Thank you abradystrix for betaing! appreciate you!
Previously in Waking Up:
Ron did his first shift at the pub
He has a talk w/ Harry about telling Hermione about the Aurors- he decided he won't be telling her until he's in
Has to pass physical and mental health examinations for Aurors
passes physical
Meets Aarti the Mind Healer- passes (though he's been dancing around talking about himself all that much)
will be able to take first C.R.E. exam!
has a bit of a scare at the pub - pub manager Eckles offers his help to Ron
Has a good talk with Harry about the pressure he faces to succeed vs Harry.
CHAPTER WARNINGS:
cursing, action scenes with small amounts of violence, blood mention, mentions of funeral and dead characters, brief therapy, flashback, allusion to harmful past, sexually explicit scene
CHAPTER 8 - COMBAT READINESS EXAM #1
Knowing Hermione had been looking for him the previous evening, Ron set his alarm exceedingly early. He hated that he had to avoid her. All he wanted to do was curl into a ball with his head at her hip as her delicate fingers played with his hair and she nattered on about something she'd read somewhere.
That would have to wait. He couldn't come to her with empty hands, no solutions, and no plan. He couldn't tell her 'I have no money, no idea how to find your parents, oh and I tried for the one job you hate, but don't worry! I'm such a failure I couldn't even get in when the bar was the lowest it's ever been.'
He checked the room and time for his appointment, even though he'd long since memorised them, and stowed them in his bedside drawer.
He only needed a few more days, and then he'd have enough money to make some difference. Maybe he'd have some answers. Maybe he'd be an Auror, and seeing that he'd made it in would make her change her mind and be proud of him.
"Fat chance…" he muttered to himself as he laced up his trainers and headed for the Ministry.
Check in to the Ministry was the same as before, with a long snaking line of people who he would occasionally catch eyeing him with curiosity. Ron shifted from foot to foot. He stood out like a dragon in a box of lizards when he wasn't surrounded by his family. He was a head taller than everyone and had hair louder than everyone's.
The same ministry guard, Robbie, was there to weigh his wand.
"Ron Weasley," he said, handing over his wand to the quard.
"Yes sir!" he grinned. "You're here earlier than last time."
Surprised at being remembered, he gave a small smile. People never remembered him. It was just Robbie, the odd guard, but there was something nice about it. "Got Auror Combat Readiness Exams."
"Oh wow! You'll be an amazing Auror, Mr Weasley!"
"You can call me Ron, Robbie."
"You remember my name?" he spluttered, before his smile intensified to a level of gobsmacked elation that made Ron nervous.
"Yeah," Ron said, looking at the wand in Robbie's still hands. Robbie stood still as a rock.
"Give him his ticket," the guard beside Robbie prompted.
"Oh! Oh right! Here you are!"
Ron carefully plucked the wand and weighing ticket from Robbie.
"Thanks, Robbie."
Robbie stared mutely, face flushed. Poor sod. Ron could empathise a bit— he was used to people not knowing who he was— but to get that overjoyed was a bit sad.
In his haste to leave the house Ron had forgotten to get food. Knowing he was shit on an empty stomach, he used his last few knuts to pay for a bacon butty in the Ministry cafeteria. Afterwards he felt a bit sick to his stomach, but whether it was from nerves or the glumpy butty he couldn't tell.
He was at the Auror Headquarters hours before his test, but if this was odd the front desk attendant didn't give an indication. He was sent to the metal elevator down the hall, ushered to a locker room, and given a uniform of a white undershirt and grey trousers he quickly changed into. They had a few padded benches towards the back that housed some old wand care magazines from the 1970s. With nothing to do, he laid out on the bench with a magazine, hoping it'd somehow calm his nerves. His nerves could only stay jittery and fractious for so long, and by the time two hours had passed, they were only a dull ache somewhere about his midsection.
The first recruit to join him was a woman, close to his age. She didn't resemble Hermione in looks at all, but there was something in the way she carried herself that reminded him of Hermione back in first year. She had a wound up way of holding herself, and a headband keeping any errant hairs from falling into her face. As she came out of the changing stall in the same uniform as Ron she spied him, and her already tight lipped face fell into a look of distaste.
She didn't say anything, and took out a book titled 'A Recruit's Roadmap - Volume 1- Dynamic Duelling'.
Ron inwardly kicked himself. Why hadn't he thought to do that! He could have been studying the whole time. Instead he'd learned that bundimun secretion and bursting mushroom caps could be mixed at home to help keep your wand extra shiny even when doing heat-intensive spells.
Two other recruits joined them, a heavier set bloke about a half a foot shorter than Ron that had a long straight fringe, and a taller guy, nearly Ron's height thanks to his blonde pompadour hairstyle.
"Hey, I'm Kevin Gunther," the heavier bloke said, introducing himself to the group.
"Theold Parker," said the guy with the pompadour.
"I'm Ramona Higgins," the woman said, giving perfunctory handshakes to them, ignoring Ron.
"I'm Ron," he said, giving a shrug as the other men gave him questioning looks at Ramona's snub.
"Is that an Auror training manual?" Gunther asked.
"It's the first of three," Romana explained. "There's one for spell work, one for tactics and manoeuvres, and one for disguise. This first volume has an overview of many of the Auror sanctioned spells to use in duels, battles and more."
"Where'd you get it?" Ron asked.
She let out a sigh. "Look, some of us need to study and can't lie about reading magazines."
Ron was about to give a retort when the door opened. In walked a straight backed sturdily built woman in her thirties. She had a no-nonsense air about her, with her hair in neat cornrows that ended in a bun. The steely look was enhanced by a long scar that cut through her brow, ending half way down her cheek.
"I'm Auror Sealy-Pearce. You'll be coming with me."
Her dark maroon robes were well fitted and flared like owl wings as she strode away.
The recruits silently stared after her.
"Now!" They heard her bellow before they scrambled after her.
They followed her to a green door and for a moment Ron was blinded by an artificial sun. Through the door was a large grassy arena devoid of any people, save Auror Sealy-Pearce.
"Line up," she commanded, and they quickly did. "We're going to start your day with some stretches, a mile run, two minutes of push ups, two of sit-ups and then two of pull-ups."
"I thought today was duelling?" Gunther asked.
"That will take place after this."
Ron could see everyone's slump of disappointment. This was going to be a long day. Theold put his hands on his knees and cursed while Ramona put her hair up in a bun.
Sealy-Pearce led them through a variety of stretches before lining them up to run. Ron was the fastest, able to take long legged strides that soon put him far ahead of the rest. Not too far behind was Ramona. Kevin kept up fairly well for a bigger bloke, and Theold was surprisingly slow considering how tall he was.
Sealy-Pearce watched and wrote down things on her clipboard.
The push ups left Ron's left arm tingling and pull ups left his fingers numb, but he did them all the same. He ended up being second or third best in the rest of the exercises. Kevin was best at push-ups, able to mechanically push through them at a blazing pace, Theold was able to burst through pull-ups like they were nothing, and Ramona was best at sit-ups.
Ron did his best to hold in his hard breathing, but once the others started he gave himself permission to red facedly pant for air alongside them. He had a stitch in his side at their water break in the locker room, but didn't bother saying so; Theold complained enough for all of them. Just when they were starting to relax, Sealy-Pearce re-entered the locker room and pointed to the wooden lockers. The open lockers had their names written in neat script above them, and inside were some uniforms to put on.
Ron held up the white gambeson jacket, inspecting it. It was heavier than it looked with little leather clasps down the left side of the front that Ron found particularly fiddly. It took a bit to get into it, but it fit surprisingly well. New clothes that fit well was a sensation Ron had only had once before. The jacket hit at all the right places, and as he looked in the small mirror he thought he looked quite grown, almost dashing— something he'd definitely never felt about himself.
"Stop preening," Seally-Pearce said, though she had a small smile playing about her mouth.
Red-eared, Ron followed Seally-Pearce down a green corridor that opened to a round wooden room. The wooden floor had painted duelling lines and circles. There were deep gouges and breaks in the lines, reminding Ron that he was not the first person to have fiercely duelled here. The room had a low buzzing hum to it that spoke to him of deeply ingrained magic. He nervously adjusted the waist of his jacket.
"So they all passed basic physical fitness, Lowri?" asked a man from the side of the room. He had black hair in a ponytail longer than Bill's and a short clipped beard with lots of grey.
"Some barely passed, but that can be worked on," Seally-Pearce answered, handing off the clipboard to the man, who read over it.
"Hmm… So we'll pair them with Andrews and Pyle, that one with you, and this one with me, yes?"
Kevin let out a small high pitched noise under his breath.
"What?" asked Ron.
"That's Hadi Musaad!"
"Ok?"
"He was a World Duelling Champion for like seven years before becoming an Auror!" Kevin excitedly explained.
"And one of us is going to have to duel him," Theold moaned.
Ramona stood up straighter, her thin mouth white.
"Right!" The Word Champion Dueller said, disappearing the clipboard with a tap of his wand. "I'm Auror Musaad. Now that we know you can do the bare basics physically, we're going to start your C.R.E. This evaluation will help us know your combat readiness as is, since all of you are trying to complete the accelerated training. We won't be taking into account any history or past heroics, no matter how well known they are."
The recruits all glanced at Ron.
"And we won't take into account anyone you know."
And Musaad and Sealy-Pearce's gazes flicked to him too.
"Your passing or failing is solely based on what we see here. Three out of the four assessments need to be passed to be considered for the accelerated training course. There could be additional tests applied if it's a close call and we need to collect more evidence, but that is up to the Auror Recruitment Committee."
"Not being approved for this accelerated program doesn't necessarily disqualify you from applying for the regular three year training course, but depending on your performance we might feel you don't have the necessary core skills to build on. We might find this career track is not for you."
All the recruits shifted a bit at this.
"Today it's about your raw duelling skills. We'll see how you learn to adapt your stance when attacked, your quickness, your technique, ferocity, and your endurance. You've already had a good workout today- let's see how you do after that with an hour to duel."
Two other Aurors joined them. Kevin and Theold were paired with the newcomers while Ramona was with Seally-Pearce and Ron was left with Musaad.
Ron swore his kidneys ran for cover somewhere under his stomach.
"How good a dueller are you, Weasley?" Musaad asked as they went to their lines.
"I'm… I'm okay, sir."
"We'll see," he said, giving a bow. Ron attempted to swallow and found his mouth dry. "Don't hold back."
And it began.
Musaad was fast and efficient in his wand work. There was no hesitation or unnecessary flourishes; his wand was a seasoned weapon that quickly had Ron on his arse.
"Again," said Musaad.
Ron scrambled to his feet. How the fuck was he supposed to last an hour with such an onslaught?
They duelled again. Ron could sense Musaad controlling the space with his use of spells. He was cornering Ron with each spell, using speed and lack of cover to disorient him until Ron finally toppled. And he did it well: Ron landed in a heap on the ground.
"Again."
Musaad was also using his height against Ron. He was more than half a foot shorter and able to tuck out of the way from Ron's wand line by just a margin, making for an elusive target. In the seconds Ron took to get a good shot he was quickly and repeatedly struck with blows that left him reeling.
"Again."
The biggest blow was a stinging hex to his eyes that made it impossible to see through anything but watery slits. Ron kept fighting, realising he could use his height to control the fight too.
He whirled with quick aggression, wand whipping through the air and Musaad broke into laughter from the spell; the Rictusempra wasn't enough though. Soon Ron was disarmed and thrown into a wall. Though it was magically softened by some sort of padding spell in place, much of the wind was knocked out of him. The padding spell must've been the hum he felt in the room.
He looked to the side. Kevin was holding his own with sturdy defence and heavy barrages. Theold was fast with his wand work, able to cast complex charms Ron didn't know. Ramona was fast and deadly accurate. And there Ron was, disarmed and on the floor.
"Again!" Musaad barked, throwing Ron his wand, which he barely managed to catch.
Ron needed a second to catch his breath; a second Musaad had no intention of giving.
"Again!"
The aggressive wand movements were nothing but rote for the seasoned Auror. He was able to quickly create the perfect offence to anything Ron tried.
"Again!"
Every move was fast and purposeful, with no lucky wild hits. Ron could barely think a move ahead before Musaad would counter, finding every opening Ron accidentally gave. Musaad did a quick twist of his wand and Ron was on the ground. Wand still in hand he rolled away from another spell tossed his way.
"Stop holding back," Musaad said. Ron erected a shield as a flash of orange went his way.
"M'not!" Ron said through gritted teeth. He sent a wild Averto that didn't make contact.
"I know you can do better. Actually try!" Musaad said, not even bothering to point his wand at Ron.
"I'm trying!" Ron yelled back, throwing some jinxes Musaad countered almost lazily.
"You aren't being ruthless enough," Musaad growled, walking up to Ron until he was right in his face. "I've read your file, heard from Kingsley and Tonks. You can do better. Why aren't you hitting me with the same spells you would a Death Eater? Throw a good Relashio or Deprimo?"
"That could kill you!" What the fuck was wrong with this Auror?
"You think you can hurt me?" Musaad laughed. "Yeah fucking right. You are nothing but a load of tells broadcasting your every move. I've fought in two wars, been an Auror for twenty-seven years, a World Duelling Champion for seven. You're not hurting me, so stop fucking holding back."
Ron felt the anger pulse in his jaw. He wasn't a series of tells, was he?
"Again…" Musaad said with a bow.
If Musaad wanted unpredictability, he could give it. Ron created smoke from his wand then a bubble-head charm around Musaad, trapping his face in smoke. He couldn't hit Ron if he couldn't see him. Musaad wavered and scrabbled at his face- but it only gave a moment of relief before Musaad's wand struck Ron back a few paces. Musaad dispensed with the bubble.
"Go full out!" he yelled, the smoke billowing off his beard.
Ron blared to life a strong shield charm. He kept Musaad at bay, and he watched. Musaad's moves felt unpredictable, but they weren't entirely. Duelling was moves and countermoves, controlling the space around your opponent, and creating openings for yourself.
Musaad countered everything Ron sent his way. Good.
He put a spin on a Brachiabindo jinx so it came in at an angle. Musaad easily countered the curse with a backward twist of his wand; A twist that kept his front wide open for Ron's "Bombarda!"
It grazed Musaad, sending his head whipping to the right. The man wiped his nose and blood was on his hand.
Ron stopped, about to ask if Musaad was ok, but the man was too fast. A pulsing blue spell blasted Ron across the floor. He landed with a painful slam on his left arm. Pain and panic blared through him. The whole arm felt like it had been pummeled by a troll. The fingers felt sharp pins and needles.
"You hurt?" Musaad asked.
Ron got up and shook his head, doing everything he could to make his arm look unhurt.
He willed the fingers to move and after a moment they stuttered and twitched into a fist. He couldn't land on his arm again. One more blow like that and they'd know he had a bum arm and no duelling talent.
"'M fine," Ron said, hoping it looked true enough.
"Good. Now, disarm me!"
Fire blared in him. As fast as Musaad was with a wand, Ron was a touch faster on his feet. Ron aimed a few well timed blasting charms that put Musaad on his toes enough to turn him away from Ron's position, then cast a fog charm and got low. Musaad would be looking for a tall target and would no longer be sure of Ron's last location.
"What if I was a Death Eater at your house? You know what I'd be able to do because of this piss-poor duelling of yours?" Musaad called through the mist. Ron was certain Musaad was trying to bait him. Ron stayed low and cast a few more fog charms so it couldn't dissipate.
"I'd be able to slice you down- and immediately go for your family- picking them off. One. By. One."
Ron couldn't rise to the bait. His blasting charms had caused a few giant holes in the duelling arena. He quietly picked up two pieces of wood and did spells on them.
He just needed an opening.
"And after I'd picked off your family, I'd go after that— what's her name? Oh right… Hermione."
A blinding anger began to surge in him.
"I'd be able to find her and torture her because you can't measure up to—"
Ron let out a primal roar and carved his wand through the foggy air, hitting Musaad in the middle.
Musaad let out a grunted "there you are," and spells tore through the air in colored flashes. Ron's fury rose. He was going to blast the sadistic grin off that bastard's face and wipe the floor with him! He threw one of the spelled wood pieces at Musaad's feet. Musaad was so set on Ron he didn't think the wood was anything but a failed distraction.
The moment Musaad's foot slid forward the wood exploded, sending him smoking and falling back. Ron took his opportunity and lunged forward. His hexes blasted at a blistering pace as he hammered them down on the man. He threw the last wood piece then sliced his wand in a savage arc of red. The small wood explosion propelled Musaad into Ron's spell, and sent him flying across the arena into the wall, wand left in the Arena.
Ron began to prowl forward.
"Don't you ever fucking talk about Hermione, you—" Ron gasped and stopped in his track. Oh shit… Musaad wasn't getting up. Oh shit!
"Oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!" Ron cursed, running over to the fallen Auror. Musaad's shoulder shook as Ron rolled him over. Instead of looking furious or in pain, the Auror was laughing and began to push himself up.
"Do you know why we wear the jackets?" he said, pointing to the gambeson garbs they each wore.
"Er… No?" he said, flummoxed.
"They dampen spells when we're wearing them within this space- but if I weren't wearing it inside this room I'm not sure I wouldn't be sent straight to the hospital. Well done."
Ron let out a shaky sound that could almost pass for a laugh.
"Oh…" God he never wanted to face Musaad outside this room, then. If this was muted he had to wonder the effect Musaad's spellwork would have in the field.
"The hour's up."
It was? It hadn't felt like an hour. It felt like no time at all had passed.
"You've gotta go full out when I say full out. If you can't perform when asked and let your nerves take over, it's going to put you or your team in jeopardy. I'm sorry I had to rile you, but I needed to see what you had."
Ron couldn't bring himself to look at Musaad. He'd barely survived an hour with the man and had only defeated him once, but he'd had to use all sorts of nasty tricks to do it. In a straight-up duel he was rubbish. He was going to fail one of the C.R.E.s he thought he'd do well in.
"In the future C.R.E.s we won't attempt to motivate you. You'll have to look within."
"Okay," Ron managed to squeeze the word out.
"Well done in passing you're first C.R.E.," Musaad said, reaching to shake his hand. Baffled, Ron gave over the boneless hand and was barely able to grip back. He felt the urge to vomit curl inside him.
"You're dismissed," Musaad said with a curt salute.
Ron ran for the loo. He barely managed to reach his destination before sick splattered the back of the bog.
He'd done it. He'd passed. Fucking hell's gates, he'd done it. He washed his mouth in the sink and unsteadily made his way back to the locker room.
Theold was combing his coiffed hair in the mirror while Kevin struggled with undoing the leather straps of his jacket. Ramona was packing her books.
"Well done, Weasley," she said. It was the coldest, most tepid congratulations he'd ever heard.
"Thanks," he replied, nonplussed. "You do alright?"
"I passed," she nodded. "Though the last ten minutes we really just all watched you and Musaad."
"Oh?" Had he made a total fool of himself?
"Seally-Pearce said you were the first to disarm Musaad in five years," Kevin supplied.
"I had to use all sorts of tricks to do it," Ron said with a shake of his head.
"Of course you did," scoffed Ramona. Ron felt his face flush. The intensity of her stare made him shift in discomfort. "You have to use all sorts of unprecedented moves to defeat someone like Musaad! Though you didn't pull out your best moves until he taunted you."
"I don't think they were my best moves." It hadn't felt like a very clean fight at all.
"Oh, sorry," she said with an eye roll. "I forgot you don't even have to study!"
"Wha—?"
"Seally-Pearce said leave the jacket in your locker," she supplied, quickly departing the room.
"What in the fuck was that about?" Ron asked out loud.
"She seems to think you're arrogant," Theold replied, continuing to comb his hair.
Ron sent a questioning look to Kevin who gave him a friendly smile.
"She's just jealous," he assured Ron. "Though, she's not wrong that you held back your best moves until the end."
"I wasn't holding back. The man's a lunatic! I barely scraped by with a pass."
"Are you kidding? We weren't required to defeat them. You were up against Musaad, a champion dueller, and you held your own!"
"Not really—"
"Don't pretend to be modest, Weasley," said Theold with a laugh. "I mean it was lucky Musaad brought up your girlfriend so you'd finally topple him, but—"
Theold and Kevin were saying something but Ron stopped listening. Musaad had mentioned Hermione… In the moment he hadn't thought he'd just gotten angry and attacked but… How had Musaad known about her? Not only did he know she was his girlfriend, but he mentioned her being tortured. There were only a dozen or so people who knew anything about what happened in Malfoy Manor; those who had been in the house, some of Ron's family, and Aarti the bloody Mind Healer for the Ministry.
"Gotta go," Ron grunted, moving as quickly as he could to the Mind Healer's office.
"I need to speak to Aarti," Ron said to the front desk attendant, who dropped her quill and looked startled.
"I'm sorry?"
"Healer Aarti Begam! I need to speak to her immediately."
"Erm, do you have an appointment?"
"No I bloody don't. I just… I need to speak to her right now!"
"Can I inquire about what?" the woman squeaked.
He took a breath, realising he'd barked at the poor woman. Here he was sweaty, dressed in an Auror sparring jacket still, loomed over the desk, and people were staring.
"It's about confidentiality," he said in a much calmer and quieter voice.
"I'll check with her, Mr Weasley."
"Okay… Yeah, thanks. Sorry!" he supplied as she left.
She came back a few minutes later telling him he'd need to wait until Aarti had finished her other appointment.
It was over an hour before he was ushered back to Aarti's room. Much of the fire had drained from him. The little bird was in the window.
"Hello, Ron. We don't have an appointment until tomorrow, so what brings you in?" Aarti had a polite, but much more chilly air to her than before.
"He knew about Hermione," Ron told her.
"Who knew what?" she asked, having the nerve to pretend to be confused.
"Who knew what?" Ron said with a snort, finding his anger flicker to life again. "Auror Musaad! When we were duelling he baited me by talking about Hermione. Said a person could torture her because I didn't measure up! Wasn't until afterwards I realised. I've never told anyone here about her. No one but you! And no one else knows about her being tortured! You said this was confidential!"
"It is," she replied, face completely devoid of reaction.
"Then how do they know about her?" Ron questioned, wondering what lie she'd put forth.
"Ron, you're well known to people."
That was the stupidest lie he'd heard in his life. "I am not!"
"Please sit," she said, indicating the chair he'd sat in last time. Grudgingly, he did as he was told. "So… You told the front desk that you are concerned about confidentiality, and told me you believe I've informed Auror Musaad about Hermione's connection to you and the events of the war. Is that correct?"
"Yeah."
"And you seem to be in denial about being well known."
"I don't even know what you mean by that," he said, giving an exasperated sigh when she didn't reply. "Do you mean… You mean by, like, Kingsley and such? My family's connections in the Ministry?"
"No. I mean that your name, along with Hermione's and many of those connected with the Order and Harry Potter are in the papers. Harry Potter has always been there of course, but now you and Hermione Granger are in the papers nearly every single day."
Ron minutely shook his head. "What?"
"You are a bit of a 'celebrity,' and your connection to Hermione Granger as her boyfriend is something in the tabloids right now. It is not my reading material, but we have these delivered for the waiting areas. Even I haven't been able to escape seeing the headlines and pictures."
"There's no way! That's mad!" Ron said, unable to look at her. The little bird in the window bobbed and stared at him. "I can't be… That can't be true."
"Hmm… One moment," she said leaving the room. Less than a minute later she returned to the still utterly numb and flabbergasted Ron, handing him a few newspapers and magazines.
"Look in there, and you can see you're mentioned a few times. There are even a few photos."
He looked at the offending items, feeling as if his soul was barely tethered to his body. Numbly, he turned the pages. Sure enough, there he was.
There weren't many pictures, but they were there. They kept using the same ones again and again. There he was in sixth year laughing next to Harry in his Quidditch uniform. There he was kissing Hermione on the forehead at the club the other night. There was a fuzzy close up photo where Ron looked miserable that he couldn't recognize, and finally there was one more photo of him sharing a solemn kiss with Hermione as wind whipped her hair. Where were those last two from? He looked at their clothes then realised…
"Oh fuck, this is from Fred's funeral! Those fucking vultures!"
They'd been spying on them at his brother's funeral and were using the pictures to print in gossip rags. Ron put a hand over his mouth as he continued to peruse them with horrified fascination.
"I'm so sorry you're having to find out this way, Ron," said Aarti. The coldness of before had melted to the warm lady he'd met the other day. "As you can see… You are very well known."
"How," he rasped. "How did he know about the torture? Do people know? What do people know?"
Aarti put a reassuring hand up.
"I do not know everything that is out there— like I said, it is hardly the kind of thing I read about— but it sounds like Musaad was using common knowledge of your relationship to rile you. I don't approve of such tactics, but this threat of 'people could come after your family' or 'torture your girlfriend' is a very common threat people will use to rile cadets to perform better. It wasn't because he knew anything, to my knowledge. Everything was indeed confidential between us. I can't speak to what he may have gleaned from other sources, but he did not hear anything from me."
"Oh…" Ron said, the cogs of his brain feeling like they'd been stuffed with jam. Then they suddenly whired at an alarming pace. "Oh shit!"
What had he done?
"Oh shit!" he repeated. "Aarti. I'm so sorry! I didn't know… any of this. And I shouldn't have—"
He was a total arse to the front desk lady, was in there when he shouldn't be, and fuck! He'd fucked it right up the arse.
"I'm so sorry. God, I've fucked up. I'm sorry."
"It's fine. We can discuss this more at our meeting tomorrow, Ron. For now let's just say good afternoon. Take your time with this, and take care of yourself." She said this in a very final way that made it clear they were done.
He nodded and thanked her as she handed him the offending articles to 'help him process.'
He numbly walked back to the Auror locker room to return his jacket and eyed his name above the locker. He couldn't imagine them letting him into the Aurors now, with him going off at the Mind Healer who could approve or disapprove of him at a whim.
He took a miserable shower. The warmth of the water eased his aching body a bit, but it did little to ease his worry.
This would probably be his last time here.
He decided to take his time in the locker room.
"Take it in while you can," he muttered to himself as he entered. He let the smell of the wood oil fill his nose. He rasped his fingertips against lockers, wood worn from years of Aurors casually getting ready and training in these halls. He held the gambeson jacket for a moment, feeling the weight of it.
Unable to stand another second staring at the life he'd never lead, he went home.
There was always something cleansing about coming home, even if he dreaded what could be thrown his way.
The sun was shining and a small breeze was blowing little wisps of white dandelion seeds. He could see Harry and Ginny actually flying in the orchard field, and Hermione was sitting in a chair next to the kitchen door, sage green summer dress wadded around her like the top of a cupcake. She had some parchments in her lap, but was staring at him with a frown.
He didn't have it in him to address the whole Auror thing— not when it felt as hard to hold on to as the floating dandelion seeds in his yard.
"I was waiting for you," she said. She was already winding up.
"You didn't need to."
"Apparently I do," she said, a prissy look on her face that promised an argument. "You've barely been here for days."
Ron nodded and began walking to his room. She didn't argue well on the move. Hermione followed closely behind, barely able to hold on to the variety of papers in her hands.
"Aren't you going to tell me where you were?"
"Working out," he supplied, continuing up to his room. It was not an entire lie, and his body could feel how he'd pushed himself.
"What do you mean working out? Where? What's going—"
He grabbed the tabloids and newspapers and thrust them forward. She let out an agitated huff, hands too full to hold them. Without much grace she dramatically flopped her parchments to his nightstand. She outstretched a hand towards the papers, but Ron twitched the articles away from her.
"Before you read them you might want to sit."
"Why do I need to sit?" she asked, looking much more concerned than she should. Or was it right to be that concerned? He had no idea if their newfound celebrity would have the same impact it had on him.
"We… They're writing about us a lot. In papers," he said, giving them to her.
"Well that's to be expected," she said haltingly, watching him closely. Good. He had her attention.
"Here," he said, pointing to the picture of them kissing. "They were at Fred's funeral."
She frowned as she looked at the article, all paltry speculation about 'Harry Potter's best friends!' with not a word about the dead.
"Fucking bastards," he quietly growled out. "They had— they had no right. No right at all to be there."
She nodded, hand reaching for him, but seeming to think better of it for she gently took it back. "Legally, they are probably allowed to do whatever they like when it comes to pictures. When it comes to human decency though… This is beyond the pale."
In the photo he and Hermione repeatedly shared a small kiss. He remembered that day so well he didn't need the photo to recall all the details of it.
The funeral itself was dismal. The little cemetery was well kept, and the hole had already been dug. Uncomfortable wooden chairs were lined up, and everything had been held for nearly an hour waiting for George's appearance. The only sounds were his mother's barely held sobs, small murmurs inquiring where George was, 'Thank you for coming' from his father or Bill, creaks from the wooden chairs as people adjusted their postures as the time drew out, and a stupid little bird that wouldn't shut the fuck up.
Finally unable to have guests waiting any longer the funeral proceeded. No one spoke, save the officiant. They'd thought perhaps George would do something— and it felt wrong for anyone else to speak— so they didn't.
Fred was gone. And George with him.
The silence felt almost right. Ron couldn't break it. He couldn't do anything.
Hermione had asked him if he wanted to go home. He'd shrugged, unable to say anything. Then she'd gently kissed him and said, "let's go home."
He went home, went directly to his room, and curled up on his bed. He didn't know how long he'd been there when Hermione came to him. She slowly insinuated herself behind him, and held him, stroking his hair as he stared out the window. A stupid little bird had been there too, making the same annoying noise. It finally piped down by evening. He wasn't able to say a word. Not until the next day, when he'd woken up a few hours past midnight and realised what all needed to be done in the house.
"They didn't have a right to be there…" Ron said, shaking his head to dislodge the painful memories.
"They didn't. I'm so sorry, Ron," she said, taking his hand. "The only good side to this is perhaps George could look at the more serious articles and get a sense of what happened at the funeral when he is ready in the future, if he wants to, since he missed the actual ceremony."
That was probably the article his mum had thrown into the fire the other day. It was private! Not some hot gossip!
"Oh God, I hadn't even thought about George. You don't think he's seen this, do you?"
"I doubt it. He hasn't had much to do with anything in the Wizarding World, has he? I mean, he was in that Muggle hotel for weeks."
"Well, he's at Bill's right now… Y'know to keep him out of trouble."
She nodded then turned her attention back at the articles, seemingly reading each one, the line of concentration between her eyebrows furrowing.
"It's outrageous how they feel they can overstep like this," she grumbled. "At least they've given you your due praise in these, but really it's just… Oooh! I'm livid."
Ron had never met someone who looked so cute when righteously angry. A familiar sensation stirred in him; he wanted to melt into her. Sometimes she felt like the only safe place to him. It didn't matter how turbulent their relationship was, when he was able to just be with her, and not bollox it up with nerves or overthinking or pissing her off too much, he'd never known such peace.
It was like a perfectly toasty bath mixed with the refreshing feel of a crisp winter's morning? No that wasn't it. The feeling of putting his forehead against a cold pane of glass when he had a headache but also the feel of the first bite of a warm meal when you were starved? Fuck, he was mixing metaphors and being a sap, but that's how indescribable it felt. Every kind of relief all mixed together into… perfection. That's what it was to be in Hermione's arms, to have her smile at him, show her admiration, laugh with him, kiss him, be willing to even bare herself naked as anything to him. Perfection.
He took his index finger and gently rubbed against her furrow making her look almost cross eyed up into his face. God he loved her so much— the perfection of burn and balm rushed over him.
"Let's not think about the papers, anymore," he murmured.
She folded the paper she was reading and gave a sigh, putting the article in his bedside drawer as well as the papers she'd been writing earlier. "I am sure they'll forget us all within a few more weeks. Well, not Harry of course— but surely we're not interesting enough to keep their attention long."
"I might be boring, but I think you're forgetting how very interesting old Rita would always find you, Hermione," he said, making sure to shut the drawer tight as he sat beside her. His Auror C.R.E. schedule was hiding just below them. "You kept Skeeter in a jar and blackmailed her. I don't think she'll let that go as long as she is able to gossip about something… Woman's got a vendetta, and I doubt you being labelled… What was it in that article praising you- the 'curly haired heroine?' That wouldn't do anything but tee her off."
"I hadn't really considered that," she said, looking concerned again.
He kissed the spot between her brows.
"Stop thinking, okay? I shouldn't have even brought it up. I just want to be with you."
She gave a twinkling look. "Be with me?"
"Yeah," he said leaning in to kiss her on her full lips. He loved her lips so much. She worried them all the time with her teeth, had a stream of thoughts pouring from them, and looked adorable when she'd pout thinking she looked fearsome, but all she looked was kissable— well, at least most of the time she didn't look fearsome.
"I want to be with you too," she murmured in his ear. Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck that was getting a touch longer than he prefered and little pleasant shivers worked through him. He hadn't expected intimacy besides just kissing and being held, but with that look on her face and hands twining in his hair, fingernails gently grazing his skin… The warm kisses began to simmer and thrum through his veins like fiendfyre.
Her kisses and hands unravelled him, and he pulled her in closer to him, where she belonged. She coaxed his mouth open and her clever tongue stroked against his. He let out a deep chest-rattling moan. Merlin, he craved every inch of her.
With unexpected quickness she climbed onto his lap, knees on either side of hips. Her dress pooled between them, leaving just a scrap of fabric between her and the crotch of his trousers. He gasped at the sensation, lips pulling from hers just a moment as he grew stiff. He nearly apologised, but her lips stole his words, and her grazing tongue made his body roar.
He clutched her to him, avarice and heat driving him. He let his hands wander, fingertips skimming along her back and along her body until he was touching her bare thigh. He possessively clutched it and she moaned into his mouth, hips rutting up against him. She moved them in a rhythmic way, hands exploring and clinging to him with every bit as much need as his.
It still shocked him that he could elicit such heat in her and get to see her completely untethered. He'd always guessed she'd be amazing to hold and kiss— the way she had so much passion about everything, how could she not bring it to something as tameless as sex.
"Oh fucking— fuckfuckfuck," he muttered under his breath as she pressed closer and realized he had Hermione breasts and fanny against him all at the same time.
Then her hands left his head and grazed downward until they were at his belt. She continued to kiss him, but hands were clumsily pulling at him, fingernail scratching his stomach just a bit. She gave an annoyed huff as she blindly scrabbled, then let out a growl and tore herself off him.
"What—?" he panted, perplexed.
"Your— your sodding belt!" she declared, finger pointed at the offending item. He let out a laugh seeing her curse. "And I'd best put up some spells so Harry or someone else doesn't disturb us."
"We're going to be here long enough to get disturbed?" he asked, excited at where this seemed to be going.
"If I can manage to get your belt off!" she snarked, doing a few spells to the room. When she was done and came at him he wasn't so sure he wanted her near his fly. No one should look that annoyed as they knelt between his legs.
"Here, le'me—"
"I can do it!" she angrily insisted.
"Well, I won't let you when you look like you'll snatch my dick off!"
They stared at one another then burst into laughter.
"Snatch your dick off?" she sniggered, hand resting on his thigh.
"Well! You should've seen the feral little look on your face. You'd not want me making that face as I went for your bra." His mind thought of her tits the other night and he felt his cock give an insistent twitch.
She glanced down then smiled more shyly at him. "Alright you— you do it then."
His mind collapsed in on itself to a blank void and somehow he nodded. It hadn't truly clicked until this moment: Hermione Granger wanted to see his cock!
He held his breath, realising how on display he was. He was in his bedroom on a summer afternoon about to undo his belt and his fingers bungled his belt almost as unsurely as hers had. If not for muscle memory kicking in, he doubted he would be able to do it with Hermione watching him so avidly. He unzipped his fly and felt his trousers loosen around his waist.
She leaned in and kissed him, fingers grazing his stomach and trailing to the waist of his boxers. They skimmed toward his back and an intense shock went through him, unpleasant and twisted. He screwed his eyes shut. His body shivered. He wanted to be anywhere but there. He needed to get away and—
He put a stilling hand on her wrist, slowly bringing her back up to his face.
'Don't think on it… Don't think on it…'
He took a deep breath and put his forehead against hers.
"Say something," he breathed against her. He needed to hear her.
"What—?" he could hear a smile in her voice.
"Ron…" she gently laughed, nuzzling against him.
He opened his eyes to take in her every feature. Her lips that shone from their kisses. Her eyes flecked with every shade of brown and amber there was. An errant curl clinging to her temple. The front of her dress gaping just a bit, giving a glimpse of the top of her breasts. The expression on her face as if he were the best man she knew, which was baffling.
Her hand slid up and cupped his face, and she gently kissed his lips.
It felt like the first breath after holding air in his lungs for too long. He closed his eyes and let the fire and balm of Hermione envelop him. Perfection.
Tense shoulders eased and he sighed into her.
"Can I see you?" she asked, a small hint of a smile flitting across her face.
He nodded and her smile widened. Nimble little fingers hooked on his pants and trousers. She tugged and he canted forward to ease them off, then kicked them to the ground. Her eyes grew curious and wide as his very hard erection was revealed.
"What?" he asked as she silently stared.
"Gosh," she said, round eyed and blinking. "I'd- I'd wondered, and— "
Hermione was not much for fumbling with words or blushing. She was so naturally tan he rarely saw her flush, but the light of his room was bright enough that he could see a clear deep rose appear in the apples of her cheek. "I've been wondering for over a year, and now I know what shade you are… here."
She said this, giving a decided look at the curly hair he'd revealed along with his cock.
He blushed too, but in his case he knew he'd be a blotchy radishy colour.
"And then there's that—" she said, eyes wide, before shyly looking away from his cock. "I just… I've never seen one hard or in a sexual situation and…"
Yeah, he had to imagine seeing an erect cock for the first time had to be a bit of a fright. It wasn't like when he got to see Hermione naked— beautiful curves and a mystery hidden between her legs that he wanted to spend ages trying to solve. There he was; ginger, hairy, and with a sizeable hardon close enough to put out her eye. That almost made him soften up a bit, but having her mouth so near him that her breath moved the little ginger hairs on his thighs; that kept him solid as Stonehenge.
"Can I touch it?"
"Fuck!" Ron let out, having to look away a moment. That would keep him diamond hard. She wanted to— "Yesyesyesyesyes."
She began touching him, almost inspecting him, the little furrow between her eyebrows appearing as it did when she studied. She gingerly squeezed him here and there between thumb and forefinger, like she was testing fruit at the market for freshness, a thought that almost made him laugh.
Then his mind couldn't think of laughing as she grasped him fully in her hand and leaned down, hair brushing his thighs. Her mouth that he'd fantasised about for years gently kissed the tip of his cock before forming a perfect O and engulfing him.
All the blood left his brain and he was fairly certain he'd never been harder in his life.
She didn't get much in her mouth- it was strained far open, but between the gentle suction she applied and the way she held him was bliss. He couldn't keep the thoughts from humming through his mind: 'This is Hermione. This is Hermione. This is MY Hermione. Mine.' It made him grasp the sheets harshly between his hands. Tiny invisible abrasions from his duelling earlier that day stung, but he didn't mind; it grounded him and kept him from spilling himself.
Her mouth popped off of him and she asked him something.
"Huh?"
"Was I doing it correctly? I don't… There's not much literature I've seen aside from romance novels and…"
"Felt great." That was fucking inadequate. He couldn't word though. Speak! He couldn't speak! She was there and her mouth had just been—
"I don't know the techniques… And my jaw is going to be sore soon," she admitted looking embarrassed, but her hand was still on him, her hair was still tickling his thigh and seeing his weeping cock right next to her face like this was almost too much. "You did so well for me the other night and, well—"
"I'm doing everything I can not to cum all over you right now," he admitted in a breath.
"Really?" she said with a surprised smile, her hand gripping him tighter.
"Fuck! You're gonna get cum in your eye if you keep that up," he said with a hoarse chuckle, hips grinding forward into her hand.
"So tighter grip, and is it just my mouth on there that feels good, or is it better if I suck or-"
"Hermione..."
He loved her, but if she didn't shut up and continue soon his brain might slip out his ears.
"But I want to get better- so which is—?"
Fuck, she was relentless! And her hand felt so fucking good. He had to say something. 'Word, you idiot- word!'
"Uh, the grip and when your, ah, tongue was pressing the underside like"- she immediately did it just right. No surprise there- she always took instruction well, even if it was inarticulate, and he let out a moan. He put his hand in her thick hair just a bit to further root him in a sense of reality. He held back from thrusting his hips into her mouth or pulling her deeper onto him, but it took so much restraint he could feel his body trembling with it. He bit his lip and did what he could to just gently cant his hips a bit towards her.
"Unnn," he moaned as her tongue did some sort of swirl. He couldn't hold it… He was just on the cusp and— "Fuck- I'm close. Where should I—?"
She let off her lips for a second— it was hell and heaven right on the edge and —
"In my mouth?" she asked.
Just the thought of being able to cum in her mouth was enough. Her mouth was back on him with barely the flutter of a second to spare and he let out a shuttering groan as he finished in her mouth.
"Fuuuuuck," he hissed, hips stuttering as he finished and could feel the last twitches go through him, the last of his orgasm leaving him.
She slowly released him, her face a combination of satisfied and overwhelmed. Her cheeks gently puffed out with fullness and she looked about for the trash bin before spitting out in it.
"Ugh," she says before smiling sheepishly at him. "Sorry, I'm not being very romantic about it."
"Fuck romance, that felt amazing," he panted, an exhausted grimmace of a smile twisting his face. With a moan he grabbed a shirt from the floor to clean up what little there was to clean because his Hermione had just— Nope! Couldn't think about that or he might stay hard!
She did a quick Accio to get mouthwash, which he couldn't blame her for, while he managed to put on boxers and not doze off.
"Was it ok?" she asked, biting her lip.
"Are you kidding?" Ron asked, barely able to speak.
She nestled up to him.
"I didn't know if I was doing it correctly or what made for good technique," she said, finger playing with the hem of his shirt.
"I don't know what's considered 'good technique' either, but it felt like fucking heaven!"
"Oh, so you never—"
"Never have given a bloke head, no," Ron laughed as Hermione gave little jabs to his middle.
"You know what I mean."
"Mmm," he said, leaning in to kiss her again. "I'll give you a report card later if it'll stop you fishing for compliments."
"I'm not—!" she said, unconvincingly as he kissed her some more.
"Liar," he whispered before giving her side a poke, then frowned. "Oh, erm, you didn't get to really… enjoy things though."
He felt ridiculous being unable to talk about her orgasming after what they'd just done.
"I was cashing in your rain check from the other night," she said, looking contented as their hands entwined. "Maybe next time."
"Definitely, next time," he assured her.
Next time… He loved that they could depend on that— know that there'd be so many moments with her.
The rest of the evening went smoothly. His parents had gone to visit Aunt Muriel and wouldn't be back until late, so he spent the rest of the evening getting to cook with Hermione, laugh with her, and trounce her in chess.
He knew the happiness was fragile and would most likely be smashed apart at any moment, but for that one night, he'd take in every second of it.
Enjoying the evening was made slightly difficult by having to avoid Harry. Harry kept giving Ron the look he'd seen a hundred times— that pointed 'time to talk' look Ron could read in any crowd or situation. It wasn't easy to ignore it, for he had little experience. Almost any time Harry needed to pull Ron aside he'd comply, drop whatever he was doing, stop talking to whoever was around him and check on his friend. Most of the time Harry gave this look there was some clue to the current mystery of their lives, or some bit of horrid news he needed to know.
Ron knew very well what Harry wanted to talk about: he wanted to know how things went with the C.R.E.s and get information about the Aurors. He was determined to ignore the look, no matter how much shock and annoyance kept waving his way. He wouldn't risk it until they were safely away from everyone.
"Is there something wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked as they played chess at the dining table. Ron kicked his friend in the leg.
Harry swallowed a yowl before glaring at Ron, who had managed to keep his face impassive. "Uh, no. Just tweaked my leg a bit playing Quidditch."
The moment they turned in for bed Harry cornered him.
"The goose egg on my shin had better be there for a good reason!"
"You being subtle as a skrewt is reason enough," Ron commented, throwing himself flat on his bed. "Couldn't you take a hint that I didn't want to talk? I'm not talking about Auror shit where anyone can hear. I told you I wouldn't tell Hermione til I knew it was certain. I can't always drop everything the second you want me to."
Harry gave a look of indignation that Ron quelled with a wrinkle of his brow.
"Fine…" His friend acquiesced, expression softening to sheepish. "But it was driving me crazy! How'd it go?"
Ron described the exam, the recruits, his hour long duel with Musaad all in great detail, with Harry avidly listening and asking questions. He even included how he'd snapped at Aarti, getting out the magazines and papers to hand them to Harry. His friend had the good grace to not say 'I told you fame sucked arse,' and instead had nothing but sympathy for the situation.
Even though he assured Ron of how within his rights he was to seek out Aarti, it was of little comfort. Harry didn't fully understand how different it was for them, and Ron didn't bother to explain it. Harry could get teed off and yell and scream or even throw things, and important people would just look the other way and forgive him. It felt like every time Ron lost his temper his world came apart at the seams. There were always consequences there… He thought of the Snatchers and the Locket… If he had kept his temper and just somehow managed himself better… And he never learned his lesson, did he? He was still the same short-sighted sod who self-sabotaged at every turn.
"So what do I need to expect with the Healers?" Harry asked, bringing Ron out of his thoughts. "I have my meeting with them tomorrow."
"Well, fair warning," said Ron, sitting up, "it got personal really fast. I was asked to talk about my life, my family, and asked all sorts of stuff about the war…"
"What sort of stuff?"
"Lots of open-ended questions. 'What was your first moment of combat?' 'What did you do next?' But it was tricky at times. Had a fair few months of things we couldn't really detail out, right?"
"Anything to do with the Horcruxes," Harry said, nodding along.
"I didn't want the Ministry to know about them, so I didn't get into specifics. Kept it to how we described it to everyone at Hogwarts in the Room of Requirement… I mean, when going through the timeline of things at the Ministry, I said there was a dark object there and that it made me…" Ron's voice trailed off.
"That it chased you off?" Harry supplied.
Ron winced and looked to the wall.
Harry sat up and leaned forward as if to say something.
"Leave it," said Ron with much more authority than he usually managed. "The less the Ministry knows about Horcruxes the better. We don't want them using what we tell them to do something mad. Aarti says it's confidential— and we have good people like Kingsley there, but it's not just them is it?"
"There's all sorts of ways they can get information and misuse it."
"I mean, we saw the Department of Mysteries," Ron shuddered. "Last thing we need is those nutters prying into Horcruxes."
"Not to mention the Ministry doesn't exactly have a good record right now. We should keep any Horcrux information locked down."
"Shit…" Ron cursed. "From what I told them they could already know some."
"How?"
"Might have kept it vague, but I told them there was a dark object that affected me, and if they were paying attention, they might start looking into Horcruxes."
"That's a leap. I mean… There are millions of dark objects out there. Why would they even think to specifically look into Horcruxes?"
Ron squinted at his friend, knowing he was about to drop a bit more guilt into Harry's lap. "In the final battle you sort of announced it to the room."
"Did I?" Harry's finger rubbed his scar in the familiar pattern it traced when he was worried.
Ron sheepishly nodded. "When you told old No-Nose he was out of Horcruxes."
"Damn, I did!" Harry moaned, looking grim faced.
"They don't know the specifics," Ron stressed. "Almost everything about Horcruxes went down with Voldemort and his followers. Don't get wound up about letting a word slip, okay?"
Seeing Harry's stricken expression, Ron quickly changed tack.
"And don't worry, almost no one was listening anyway. Your little speech was quite boring really," Ron teased.
"Oh yeah?" Harry snorted.
"Yeah Probably half of the people there walked out. You missed them since you were distracted, but—" Ron gave an exaggerated yawn.
"Wanker." Harry said with a feigned kick, though he didn't look as lighthearted as Ron would have hoped. "At least they don't know the specifics."
"We'll keep it that way," Ron quickly promised.
They changed for bed and Harry went for a sleeping potion in his drawer.
"Is that your third or fourth night taking that," Ron asked, eyeing the vial.
Harry gave a wary look. "Third."
Ron nodded, but made a mental note to remind Harry he had to stick to cold medicine through the weekend.
As Ron rolled onto his side he realised how bruised his side was from the day's troubles. He rolled into his other side and found his arm hurt too much to stay in that position long.
Harry gave a snore, the sod.
Ron tossed and and readjusted for over an hour, but there was no getting comfortable. Aside from the pain there was the very real possibility that come tomorrow Aarti would fail him from the Aurors for being mental.
The empty Dreamless Sleep vial glinted at him invitingly.
There was nothing that said he couldn't take one too. He didn't need sharp reflexes the next morning, there was probably enough time for him to take one and not feel groggy, and he desperately needed the sleep…
The other night, exhaustion had been the perfect sleep aid, but he must not have hit the perfect balance of exhaustive actions because only insomnia fell upon him now. Ron pushed himself up from the bed and went downstairs to keep watch, just for a bit.
END OF CHAPTER 8
Author's note:
Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading, but a special thanks to those of you who have been commenting! I really appreciate you taking the time. If you enjoy this let me know in the comments! :D
-next chapter- will be another Ron chapter- this one was about 17k long, so I split it- I have some writing to do still in chapter 9, but it's close to finished! There will be a lot of therapy time :O