stomach disappearing.
"Got some Auror assessments today. I'm not telling everyone, so please don't make a fuss."
"I never make a fuss," she replied, taking the spatula from him and scrambling the broken eggs.
"You've not seen Hermione have you?"
"No dear, I believe she's still asleep."
The square knot sitting somewhere around his Adam's apple loosened a degree. If Hermione was asleep he could avoid her inevitable enquiries. He needed to find a way to convince her that his being an Auror was something she could be proud of. He inhaled a quick breakfast before he could run into anyone and took the Floo to the Ministry.
The Ministry was a crush of people, and the line to get through security was interminably long. He could crawl out of his own skin with nerves as the minutes ticked down. He'd left his home with so much time to reach his first appointment, but now he would arrive with only a minute or so to spare at the rate the treacle slow line kept moving. He rather impressively kept himself from swearing in agitation. People kept staring at him, which wasn't surprising given how silly a six foot five bloke bouncing on his heels must have looked.
He had seven minutes to get to his appointment.
Finally he reached the front of the line where only three wizards sat, two of which had signs that read 'back in fifteen minutes.'
He had to remind himself that he wasn't breaking in as his wand was weighed.
"Name?"
"Ron Weasley."
"As in Ronald Weasley?" the young man asked. The other guards looked their way.
"Yeah," said Ron, glancing at his watch. Five minutes until his appointment.
"Blimey! Can I have your signature?"
"We're having to sign things now?" Ron asked. He hadn't had to sign anything the last time he entered the Ministry. The man was staring at him with a gaping mouth, no form to sign in sight. "Erm, where's the paper to sign?"
"Oh really?" the man asked, breaking out into a smile. "You'll sign?"
"Er… yeah?"
It's not like Ron had a choice in the paperwork he had to sign to get into the Ministry.
The man frantically looked about him, before another security officer handed over what looked like an old wand receipt. The young man grabbed this and a very crinkled quill, then thrust both at Ron.
"I'm Robbie."
"Cheers, Robbie," said Ron, with a shake of his head as he signed his name. The Ministry really was hard up on help if they had fellows like this manning the security desk.
"Thank you so much!"
"Sure…"
The security guard was beaming at the paper and still holding Ron's wand. Ron had less than four minutes to get to his appointment.
"Could I have my wand back now?"
"Oh! Oh yes! Here's your wand and your receipt."
Ron grabbed his wand and took off at a respectably slow trot for a professional environment, but could hear the security guard telling people, "He signed it! He signed it!"
Poor bloke going wild every time someone signed a form. No wonder the line had been so long.
Ron weaved his way around each slow moving wizard and witch, took the lift, then skidded into the Auror's office with only seconds to spare.
As soon as he reached the Auror offices he was ushered to the Auror Healer wing and given a myriad of forms asking invasive questions he'd never had to talk about with anyone before.
How often do you drink?
How often do you smoke?
How many sexual partners have you had?
Have you had dragonpox?
Is there a history of heart disease or magic degenerative disease in your family?
Then came his personal medical history and magical maladies. He found himself using 'other' a lot on his form, and having to fill it with details of the more uncommon injuries. He doubted many recruits had 'attacked by magical brain' on their forms.
He was thoroughly wrung out by the time they took him back to the Healer.
A Occupational Healer Assistant checked his hearing, eyesight, blood pressure, height and weight, magical signature, and breathing. His fingerprints were next taken, which caused an issue when they got to the fingers he'd splinched.
"You're missing parts of your fingerprint along the edges here."
"I know."
"This was from the time you were splinched escaping the Ministry?"
"Er, no. Another time."
He winced at the thought and willed himself not to snatch his hand away from the Healer.
"Another time? You've splinched yourself twice?"
"Technically the other time was my girlfriend splinching me."
"And neither splinching got medical attention?"
"I was given dittany."
"But not any healers or mediwizards saw to you?" Ron shook his head. "And no attempts were made to reunite you with the dissected flesh?"
"Both times I was escaping being captured or killed, so I couldn't go back to be reunited with the bits I'd left behind, could I?"
"Well that makes sense," the Healer's assistant said, writing it into his notes. "And neither injury causes you issues?"
Ron thought of his arm and how it twinged.
"Issues?" Ron asked.
"Inability to lift twenty kilograms, spell work— had any trouble with those?"
"Nope."
It wasn't a lie, exactly. He did spells with his right arm after all, and he could lift twenty kilos no matter what. He hadn't been asked about the tingling or weakness or pain.
Could they keep him from the Aurors for it? Moody was a mess, but that had all happened after he had already become an Auror.
An old balding Occupational Healer came in and checked over the measurements and asked some of the same questions Ron had been asked on the forms and by the assistant already.
"Well Ron, it seems you're in very fit shape, especially given your adventures over the last few years. Your body mass index could stand to be a bit higher, and you could consider a minor prosthetic for the fingertips here, but otherwise you seem robust as a runespoor to me."
"I pass?"
"Most assuredly, young man! Most assuredly," the Healer said, signing off on forms he was to take to the Mental Health Office.
Ron practically skipped there. One assessment down! Many more to go, but the next one would be the easiest one; mind healers.
Once there he had to fill out forms. Again. This time the forms were filled with questions that sounded like a personality test from one of his mum's fashion magazines.
'If you were to find out you were to work with a Muggleborn partner, you would be pleased. Strongly disagree? Somewhat disagree? Neutral/no opinion? Somewhat agree? Strongly agree?'
He was fairly certain his soul had left his body by the time he'd finished the two hundred and thirty first question.
He was finally sent back to an office very different from the cold clinical physical exam. The office had plants and patterned throws everywhere along with cozy leather seats that had been well broken in. It felt a bit like his mum had decorated it. He waited only a moment before an older Indian woman came in. Unlike the more formal or polished attire he'd seen in the Ministry, she seemed homey and cozy in a long earth toned dress with heavy wooden jewellery that clacked as she walked.
"Ronald Weasley?" she asked in a warm tone.
"Yeah that's right," he said, beginning to rise from his chair.
"Please, stay seated. Tea?" she asked, spelling over a tea kettle.
"Er, sure. Thanks."
"What do you prefer I call you?"
"Ron works," he said with a shrug.
"I'm Healer Aarti Begam. I'm a mental health counselor for the Aurors of this department, as well as Auror Recruits and Potential Recruits, like yourself. You can call me Aarti, Mrs Begam or Healer Begam, whatever you like."
"Er… Whichever you like is fine…"
"Well since I'm calling you Ron, you can call me Aarti," she said, bringing the magical quick brew tea to him. "Do you know why you've been sent here?"
"To make sure I'm not too much of a nutter to be an Auror?"
She gave a rich laugh. "What do you think constitutes a nutter?"
"Someone crazy? I don't know…"
"Well as counselors we like to avoid words like 'nutter' or 'crazy,'" she said, taking a seat. "We're here to make sure you are in a good place psychologically for Auror recruitment and evaluate if we feel this career is suited for you."
Ron looked into his tea cup that he hadn't been able to sip from. "How do you know if I'm good enough to be an Auror?"
"Let me put your mind at ease- the paperwork you filled earlier was a major screening for becoming an Auror. You passed with flying colors, exhibiting strong scores in integrity, personal courage, honesty and more. Today we're only making sure you're psychologically ready for the job."
"But… but what if you don't think I am?"
"We're just assessing if you are able to do the C.R.E., also known as Combat Readiness Evaluation this week without it causing harm to yourself or others. Today we'll have some 'talk therapy' where we just talk about your experiences over the past few years, particularly with the war."
Ron shifted in his seat. He didn't think he'd have to talk about that. He must have made a face because she quickly added, "It's all confidential with the exception of your status as either passing or not passing this psychological screening."
"Why do we need to talk about the war?"
"You've been through combat experience multiple times according to your paperwork- so that means there's a lot to process. It helps to have open conversations about these things so we can sort it out and be more at peace with it."
"Okay…" said Ron, already feeling overwhelmed. What the hell was he supposed to 'process' or talk about? He'd rather sleep with a Blast-ended Skrewt as a pillow than discuss the war with a stranger, but he'd do and say whatever they wanted in order to pass through to the Aurors.
"Do you have any questions about this process so far?"
"Will there be more paperwork?"
She gave a laugh. "Not for a while, no."
"Good," he said, letting out a puff of air that made his fringe flutter.
"Let's get started then. You covered a lot of this in your paperwork when it comes to your general history, but I'd like to get to know you better before we delve into the war, if that's alright."
"Yeah, that's fine."
It's not like he could refuse her. He was at her mercy as sure as if he was at wand point.
She started with simple things, like how he grew up, what his interests were, who he spent the most time with. It felt odd and private to talk about, but it felt most strange to speak of Harry and Hermione. Harry was so famous that anyone could misuse information if he got too detailed, and Hermione he just wanted to keep to himself. He decided to keep things as general as he could— only giving information anyone could know that couldn't be used against them later.
"I mostly spend time with Harry and Hermione. Harry and I have been best mates since the first train to Hogwarts. We spend every summer and Christmas together and spent most of our time together at school too."
"Sounds like you're very close."
Ron nodded.
"And then Hermione is… she's my girlfriend but she and Harry and I have been best friends since we took down a troll in first year."
Her eyebrows shot up.
"A troll in first year?"
He grinned at her surprise. He forgot that it was considered a big deal. "Yeah."
"That… Wasn't in your paperwork."
"Sorry."
"No need to apologize," she said with a smile. "I have heard of some of your… adventures, for lack of a better word. I didn't realize they started when you were only eleven."
"Definitely haven't stopped since…"
"Besides during your schooling, you've seen a lot of combat and action. You were an intrinsic part of the war effort this past year. That must have been very difficult."
Ron gave a shrug and looked towards the window. It wasn't a real window. He could tell it was spelled to give a view. They were deep underground for one, and there was always a touch of a magical hum about enchanted windows. The sun was shining too brightly. A breeze pushed a tree and a little bird would enter the frame of the window and hop around in the same way each time. It was meant to make a person feel better probably, but all he could see was how fake it was. There was no sun shining or little bird merrily hopping from branch to branch.
"Could you describe your time during the war?"
"Bloody insane?"
Aarti stared at him with a questioning look, obviously waiting for him to say more.
"Er… My time in the war… was not good?"
"I can only imagine."
"Yeah…" The little bird was on its third loop now. It hopped from the first branch to a second, then would cock its head as if looking right at Ron. Now it was going to jump onto the swaying part of the branch and make the leaves shudder.
Aarti took a sip of her tea, looking unbothered by the silence.
Ron sighed. "I don't know what else to say."
"Whatever you feel is relevant to your experiences."
"Yeah, but, I don't really know what you need for me to pass and go on to the exams. I don't want to mess this up."
"You're not messing anything up. Let's not concentrate on the evaluation, and instead focus on your past experience." He opened his mouth to protest that he had no idea what to say when she continued. "Perhaps we could start by describing a particular moment of combat you experienced."
"Well… like, which one?"
"How about you start at the beginning. What was your first moment of combat?"
It was all such a blur it was hard for Ron to comb out a particular moment. What constitutes combat? Would the troll count, or did it only count if it was against Death Eaters? Or did she want something from the war itself. When was the war official and what of his 'combat' would count? Would the first of the war be getting Harry home from the Dursleys? Hogwarts at the end of sixth year? The Department of Mysteries battle?
"I don't know which one counts as 'first'."
"How about we start with the first moment of combat you saw after the ministry fell."
"Oh…" Ron said, needing a moment to take that in. It felt odd to skip Sirius, Dumbledore or Moody dying… And skipping the Seven Potters battle in the middle of the night where George lost an ear and he'd stunned a Death Eater right off their broom… Was that the first time he killed someone? They surely hadn't survived… Ron shook his head. The Ministry was still around then. No, the first moment of combat would be, "The night the Ministry fell. Death Eaters came to my brother's wedding and we had to get out of there, so I guess that was the first one."
"Can you describe what happened?"
"We were at the wedding when Kingsley sent his Patronus saying the Ministry had fallen, so me, Harry and Hermione got out of there." Hermione had looked so pretty that evening. They'd danced for ages. Getting to have his hand on her waist, holding her up against them to avoid the wild elbows of the twins, had been a thrill. Percy wasn't there, so it wasn't the whole family, but it was close. It was the last time the family had been truly happy.
"Where did you go from the wedding?"
"London. Hermione Apparated us there. We went to a nasty little cafe and Hermione said 'you-know-who's—" he braced himself. "She said Voldemort's name… The Taboo brought a pair of Death Eaters after us. Harry noticed them first. They nearly got Hermione as her back was to them. Harry took out one and Hermione the other."
"What were you doing?"
Ron winced.
"Busy being useless."
"Can you be more specific? The Death Eaters entered the cafe. Where in the room were you?"
"I was beside Harry in the booth."
"And what did you do once Harry noticed the intruders?"
"Er, I pulled out my wand and pushed down Hermione so she didn't get hit by a spell. She didn't know what was going on since her back was to the door. Then they got me with an Incarcerous. I was trapped in the ropes so I was useless."
"What would have happened if you hadn't pushed Hermione down?"
Ron paused. He hadn't ever considered an alternate timeline for that incident. The way the ceramic tiles had blasted inward like a crumpled piece of parchment… it was horrid to think of what could have happened to Hermione. "Not sure what the spell was, but it smashed in the tiles over my head, so nothing good."
"So for Hermione this wasn't a useless endeavor. You saved her."
"I guess," he shrugged.
She pursed her lips as if in thought, but said no more on the matter. She instead asked about the Ministry break-in that September, asking him to clarify his part in everything. The more he had to describe the lower mood sank. He had to tell moment after moment of his ineptitude, how little he was able to get done, and how utterly useless he'd been. It was exhausting recounting it all without trying to give too much away about the Horcruxes and their import. He hadn't thought to discuss the matter with Harry and Hermione, but he imagined they'd agree that Horceuxes needed to stay secret.
There were some things he'd never trust the Ministry to know much about, and Horcruxes were one of them. He didn't say what object Umbridge had or that it was a Horcrux, but he felt it was safe enough to say it was a magical object that they knew was key to defeating Voldemort. They'd revealed that much to the rebels at Hogwarts when looking for the diadem, so it couldn't hurt now.
"Then Hermione Apparated us away to the woods in Dartmoor- where the World Cup was held. After that we were on the run."
"That sounds like a very stressful and harrowing time. How did you cope with it?"
"I was splinched, so it's a bit of a blur…"
"Splinched?" she asked, her eyes going to his still mangled fingertips.
"Oh not that time, that was another time. No, this time it was my arm."
His hand twitched at the memory and a phantom pain went up his arm.
"What sort of medical care did you receive for this?"
"Hermione had some Dittany in her bag she used to stop the bleeding."
"Have you been to a Healer since then?"
"Today, for my physical."
"And they didn't find anything wrong?
Ron's guts squirmed. "No. They didn't find anything."
"Glad to hear it," she said with a small smile. "How was your recovery?"
Ron's throat went dry. He swallowed down a few gulps of the tea. Somehow it was still rather warm. He suspected she had ever-warming charms on her cups.
"Recovery was rough," he supplied. It had been the most miserable time of his life, up to that moment. The locket was burrowing into his brain every day, whispering, then practically screaming his worst thoughts in his head. He could feel his relationships with Harry and Hermione disintegrating along with his sanity, all while feeling physically weak from blood loss and lack of food.
"Was it the physical nature of the injury or something else that made it rough?"
"Well, missing part of your arm when you're on the run in the woods isn't as easy as it sounds." He realized how biting he'd sounded, but her expression didn't change. "We had no food on us, so we were scavaging every day, moving locations randomly every day. We weren't able to think straight or work well together either because we… We had that magical object with us from Umbridge… It was infused with dark magic."
"What sort of magic?"
"Nothing good," he said with a sigh. He'd have to give her something specific to get her to move on. "It messed with my head a lot. Make my worst thoughts and feelings play in my head like a wireless at full volume. We got split up at one point."
"How did that happen?"
"We had a fight and I left for a moment, but got caught by Snatchers," Ron supplied, feeling his stomach contract.
"What was that like?"
Ron gripped his mug harder, trying to get warmth into his fingers that suddenly felt clammy and cold.
"Rough," he supplied, looking back at his tea.
He'd rather talk about the locket than the Snatchers, and he'd rather rip off his other fingernails than talk about the locket in any detail.
"We can explore your time with them in another session, if you like," said Aarti.
The bird in the window was on its ninth loop. Did the bird always loop through its little pantomime like this? Or was it stuck? Surely other people would notice this.
"Ron? Do you need to go over this at another time?"
He wasn't sure how long he'd been quiet, and felt a nervous jolt realizing it must've been for too long.
"No, it's fine. The Snatchers were a bunch of duffers. I wasn't with them long and eventually I got back to Harry and Hermione," said Ron, quickly. "We got back together. Or, I found them, technically. Of course we were captured by Snatchers again a few weeks later, and that… that was actually bad."
"What do you mean by 'actually bad.'"
"They had Harry and Hermione and took us to actual Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor."
"Versus before… with the other Snatchers wasn't 'actually bad'?"
"It was just me and none of them were Death Eaters."
"Still, it must have been frightening being on your own and captured."
"It wasn't half as frightening as Hermione being tortured," he said firmly.
"Tortured?"
Ron closed his eyes. He could practically hear Hermione's screams and feel the terror of not being able to stop them. He was never able to save anyone. It had been the same with the Department of Mysteries, and the battles at Hogwarts, and the Snatchers.
"If you won't feel comfortable discussing it, perhaps we can do it another day."
Ron's eyes shot open. He didn't want this held against him for the C.R.E.s.
"I can tell you about it," he said, though his voice had begun to go hoarse. He told as quick a version of Malfoy Manor as he could— hitting all the major points of it including Hermione's torture, his inability to stop it, Dobby's death and burial.
"I'm so sorry you've had to go through that."
Ron gave a shrug.
"How has recovery from all this been for you?"
"I wasn't hurt. Just a broken nose, rib and some knuckles."
"I meant coping with the stress of going through this. How has the emotional recovery been?"
Ron gave a hopeless shrug. "I keep myself busy. I'm pretty good, all things considered."
"Have you felt any intense physical or emotional distress when you are exposed to things that remind you of this?"
"I mean… It's stressful talking about it right now, but… I mean I'm fine, as you can see."
"What about when you are reminded of the Manor outside of here?"
"Malfoy Manor was very unique so nothing much has reminded me of it."
"Fair enough. How have your friends recovered?"
He wasn't about to reveal Harry's hair trigger responses and sleeping potions to someone at the Ministry. Harry would probably pass through his screening and C.R.E.s just by showing up, but Ron couldn't risk it.
"Harry's okay, besides being completely besotted with my sister and pretending he's playing Quidditch with her. It's become a bit of a euphemism, that. 'We're off playing Quidditch' they say, but half the time the brooms never left the broom shed. They seem happy, though."
"And Hermione?"
There was something raw and forbidden in this topic. Seeing Hermione so hollowed out was hard enough. Part of him wanted to hoard all the moments he could of Hermione and never reveal them to anyone. At the same time, the thought of keeping her out of the Aurors was hard to pass up.
"She's been struggling."
"Oh? In what way?"
Mind made up, Ron described how she slept in all the time, barely ate, her disorganised and aimless notes, and how sad she looked all the time… He held back how intense their snogging and more had been. That was private, no matter what.
"Do you feel she's getting the help she needs?"
"I try to keep her from having to do much. I am always trying to get her to eat and talk, but… She's hard to get to open up sometimes. Her Muggle parents are still in hiding so I'll be helping her get them back soon, and that should help her."
"I'm glad she has such a supportive boyfriend."
Ron's ears went red. He wasn't much help so far.
"I want to do my due diligence for you, though," Aarti continued. "Have you had nightmares about the events you've described or thought about them when you did not want to?"
Ron winced. He couldn't all out lie. Besides, he didn't want to look like a psychopath who was unbothered after going through a war. "Yeah, I've had nightmares… I mean, not every night, but yeah… And I never want to think about what happened. It was awful, so who would?"
"What happens when you do think of the war?"
Ron felt his fists flex. "Well it's not exactly pleasant. I try to avoid it where I can."
"Could you describe how it feels?"
"Fucking terrible? Shit, sorry! I didn't mean to curse."
"Curse all you like. Whatever helps you articulate your feelings," Aarti said with a wave of her hand. She didn't seem shocked by his grumpiness, so that had to be a good sign. "Do you find this has left you on guard, watchful, or easily startled?"
He stared at her. This was a trap. He wasn't going to fall for it. "I think we're all like that after the war we've gone through."
"Some are, some aren't."
"I'm as on guard as a person should be," he said, doing his best to keep a level voice and neutral tone.
"How on guard should a person be?"
"Moody said constant vigilance. I don't think he was entirely wrong there. I mean, there are threats out there and it's best to be ready, right?"
"Do you feel you are more on guard than the average person?"
"Probably, if I'm being honest, but I have more to be on guard about than the average person."
"Why do you feel that?"
He took a breath. What a fucking stupid question. "My family was being specifically hunted down, my best friend and girlfriend were labelled 'undesireable one and two' respectively, and targeted for death by our government. We were chased, caught, beaten and tortured by all sorts of people. We almost died multiple times. I know people who did die. My brother got crushed to death right in front of me. And the people who did this? Lots of them are still out there somewhere! Might be fucking off to Kazakhstan for a holiday, or might be plotting to get revenge against us and ready to ambush us in our garden tonight. We know fuck all, since the Ministry that was hunting us down only a few weeks ago is still in shambles. So yeah, I feel I have more reasons than the average person to be on fucking guard."
Aarti was silent, but her eyes were wider than they'd been before.
Ron let out a breath.
Oh fuck. He'd fucked up.
"I'm… I'm sorry "
"You have nothing to be sorry for. You were speaking with candor about what you've been through and were able to discuss the reasoning behind why you are so vigilant. It's good to be able to acknowledge these things."
"Yeah, but I shouldn't have lost my temper."
"It's alright. It's a highly emotional subject."
Ron wanted to vomit. He'd lost his temper at the lady who was supposed to let him into the Aurors. There was no way she'd pass him after his rant.
"How would you describe what you're feeling now?"
Well there was no point in lying now.
"Worried you'll not let me take the C.R.E."
She nodded.
"I understand that worry, but for now I'm saying you can attend your first C.R.E. and we'll see where it goes from there."
"Really?!" Ron asked, nearly letting the tea cup spill to the ground in his excitement.
"We'll need to get another appointment on the books, though."
There was the rub. He picked up the tea cup and gently sat it on the side table.
"So… multiple appointments with the mind Healer… Is that… Is that usual?"
"When someone's seen as many battles and situations as you- yes," she said, gathering a large leather bound book, as well as a quill.
Ron nodded.
"And… Even if I pass C.R.E. I can't be a full Auror recruit until I'm approved for action by you?"
"That's correct."
He thought about Hermione and Australia, and how much he needed the Auror money to make it happen. "Then when's the soonest I can come in?"
"Would next Wednesday work?"
That was a whole week away!
"Can't you fit me in sooner?"
"Oh…" she said looking to her book. "I have an opening the day after tomorrow at 9."
"I'll take it!"
"Alright then," she said, quilling his name into her schedule before handing him a parchment. "Here is the schedule for your C.R.E.s. Best of luck tomorrow, Ron."
"Thanks, Aarti."
With the end of their meeting, he took his schedule and his bag and headed to the cool underbelly hallways of the Ministry.
He supposed he should feel a sense of relief. He'd done well enough to get to the first Combat Readiness Exam, and was one step closer to a career and money to help Hermione find her family.
Wasn't talking this shit out supposed to make him feel better? Instead he felt thoroughly wrecked. He didn't think he'd have to describe so many moments he'd been frantically shoving to the back of his mind.
He looked down at the schedule.
COMBAT READINESS EXAMINATION SCHEDULE
For
MR RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY
For C.R.E.s 1-3: wear appropriate shoes for physical activities- close toed shoes, hard-toed with non-slip soles, preferably leather or dragon hide.
Wand holster optional.
Thursday June 11th, 9 am
C.R.E. 1 - Duelling Methods
Training Room 9
Sunday June 14th, 11 AM
C.R.E. 2 - Resilience and Flying Assessment
Training Room 4
Monday June 15th, 7 PM
C.R.E. 3 - Battle Instinct
Training Room 2
Tuesday June 16th 9 AM
C.R.E. 4 - Auror Advantage Interview
Room 534
Applicant must pass 3 out of 4 exams at minimum to be considered for full Auror recruitment. Passing these exams is not a guarantee of acceptance into the program. Results will be Owled no later than June 27th after careful consideration by the Auror Assessment committee.
Well, that was good and terrifying. He passed a hand over his face and leaned against the cool tile of the hall.
Four exams. Four ways to fuck it up. Plus another session with the mind healer. The way Kingsley had talked Ron thought this would be easy; like he was some shoe-in warm body. Now it seemed more unsurmountable with every passing hour.
Ron shook his head. He couldn't think like he had with that stupid locket. He could do this. He'd break it down like Hermione would when they studied and he was feeling defeated.
Duelling… He could do that alright. He had done so much in the last year. He'd survived over a dozen duels with his life on the line, so he could do a bit of duelling with people who weren't actually trying to kill him.
Resilience and Flying… He wasn't sure how they'd check resilience, but Ron was stubborn when he had to be, and he could fly. He ended up being a pretty good Keeper, once he got his head on straight, and had done well at the Seven Potters battle and outflown the Fiendfyre with Hermione on his broom, so he might be okay there.
Battle instinct… No idea what that could be. He'd have to ask around about that.
Some sort of battle scenario was the best Ron could think of, and he'd been in a fair few battles and smaller skirmishes at this point. Yeah, he might be okay there too.
Auror Advantage interview… So, an interview. Couldn't be much different from the mind healer stuff, only it'd be Auror shit. Ron knew he never came across that well with others. Teachers never saw much in him, adults generally ignored him, and his peers never sought him out much for anything other than information on Harry. He wasn't sure what about him to play up, because nothing in particular seemed helpful.
Harry and Hermione thought he was funny, but that wasn't really a major selling point to Aurors. He was not popular or particularly likeable. He was impolite, blunt, and half the time a grumpy sod to people he didn't know.
He'd have to look smart, which Ron had never been particularly good at. It's not that he was stupid; Ron knew he was fairly smart. He wasn't a genius or anything, but that was one area he'd never been particularly insecure about. He kept up with things when he wanted to, and school wasn't all that hard. He was constantly told he never lived up to his potential, so they must've thought he had potential. No, what Ron struggled with was looking smart. He wasn't posh, he wasn't eloquent, he spoke really plainly, and sometimes would voice an idea before it was fully formed…
Was it possible to rebuild his whole personality in less than a week? Without a time turner, probably not.
So the interview he'd probably fail… But he only needed three out of four. He could do that. He had to.
His watch gave a buzz. He was due for his shift at the pub soon.
The pub was terribly busy for a Wednesday afternoon. A group of rowdy lads were gearing up for a football match on the telly box thing. Old highlights were being played and many were playing darts and screaming over old plays, nearly knocking Ron over as he bussed away another table full of empty pints. The night felt like a marathon of cleaning and avoiding the spirited patrons sloshing beer on him. He was washing out paper straw wrappers from a glass pitcher when there was a resounding crash of dishes set behind him.
"Merlin! Don't do that!" Ron exclaimed.
"Sorry! There was tartare on the handle and it slipped!" said a sheepish Paul, holding up a tartare sauce covered hand. "They're in a mood out there, I tell you. I'm not looking forward to the actual match. They'll be soused by kick-off."
Ron nodded, realizing football and Quidditch had some terms in common.
"No need to look so overwhelmed," said Paul, giving Ron a hardy clap on the back. The effect was instant. Ron arched away, and let out an involuntary yell. The pitcher fell from his grasp and shattered on the edge of the sink.
"Shit!" Ron let out, backing away from the mess until he was in the corner.
"You okay?" Paul asked.
Ron stood stock still, unable to answer. Shattered glass was everywhere, little pieces of it clinging to both clean and dirty dishes.
"What's going on in there?" Eckles growled before entering the doorway.
"I dropped a pitcher— sorry!" said Paul.
"You did?" Eckles asked in a disbelieving voice, before giving a glance to Ron frozen in the corner. "Well then. Why don't you clean it up."
"Yessir!" said Paul, going for a black dustbin.
"And Weasley, go on your break."
Ron shook his head.
"No!" Ron protested, tongue finally loose. "I— I don't need to."
"Yes," said Eckles, his large brow furrowed so deeply his eyes almost disappeared. "You do."
"But," Ron answered, more quietly, "I need the money… Please don't make me. I don't need a break."
"I don't care if you need it. I'm legally required to make you go on a twenty minute rest break minimum during long shifts."
Ron glanced at Paul who nodded in the affirmative.
"Let me at least help clean this—"
"No, I've got it, Ron," said Paul with a pitying smile that made Ron want to smash the rest of the nearby pitchers. With trouble, he tore off his apron and threw it into the corner before stalking outside.
The air was cloying and sticky as he kicked a dirt clod into the wall.
"Fuck!" he spat before roughly scrubbing his face. He couldn't be trusted to clean up some broken glass now?
"Fucking pathetic!" His eyes began to sting. "Fucking pathetic…"
He wished the ground would swallow him up and spit him out ten years older with everything solved and easy.
He crumpled onto an upturned bottle crate. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't. He'd master his feelings and stop freaking out over nothing.
Determined, Ron counted down the minutes of his break. The second it ended Ron rewashed every dish, mug and pitcher in the room. When no one was looking he did a sweep of his wand to get rid of any remaining shards of glass.
The football match thingy went poorly. Football lads drowned their sorrows in gratuitous amounts of beer and chips. Despite the rowdy crowd, Paul gingerly set down dish bins like it was an offering to an angry god, backing away with his face toward Ron each time. Ron certainly played the part of an angry god well, viciously scrubbing and spraying down dishes, red faced and furious with himself.
The fury could only last so long, and by the time they were closing up he'd nearly calmed down to a small simmer of self hatred.
He'd just changed back into his normal clothes when Eckles approached him.
"You still haven't brought a voided cheque for us to set up your wage payments."
Ron wasn't entirely certain what that meant, and had been a bit too afraid to ask.
"Er… no I haven't."
"Given your reaction to going on break, it seems you're a bit hard-up."
Ron could feel the blood begin to heat somewhere behind his ears, and blossom across his cheeks.
"Seems like you need your money a bit sooner than payday'll hit, so here's a personal cheque."
"Oh... Thanks," Ron says, not really knowing what to do with it. He'd heard of cheque, but wasn't sure how it worked. He didn't like the idea of trying to get that worked out with Goblins. He imagined he'd be a bit of a persona non grata there.
Eckles was staring at him with a fathomless stare.
"Do you not have a bank account?"
Ron shook his head, hoping it wasn't terribly un-Muggle to admit this.
"How were you planning on being paid?"
"I thought it would be cash," Ron admitted. Muggle cash would be fine since they'd be going to Muggle parts of Australia. He didn't need Wizarding money.
"Do I look like a bank?" Eckles growled. Ron shook his head. It must've looked weird then… Damn. "Also, your National Insurance number is still not working."
"Oh…" Ron's face was hurting with redness now.
"Are you a runaway or something?"
Ron shook his head to wipe what must've been a gormless look off his face.
"Have some dodgy folks after you? Abusive parents?"
"What? No! Why would you even ask that?"
"Them scars, way you won't talk about yourself, you're jumpy and want to avoid a paper trail."
Well that was direct.
"I'm not jumpy…" Ron managed to croak.
"Either way… It's not regular."
Eckles gave a look that expected answers. Ron was going to have to leave the man disappointed.
"Look, can you do cash or not? If you can't, it's fine. I'll get another job."
Eckle's none-too handsome face contorted into an ugly scowl of such ferocity Ron took a step back.
"I can do cash for you…"
"Really?"
The gargoylish man nodded. "But you need to get some help."
Any smile Ron was about to give vanished. He couldn't describe the hollowness settling in his chest. Eckles went into a small office, then came back a few minutes later with cash.
"Thank you," Ron felt himself answer, before stuffing it into his waistband, numbly walking outside a safe distance from the pub and Apparating home. Too tired to properly make a meal he grabbed a few rolls from the kitchen and ate them on the way to his bedroom. Only a few dim lamps were lit as he padded up the stairs. He paused when he saw the lights were on in his room.
Fucking great. And he'd forgotten to shower to wash the pub smells off him. He considered walking back down to avoid Harry, but the door opened.
"Did you see Hermione?" Harry asked, brow wrinkled and looking behind Ron.
"No?"
"You must've just missed her by minutes. She's been in here for hours waiting for you. Your Auror stuff couldn't have taken that long, and I didn't know what to tell her to cover. I just said she'd have to ask you! You can imagine how well that went."
"Sorry."
"Why were you out so late? You have an Auror assessment tomorrow don't you?"
"Just needed some time to think."
"You've been needing that a lot lately," Harry said, a wary look on his face.
Ron didn't say anything, and instead opted to undress.
"Are you going to tell me what's actually going on?"
"It doesn't matter," Ron said, carefully hiding the cash in his shirt as he removed it, then stuffing it under his bed.
"Can't say I agree with that. You've been disappearing for two days now…" Harry sat and stared at him. Ron got into the bed and began to pull the sheets up to his ears. "Do you wanna talk?"
Fuck no. What the fuck? Harry was distinctly not known for trying to pry and talk about… well anything personal ever.
"That's ok."
"You're not pulling a George on us are you?"
Ron sat up straight as a wand.
"I'd never fucking do that!"
"Well, your clothes smell like beer, and you're disappearing and—"
"Save the detective work for when you're an Auror, Harry."
"Then what's going on?"
Of all the times for Harry to suddenly push, of course it was when Ron would rather have tea with acromantula than talk. He had nothing to say to anyone. He just wanted to keep his head down, get his money for Hermione and make himself useful for once. He didn't want to tell Harry about the job— he'd just try to give him money he hadn't earned or laugh at him for choosing such a dumb job.
Harry had a stubborn mulish look on his face, though.
Fuck, Ron would never get to sleep. The blazing self loathing from the pub began to buzz in his ears.
"Have you told Hermione about becoming an Auror yet?" asked Harry.
"When would I have? She was asleep when I left."
"When are you telling her?"
"I don't want to tell her until it's a sure thing."
"Don't be daft of course it's—"
"Maybe for you it is!" Ron snapped before he could stop himself. He ducked his face into his hands, unable to look Harry in the eye.
"You had every bit as much to do with us winning things as I did! You're a shoe-in!"
As tired as Ron was, as pulled in every direction as he was, he had to shut his friend up and level with him.
"Harry please… don't compare us. It's like in fifth year with the Patronuses or sixth with Keeper."
Harry was quiet for a moment. Ron glanced up from his hands. Harry still had a stubborn set to his jaw and was clearly confused, but he was listening.
"What do you mean?"
"In school we were mostly the same in grades. Then we had O.W.L.s right? You got an O for Defense because of your Patronus. You deserved that O more than anyone, of course! You'd been teaching us all Defense with the D.A. The examiners didn't know that, though. It was because of your Patronus you got an O. They had heard about it, asked you to do a demo, and there ya go— you got an O. I could do a Patronus, thanks to you. But no one asked me about it, so I got an E."
Harry warrily nodded.
"And Keeper?"
"I won us the cup fifth year; people chanting my name and everything. Didn't matter the next year. I had to try out. I know you're a more gifted player than me— I mean, you were the 'youngest Seeker in a century.' Fred and George and Charlie never had re-tryout. You didn't have to try out every year. But I did. Nearly got booted off the team too."
"You didn't nearly—"
"Didn't matter that I helped win the cup our fifth year, I still had to fight for it… I still had to earn my spot more thoroughly than other permanent team members."
Harry's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"So you see? It's different. And with Aurors… You're literally the savior of the Wizarding World. No one would dare turn you down for Auror! They'd be mad to do it! But they can do that to me and it won't matter to anyone."
"Doesn't matter what I do, they'll just let me in?" Harry bit.
"You're brilliant and deserve it more than anyone— so it doesn't matter if they were to hand it to you because no one will argue if you deserve it or not. I have to perform better to earn my place. You could have a bad day and they won't hold it against you, that's all."
"Well I don't ask for that!" Harry retorted.
"I know," Ron said firmly, looking his friend in the eye, hoping he could make him understand. "We wouldn't be mates if you were a berk who acted like that. But please… You need to understand there's a difference in how we're treated and what the stakes are…"
Harry looked as if he wanted to argue it, then he squinted, and his shoulders slumped.
"Okay?" Ron asked.
Harry sighed, and looked as tired as Ron felt.
"Okay…" he said, his voice small. "I'm sorry…"
Ron rolled his eyes.
"It's fine," he said, giving his friend a soft punch to the shoulder. "It won't always be like this."
"Oh?"
"Once they get to know you and realize how utterly useless you are at things, it'll be smooth sailing for me then!"
Harry gave a laugh, though he still looked a touch miserable. "Is there… Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Let a man get some sleep?"
"Right," Harry chuckled. "Yeah I think I can do that."
Ron waited for Harry to fall asleep, then set a time-keeping spell for dawn. He could avoid Hermione one more day. If he proved himself at the Aurors, then maybe his life would finally feel less like an unravelling jumper, and he'd prove to her and everyone else he could do something with himself.
END OF CHAPTER 7
Next chapter is Ron's POV again. Thanks for reading!
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