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Author: Bart Story: I Will Be Waiting Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 21 Words: 44,681
Harry Potter quite obviously belongs to JK Rowling and her publishers. I should also point out that the structure of this fic is inspired by, "The Five People You Meet In Heaven" by Mitch Album. Which also doesn't belong to me. ~*~ Found and Lost Once Moody had bade his farewells and left him alone, Ron sat down, rested his back against the wall, closed his eyes, and considered his friend's words. He was right he decided. What had transpired here and on his immediate return home was the worst period of his life - all his life - but now he looked back on it, what had happened did force him to grow up and gave him the strength to help Harry, when he needed it. Once he had accepted this, he let his mind wander back to his return home, and the devastating news he had received. When Ron had first returned home, he had hoped that things would return to normal as soon as possible. He had just been to hell and back. The only thing he wanted was to immerse himself in his family and friends and let the rough and tumble of Weasley family life allow him to forget… Things were going to get worse before they got better however, and after staying overnight in St Mungo's, Ron returned to The Burrow, completely unprepared for what awaited him there. As he approached the front door with Dumbledore at his side, he was looking forward to seeing his parents. His Healer had stopped anybody from seeing him until they had checked him over, and it was only his Headmaster's intervention, that prevented the Magical Law Enforcement Officers from interrogating him when he awoke the next morning. Knocking on the door he was suddenly very nervous, and he didn't have anytime to respond when his mother ripped the door open, and pulled him into a crushing hug, quicker than Ron would have thought possible. Tears streaming down her face, Molly pushed her son gently away from her and looked him in the eyes. "Oh, Ron, I thought I'd lost you…" said Molly, before once again pulling him into a hug, and dragging him into the house, unwilling to let go of her son. Everybody seemed to have known he was coming and were there to welcome him home, even Harry, Ginny and Hermione had been allowed out of school. Slipping out of his mother's grasp, he slid into a nearby armchair avoiding the look of disappointment from Hermione when he didn't sit next to her, despite Ginny moving on to Harry's knee to make space. His mother looked hurt and lost, and stood there fidgeting, until Dumbledore spoke. "Molly, would it be possible to have a quick word in private, please?" He smiled kindly at her, and slowly directed her in to the kitchen. "And perhaps I could trouble you for some of your wonderful Spotted Dick…" Ron wasn't surprised when the Bill, Charlie and the twins soon slipped away, leaving him alone with his sister and friends. "Where's Dad?" he asked suddenly. "Couldn't he get away from work?" An uncomfortable silence developed among the room's inhabitants. "Harry? Hermione?" he asked his friends, seeking an answer but they seemed unable to meet his eyes. "Ginny…?" he added desperately. "Ron... Dad..." As Ginny's voice faltered, Harry wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. "He never returned from his mission... Oh Ron, we thought we had lost you both..." The tears were streaming down her face as she finished speaking. "Is he... Is he dead?" asked Ron, his voice strangely devoid of emotion. "Nobody seems to know, mate. We just don't know." It was Harry who replied in a whisper, tears brimming in his own eyes. "And what with Moody missing as well." As the news sank in, Ron slowly got to his feet and calmly walked over to the wall. Without warning he sank his fist hard into its surface, the sickening crunch as his bones shattered and the resulting pain that shot up his arm was strangely satisfying, but was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. He hardly noticed when Hermione wrapped her arms around him and held him as he sobbed. ~*~ The next time Ron was home again, was a few short weeks later at Christmas. Being back at school had been incredibly difficult; he had hated the looks he got all the time and the way everybody stopped talking as he walked past and he didn't know how Harry coped with this every year. At least he had been able to lose himself in his studies, having too much to do to catch up was a convenient excuse, to ignore his friend's questions about how he was coping. Harry at least realised what he was doing and didn't press the issue, leaving him to deal with it on his own. Hermione, however, was finding it difficult to do the same, even though Harry had taken her to one side, and tried to explain that he was best left alone, and would talk when he was ready. Her natural inquisitiveness often made her ask too many questions before she realised what she was doing. While they hadn't argued at all, things were not what Ron would call comfortable between them. She kept asking and he kept stonewalling her, trying to turn her questions away from the source of his pain, which was still too raw. So it was with some relief that Ron boarded the Hogwarts Express to return home for Christmas. He needed some time and space to get things back in perspective. When he returned to Hogwarts he really would need to sort out his relationship with Hermione; he loved her too much to let the current situation continue. Maybe then he would be able to find the words to explain it to her. He was completely unprepared for his mum's reaction to him when he reached the Burrow. After he had first escaped, she had clung to him almost permanently, not letting him out of her sight for more than a few minutes. She had even called frantically after him if he was too long in the bathroom Now though, she couldn't seem to be able to bear being in the same room as him The longest contact he had had was an all too brief hug, then an admonishment about the mess his trunk was making in her kitchen. While her constant molly-coddling a few weeks previously had soon grated on his nerves, this was absolutely awful, and worse still he couldn't understand why she was treating him this way. What had he done wrong? Had he said something he shouldn't? It was almost as if… she didn't love him anymore… As he thought about it, the tears streamed down his face. There was nothing else for it - if she couldn't have him round her, he would Floo Professor McGonagall in the morning and explain why he needed to return to spend the rest of the Holidays at school. A knock at his door made him flinch, and he quickly wiped his eyes with the sleeves of his robes. "There you are, Ron," said Ginny as she poked her head round the door. "Can I come in a minute?" "Yeah, sure," replied Ron. "I'm surprised you want to be seen with me though…" he added bitterly. "What do you mean?" questioned Ginny. "Why would I not want to be seen with you?" "Oh, I don't know," said Ron. "I don't know, Ginny…" "What's the matter, Ron?" asked Ginny, her voice thick with concern at the weariness in her brother's voice. "Have I done something to upset Mum, do you know, Ginny?" Ron looked apprehensive as he continued. "She can't seem to bear being anywhere near me." Ginny knelt at her brother's feet, and took his hands in hers. "Oh, Ron, you don't think she hates you, do you?" Ron's silence answered his sister's question for her. "Ron, Mum still loves you, you know," said Ginny, "I think it's just that… Well… You and Dad both disappeared on the same day, you know. Then you came back to us and that made Mum incredibly happy." She stopped speaking so she could sit on the bed next to her brother. "And then we all left her again; I know we only went back to Hogwarts, but still she was here all alone, having to deal with the feelings all that brought." "But, why won't she be anywhere near me?" asked Ron. "I don't know, Ron. I think you need to talk to her, but I think seeing you may remind her that you came back but Dad hasn't." "Ginny…" "Yes, Ron." "Where's Mum now? Is she busy?" "She can talk and work at the same time, Ron. I think she'd be glad of a hand," replied Ginny. Ron paused at his room door and turned to his sister. "Thanks, Ginny. I hope Harry knows how lucky he is to have you." "He does, Ron." She smiled at her brother. "Now go and talk to Mum. And Ron…" "Yes, Ginny," replied Ron. "Hermione's lucky to have you as well, you know." Ginny stood and gave her brother a hug, and made her way downstairs to her bedroom. ~~~*~~~ A Family Gathers Ron's many nieces, nephews and their families were gathered in the living room of Grimmauld Place, since it now belonged to Harry and Ginny's son, Arthur. Like his parents before him, it wasn't somewhere Arthur visited often, but it was most useful for the times the entire family had to gather together. A venerable old wizard himself, Arthur was closing in on his hundredth birthday in a few months time, his unruly grey hair - an inheritance from his father - dropped down past his waist, and gave him a wild unkempt look that he used to terrorise his great-grandchildren whenever his wife wasn't looking. Currently, he was standing next to the fireplace, watching the rest of family as they made polite small talk and sipped at their tea. Never the most comfortable acting as head of the family, he knew today was going to be particularly difficult. Uncle Ron had been a good, kind (and wonderfully lax at times) Uncle, always knowing when to turn a blind eye and when to stop him going too far during Arthur's youth. As Arthur had grown older, Ron had become someone he looked up to and whose advice he had greatly respected. Arthur was eternally grateful for the support he received when his mother and father both passed away, at comparatively young ages for witches and wizards; he knew how difficult it must have been for his uncle organising the funeral for his best friend and only sister. Now it was his chance to return the favour; it was his duty as head of the family, as Ron and Hermione's only child, Christopher, was still making the long journey back from a research trip in South America and wouldn't be back until the day before the funeral. The public memorial was out of their hands. As it should be, thought Arthur. They were gathered here today to arrange a more private and personal farewell to a man they all called a friend, no matter what title blood-links officially gave them. Draining his mug of the last of his Cinnamon-Tea, Arthur placed it on the mantle-piece, made sure there were no traces of Pumpkin Pasty in his short but straggly beard, and cleared his throat. As he expected, the quiet buzz of conversation petered out. Conjuring a chair, Arthur sat down and started to plan Ron's funeral with his family. ~*~ Over at Hogwarts, in the Room Of Requirement, which currently resembled a large version of one of the Quidditch changing rooms, the members of all four house Quidditch teams were gathered to plan their tribute to the Headmaster. Head-Girl and Gryffindor captain, Patricia Burgess, was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed across her chest, and a resigned look on her face. She had known this wasn't going to be easy but at this rate, if the four teams ended up agreeing about anything it would be would be bloody magic! "When tha's orl finished!" she said, with no visible response from her supposed helpers. Her already strong Yorkshire accent always grew stronger when she was nervous or upset. "Ah sez, will thee orl shurrup!" "Pardon, Pat, what did you just say?" asked Mick, the Hufflepuff keeper, cheekily. Well at least they're listening now even if they can't understand a sodding word I say, thought Pat. "Reight, naw I av thy attention, thee orl kna' why we're 'ere. So does anybody av any ideas?" Of course not a single hand was raised. "Come on, one o' thee must av an idea ov' 'a ta run dis thing. We can't let t'Eadmaster dawn wi' dis, t'ole school will be watchin!" Mick started to put his hand up. "If tha's goan mek fun o' mi accent agin, Mick-" "Would I?" replied the Hufflepuff keeper, cutting her off, an expression of innocence plastered across his face, "No... No, don't answer that!" he continued with a grin "It seems to me that we should try to include as many as want to be involved." "Sounds good, but we can't just let everybody join in," piped up Robbie, the star player and Seeker of the Slytherin team. "We should limit it to the better players –the ones with more experience, who will put up a better show," he added hastily as the young Ravenclaw team glared at him. "Aye, tha's a good point Robbie, but 'Eadmaster never tuk that approach wi'thee and any road, ah like Mick's idea better. Sa 'a does we mek it work?" "What about drawing lots?" asked Robbie. "Perhaps Gabrielle could come up with some charm or something?" "Professor Lynch, Robbie," chided Pat. "We don orl 'av a relative on 't teachin staff, thee know…" "Sorry," replied Robbie. "I can ask her though, if you want." From there it didn't take long to come up with a plan they hoped the professors would approve of. It was agreed that the school's Memorial match would be played by two varied teams; a 'Pro' team, drawing players from the regular players in the house teams, who would play a 'school' team, made up of interested players from the rest of the school. Players would rotate as and when needed and the game would last for two hours – no matter how many times the Snitch was caught. It wouldn't be 'proper' Quidditch of course, but they believed their Headmaster would approve. Most of the players could still hear him saying, "Whoever wants to play Quidditch should be given the chance." "Reet," said Pat, "Ahl tek dis to t' 'eadmistress for her approval, 'n ahl let thee kna wha' she thinks tomorra mornin a' breakfast..." ~*~ An Official Visit Over at Malfoy Mansion, Maximus Malfoy was sitting sat in his favourite leather armchair, contemplating the answer to 'six down' in the Daily Prophet's crossword, whilst sipping the finest Earl-Grey Galleons could buy from his bone china tea cup - the one that his grandfather had traced all the way back to Merlin. Yes, it could be said that Maximus knew how to conduct himself in polite society. The only problem being that there was no 'polite society' to observe his correct manners as he was alone and had been ever since his wife of ten years had walked out on him last spring. Not that Maximus minded the fact that the 'silly cow' had gone, he didn't like being beholden to anyone, particularly a mere witch. No, Maximus had grown quite used to taking his time in the morning. The house-elves always had his morning cup of tea ready each morning at precisely nine am, placed alongside a neatly ironed Daily Prophet, its crisp edges always placed at exactly the same angle on his grandfather's late seventeenth century French inlaid walnut table. Maximus remembered his father proudly telling him about the time his grandfather in a sudden fit of pique had ordered that the original marquetry lions at each corner be removed and replaced with a more appropriate motif, even going so far as to start the process of gouging them out himself before the astonished workman's eyes, a perfectly valid decision in Maximus' eyes. Once he had completed the crossword, he considered that it was time to head into the Ministry. Maximus hated having to work, but ever since Fudge had allowed too many of his friends into his government, the Ministry had changed. Now the only way for Maximus to obtain his rightful position of Minister for Magic, was to work his way up the ladder to a Head of Department and then wait for an election. A route Fudge himself had taken, as Malfoy had mentioned on more than one occasion, only to be told that wasn't the point and to get back to work. Having to actually 'work' was well beneath Maximus; that was what he paid his staff to do, and anyway, there was no way he was going to waste his time planning security for that old fool Weasley's Memorial Quidditch Game, not when his time could be better spent savouring Earl-Grey. "Mr Malfoy, Sir…" The timid looking house-elf stood in front of his master, shaking like a leaf. "What is it, servant! I thought I told you I was not to be disturbed?" he drawled, feeling seriously displeased. "I am very sorry, Sir, but he is most insistent, Sir." "Who is?" replied Malfoy most exasperated. "Burton, Master, your assistant for the Ministry." "Tell him, whatever it is can wait till I decide to go in, and you can also tell him to apply for a transfer to the Department of International Magical Co-operation, for disturbing me at home." Damned impudence! I've clearly been too lenient with the man if he thinks he can intrude in my private life, thought Maximus. "I is sorry, Master, but he was most insistent!" and with that the house-elf disappeared, and the door to his study opened. "Burton! Your impertinence will be your downfall; I intend to make sure of it. How dare you disturb me at home!" "I'm sorry, Sir, but I'm afraid there has been a development in the Weasley case." As he spoke, Burton's eyes darted around the room. Malfoy's eyes bulged. "You came round here to talk about Quidditch security?" "Not exactly, Sir, no," replied Burton. "You see it pertains to the Headmaster's death." "I thought that had been dealt with, the stupid old fool overdid himself to help some old bat who couldn't even stay on her own two feet." Had Malfoy been less incensed, he might have noticed that Burton's hands were concealed beneath his cloak. "It seems that the 'old bat' was pushed off the platform, Sir, and now she is conscious, she has been speaking to the healers at St Mungo's… She knows who pushed her. I took a statement from her this morning…" the rest of Burton's sentence was left unsaid, but hung heavily in the air between Burton and Malfoy. "I'm afraid, Sir, I am going to have to ask you to come in for questioning." "WHAT!" How dare he even suggest… In my own house… He will be working in Outer Mongolia by this afternoon, if I have anything to do with it, thought Malfoy as he reached for his wand. Burton had been expecting something like this though, and with a quick flick of his own wand, his boss was immobilised in a full body bind, his eyes staring angrily at him. "Maximus Archibald Malfoy, I am placing you under arrest in accordance with Statute Seven, as laid down by the Wizengamot. You do not have to say anything at this time…" As Burton continued to speak, he took an old sweet wrapper out of his pocket, took hold of Malfoy's shoulder and activated the Portkey that would take them straight into one of the department's holding-cells. ~~~*~~~ The Third Person Ron Meets… When Ron looked up, he was surprised to see a steaming hot cup of tea in front of him. Suddenly thirsty, he sat back and brought the mug to his lips, sipping gently at the hot liquid. Relaxing even further into his seat, he let his eyes drift over his surroundings, looking for anything that he could find familiar, and give a clue to the person whom he would meet next. There were probably a dozen tables like his, marble surfaces supported by intricate wrought-iron bases, spread randomly over a large mezzanine, which overlooked a sizeable bookstore, its patrons milling round the shelves. The high ceiling gave the building an airy feeling, and the various statues and carved portraits dotted around betrayed the building's history as a centre of Muggle commerce. One whole side of the building was completely glassed. I wonder how the Muggles do that, Ron thought. As Ron contemplated the strange way Muggles worked, he glanced out of the window and his eyes were drawn to a teenage girl who was walking down the hill towards the café. He couldn't remember ever seeing her before but something about her intrigued him, and he continued to watch her approach. As she stopped just outside, she paused to check the time on her watch, and then she removed a piece of paper out of her pocket. Whatever she was doing, she seemed satisfied and folded the paper back up and slid it back into her pocket. As she opened the door, she briefly looked up and caught Ron's eye. Nodding her head in acknowledgement, she stepped through the door. Ron didn't have long to wait as she made her way up the stairs and sat opposite him. Before either of them could speak the waitress appeared with two more cups of tea, smiling at them both as she removed Ron's empty cup. There was a short silence, before Ron spoke. "Er… Hi," he smiled. "I'm sorry, but who are you?" "Hello, Ron. My name's Cathy Foxworthy and I'm what I think you would term a 'Muggle'." ~*~ a/n: As ever, many thanks to my beta team of Cara and Allie, who turn what I write into something readable, with a skill and patience that deserves recognition! Pat's, grandfather, 'Coach' is currently appearing in Cara's fic "Forever for Now," at all good LJ friends lists near you! :D Note from Allie: Bart and I have had some interesting language moments with this story. Firstly, his chapters arrived with MS word somehow set to German, so virtually everything was underlined as supposedly 'mis-spelt'. Then, I accidentally typed his beta comments in Spanish (I had relatives from Argentina staying and had spent all weekend translating everything anyone said into Spanish). Next it was: 'There's a bit of Yorkshire accent in this chapter'. 'Strewth, I couldn't work out half of what it said - I just *believed*. a/n: T'as nowt rong wi' speekin propa thee kna! :)
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