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Author: Silver Phoenix Story: Interlude Rating: Young Teens Setting: Post-DH Status: WIP Reviews: 10 Words: 46,731
Ron had beat Neville at chess twice now. The black chess pieces that Neville was using were beginning to get disgruntled. Neville, however, took it all in a stride. He cheerfully continued to send most of his pieces to their doom and pretended not to notice when one of his bishops called him a rude name. Ron had been on edge ever since the attack in Knockturn Alley, but at the moment felt somewhat relaxed. He was actually enjoying himself - after all, there had been little time for things like chess in the past couple of years. “Hey,” Ron said conversationally as he took one of Neville’s pawns, “did you know you’re on a Chocolate Frog card?” Neville grinned and blushed. “I know. Gran’s bought loads and loads of Chocolate Frogs so that she can collect as many of my cards as possible and give them to all of her friends. It was great at first, but now I’m kind of getting sick of Chocolate Frogs.” He moved another pawn forward, right into danger from Ron’s knight. “We’ve got a couple of cards of you, actually. I could send you one, if you want.” “Brilliant, thanks.” Ron took another of Neville’s pawns and looked up from the chessboard at his former dormitory-mate. There were a few scars on Neville’s face from his run-ins with the Carrows, as well as some fading bruises. A shiny patch of pink skin was visible near his hairline; Neville had been able to grow back most of the hair that had been burned off by the flaming Sorting Hat, but the burns remained. Ron glanced down at his own arms, which still bore the burns from the enchanted treasure in Gringotts. He quickly tore his gaze away from his scarred arms and focused back on Neville. “So…are you going back to Hogwarts next year?” Ron asked. “Well,” Neville began, nudging a reluctant rook forward, “even though I spent a lot of last year making trouble for the Carrows and hiding in the Room of Requirement, Professor McGonagall advised me to take my N.E.W.T’s in September.” “She did? Which ones?” “Herbology, Transfiguration, Potions, and Charms. I’ve been studying all summer. You see…I’ve been offered a job.” Neville’s face glowed with pride; he did not even notice as Ron took his foul-mouthed bishop. “Really?” Ron said in surprise. “I mean…that’s great, Neville! Where?” “I’m going to be working with Brij Branti,” Neville explained. “He’s a herbologist who does research on the medicinal and healing properties of certain plants. His laboratory is funded by St. Mungo’s. I’ll just be a research assistant, mind you…” “That’s really great, Neville,” Ron said, and he meant it. At the same time, however, he could not help but feel a bit jealous. Neville had a purpose, a plan for the future. Ron had Pygmy Puffs and shop inspections. Stifling a sigh, Ron reminded himself that he had chosen to take on responsibility for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Until George was himself again, Ron had to see it through. “Thanks,” Neville replied, beaming. He glanced down at the chessboard bemusedly. “Oh, I think you just put me in check.” Hermione suddenly rushed over, her cheeks flushed and her hair coming loose from the braid she’d tried to put it in. Ron forgot the chess game he was about to win and became very interested in the little strands of hair that curled around her ears and at the nape of her neck. “Have you seen Harry?” she asked urgently. “I think he went inside,” Ron said. Hermione relaxed. “Good.” She took out her familiar beaded handbag, the one that had housed all their belongings for nearly a year. Hermione began rummaging around in it. “I spent all morning baking a cake for him - and I couldn’t use magic at all because my grandmother wouldn’t leave the kitchen. I want to surprise him with it when he comes outside.” Hermione pulled a pristine, three-layer chocolate cake out of the handbag. Ron, who was accustomed to the strange inner workings of Hermione’s handbag, did not bat an eyelash. Neville gaped. Hermione pulled out candles and hurriedly began sticking them in the cake. “Come over here, everyone,” she called over her shoulder. Conversations trailed off and wrapped up as Harry’s guests began making their way over. With a wave of Hermione’s wand, the candles on the cake burst to life. Little Teddy Lupin, sitting in his grandmother’s arms, gurgled in delight. “Harry!” Ron bellowed at the house. “Come out here for a second.” Moments later, Ginny emerged from the house, followed by Harry. Ron thought that both of them looked a bit down, but Harry’s face quickly split into a grin as Hagrid launched into a very loud, very off-tune rendition of “Happy Birthday to You”. Everyone else joined in. When they finished, Harry leaned forward to blow out the candles. There was enthusiastic applause, and then Teddy began to cry, so Hermione lit another candle and offered it to him, miming blowing it out. Teddy stared quizzically at her, not quite sure what was expected of him, and he looked so funny that everyone burst into laughter. Ron’s spirits lifted at the sound of laughter; for a moment it seemed that they would get by after all, in this world that lacked so many of their loved ones. After everyone had cake and things had quieted down a bit, Ron snuck up behind Hermione and whispered, “Walk?” in her ear. The two of them quietly slipped away from the party, walking through Harry’s house and out the front gate. They headed down the road with no particular destination in mind, enjoying the beauty of the forest in twilight and the quiet peacefulness of an early evening in summer. “So your grandmother’s still staying with you?” Ron asked after they had walked in comfortable silence for a few moments. Hermione made a face. “Unfortunately. She sat in the kitchen all morning watching me try to bake that cake and criticising everything I did. Then she started going on about how I haven’t gone for my provisional license yet.” “License to what?” “To drive a car,” Hermione explained patiently. “Muggles have to go for a provisional license, then pass a theory exam, and then pass a practical driving test.” She sighed. “I really should go for it, because you never know when it will come in handy to be able to drive a car, but I’ve always been rubbish at practical exams. I know what to do, but I can never seem to do it properly - remember the Boggart in third year?” Ron did not really see the point in a practical driving test; after all, he had driven the flying Ford Anglia with relatively few problems, excluding that bit with the Whomping Willow. Furthermore, he had a hard time believing that Hermione was rubbish at any kind of exam. He concluded that she was just running herself down, as usual. After all, one did not get an O in Potions, Charms, and Herbology by being rubbish at practicals. “Well, you could always just Confund the examiner,” Ron suggested teasingly. “Ron!” Hermione shook her head at him, but the corners of her mouth were upturned in a smile. “Remind me to never let you take a driving test.” Their hands kept brushing against each other as they walked along the road, until their fingers casually intertwined. Ron felt warmth spread through him as he continued walking with Hermione’s small hand in his. “So Neville’s not going back to Hogwarts,” Ron said. “He’s taking the N.E.W.T’s in September.” He briefly related everything Neville had told him. “That’s wonderful! Good for Neville!” Hermione exclaimed. “I’m sure he’s had to do intense revision this summer to prepare for the N.E.W.T’s, though - I mean, he spent all that time in the Room of Requirement last year, didn’t he?” “Yeah, I suppose,” Ron agreed distractedly. He paused, and then slowly said, “Do you think…maybe…that McGonagall would let us do our N.E.W.T’s in September, too?” The sound of the gravel road crunching underfoot filled the quiet that followed Ron’s question. Hermione lapsed into silence and pursed her lips as she considered the question. “Ron, we didn’t go to school at all last year,” Hermione said finally. “Neville was at least at Hogwarts. He went to most classes. I’m sure he learned nothing in the subjects the Carrows were teaching, but he’s not taking N.E.W.T’s in those, is he?” “It’s just…now I have the twins’ shop to worry about,” Ron said, feeling frustrated. “If I need to go back to school, I don’t know what’s going to happen to the place.” “George should be taking care of it.” “He doesn’t want to.” “It’s not your responsibility,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “You need to finish your education, Ron.” Ron suddenly felt an inexplicable urge to defend his brother and the shop that he had initially wanted so little part in. “Yeah, well, I told George that I would handle it for awhile, and I will. Besides, that shop’s my family’s biggest source of income.” Hermione stopped walking. Ron felt a chill as she abruptly released his hand and stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t want to go back to Hogwarts because you want to run the twins’ joke shop?” “Maybe, yeah,” Ron said defensively. Hermione exhaled heavily. “Ron,” she began patiently, “you can’t possibly take the N.E.W.T’s now. We haven’t learned Elemental Transfiguration, or how to brew Veritaserum, or how to do an Anti-Disapparition Jinx…” “Well, maybe I just won’t take the N.E.W.T’s at all, then.” “I thought you wanted to be an Auror!” I don’t know what I want, Ron thought to himself. Hermione stood across from him with her arms folded over her chest. She seemed to be waiting for him to say or do something. “So you’re not coming back to Hogwarts,” she said finally. Her voice trembled a bit, and Ron wondered why she was taking the discussion so personally. “I don’t know,” Ron shrugged. “Well, you’d better decide, because I’m going back with or without you,” Hermione said very quickly. She sounded as if she was fighting back tears. Ron suddenly understood. “Hermione…” “It’s getting late, I should go home before my parents and Grandma get back from the theatre,” Hermione said stiffly. “I’m going back to the party to say goodbye to Harry.” Hermione turned on her heel and started striding back to Harry’s. Ron was left standing alone, wondering if he should chase after her or not. He wished fervently that he had his copy of Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches with him. He could not believe how thick he had been; of course Hermione would be going back to Hogwarts, and of course she had expected him to go back with her. She must have taken his unwillingness to return as a personal rejection. Part of him did want to go back to Hogwarts. He wanted to go back to Gryffindor Tower and the Great Hall and the Quidditch pitch. He wanted to see Hermione every morning at breakfast and spend cozy nights with her in the common room. Most importantly, in his most private thoughts he still hoped he could maybe be an Auror, which would indeed require finishing school and getting a few N.E.W.T’s. On the other hand, if he returned to Hogwarts it meant the end of the joke shop. George was still not ready to assume responsibility for the shop again and Ron could not leave Verity and Allegra to flounder on their own. But there was another reason he was wary about returning to Hogwarts. The castle would never be the same. It boiled down to this: Ron did not have the courage to walk pass the place where Fred had died each day. Frustrated and confused, Ron stuck his hands in his pockets and started wandering further up the road. His right palm was still warm from having Hermione’s hand in his. It was too late to chase after her now. He would just look stupid. “BOO!” A small figure jumped out of the bushes at the side of the road. Ron stumbled backward, ears ringing and heart thumping wildly, his mind flashing back to the incident in Knockturn Alley. He was halfway through pulling his wand from his pocket when the small figure stepped out of the shadows. The round-faced little boy from the forest grinned up at him, looking very pleased with himself. “What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?” Ron yelled. His fingers relaxed around his wand, which he dropped back into his pocket, and his heart began to slow. “Nope. I’m pretending to be a ghost who haunts the forest. Did I scare you?” the little boy asked hopefully. “Not at all,” Ron said sarcastically. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the wobbliness in his knees that followed an adrenaline rush. “I saw that girl leave. Is she your girlfriend?” the boy asked, making a face. “Your guess is as good as mine,” Ron muttered under his breath. “Look, it’s almost dark. Shouldn’t you be getting home?” The brief scare had returned his thoughts to the attack in Knockturn Alley, and had reminded him that there were still Death Eaters about. It was not safe for children to be wandering around secluded country roads at night. Ron involuntarily shuddered. “I live just up there,” the boy said, pointing down the road. Through the trees, Ron could make out a big red farmhouse a few yards up the road. “Besides, Granny said to be home before dark. There’s still a little light out. I was going to go exploring in the forest…” “No, you are not going to go exploring in the ruddy forest,” Ron said firmly. “It’s almost dark and I don’t want it to be my fault if you end up getting lost in there and then eaten by a giant spider or something.” “There are giant spiders in the forest?!” the boy shouted, wide-eyed. “No,” Ron said quickly. “It’s, er…a figure of speech. Come on, I’ll walk you up the road.” Ron began to walk away and the boy scrambled to follow him. His short legs had to work hard to keep up with Ron’s long strides. “What’s your name?” the boy asked conversationally once he had fallen into step beside Ron. Ron sighed heavily. “Ron.” “How old are you?” “Eighteen.” “Do you live around here?” “No, I’m just visiting a friend…what is this, an interrogation?” Ron asked grumpily. “I’m five and a half,” the boy announced, kicking a pebble up the road as they walked. “I used to live in Swindon but now I live here with Granny and Grandpa. They’re nice, but kind of old so they can’t really play with me a lot. Hey, are you a grown-up?” Ron shrugged. “What do you want to be when you grow up, then?” “I wish I knew,” Ron said truthfully, his thoughts returning to N.E.W.T’s and the joke shop. “I want to be a police officer when I grow up,” the boy said. “Or an astronaut. Or a king. I know we have a queen right now, but I think it would be okay to have a king too, don’t you?” He looked worriedly up at Ron. Ron was not quite sure what to say. “Er…yeah, I suppose.” They arrived at the red farmhouse. The property was large and looked very well-kept. A wooden building, probably a barn, could be seen on the edges of the property. The grass was cut short and the trees and hedges were well-manicured. The front porch was bare except for a porch swing, which creaked as it gently swayed back and forth in the mild breeze. Looking somewhat out-of-place was a black and white toy car, lying forlornly in the dirt of the little flowerbed that bordered the front porch. The boy started up the drive and stopped next to the big Muggle vehicle which was parked there. Ron thought it might be called a tractor, and that his father would probably be fascinated by it. “Are you going to come back here to visit your friend soon?” the boy asked, glancing back at Ron hopefully. To Ron’s own surprise, he found himself saying, “Yeah…I come to visit quite a lot, actually.” The boy smiled widely. “Good! Maybe we can play together sometime.” “Er…” “Okay, bye!” the boy said happily. He started running up the long, gravel drive towards the house. Ron felt a bit bewildered by the entire encounter. He did not know as much as he probably should about Muggles and knew even less about small children. Suddenly, Ron realized that he did not even know the boy’s name. “Oi!” Ron shouted after him. “What’s your name, anyway?” “Hugh!” the boy called over his shoulder, jumping onto the front porch. He gave a final wave and then disappeared into the house, banging the screen door behind him. *** Author’s Notes: Apologies for the long wait on this chapter. Thank you for continuing to read and review!
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