RW:GoF Ch. 11
Previous chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10
He’s not dead. He’s just asleep. He’s not dead. He’s just asleep. He’s not dead. He made it back. Only Cedric got ki...
Ron Weasley decided that this track of thinking wasn’t helping. He should be relieved. His best mate was still alive, even though he had just been through a duel with the most evil Dark Lord in half a century. There had been an elaborate plot to kill him, and he managed to come out the other end alive.
Only Cedric had di...didn’t make it.
Maybe he shouldn’t be so relieved.
He thought back to the Dark Mark, memories in a Pensieve of a burning house, and his mum and dad watching helplessly. He thought of uncles he never knew.
He thought of meeting an orphan whose parents were murdered in cold blood.
He tried not to think about his best mate lying on the ground, huddled over a body. There was a split second where he wasn’t moving. Ron thought he really knew about death. He thought he had stared it in the face. But being advanced upon by a transfigured chess piece, or screaming at a convicted murderer was nothing compared to seeing your best mate on the ground not moving. THAT was death. That was cold and unforgiving. That taught Ron Weasley what it meant to be powerless. That was what war meant. That was what being an adult meant... an Auror, a soldier...
Fourteen year olds were prone to delusions of grandeur. Youth meant that what you learned one moment was quickly forgotten the next. How long would this lesson hold? Who knew. But, until Harry woke up, Ron would be cured of childish dreams of heroism and glamor.
***
“I told him to take the cup with me.” said Harry.
Ron shouldn’t look. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew Harry was trying to hold it all together. He could tell just by looking at him that Harry was trying to stay strong and not break. He knew, because Ron himself had felt that way too often this year. But in his case, it was over nothing.
Harry knew what it meant to suffer. Ron might be poor, but he had a home and a family. Security. Harry had been a target since before he was born. He hadn’t had a real family since he was a baby.
Harry had a reason to cry, to feel pain. Ron decided he wouldn’t look away. He was going to remember today. He was going to remember it all. The omnioculars, the Goblet, the Horntail, and this moment here. He had almost lost Harry too many twice. And the first time was because he was jealous, and the second time was because a murderous villain wanted him dead. Some friend he had been. But no more. Ron would look, and remeber. For Harry's sake. Harry would never stand alone again, not while he had Ron Weasley. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
THE END
He’s not dead. He’s just asleep. He’s not dead. He’s just asleep. He’s not dead. He made it back. Only Cedric got ki...
Ron Weasley decided that this track of thinking wasn’t helping. He should be relieved. His best mate was still alive, even though he had just been through a duel with the most evil Dark Lord in half a century. There had been an elaborate plot to kill him, and he managed to come out the other end alive.
Only Cedric had di...didn’t make it.
Maybe he shouldn’t be so relieved.
He thought back to the Dark Mark, memories in a Pensieve of a burning house, and his mum and dad watching helplessly. He thought of uncles he never knew.
He thought of meeting an orphan whose parents were murdered in cold blood.
He tried not to think about his best mate lying on the ground, huddled over a body. There was a split second where he wasn’t moving. Ron thought he really knew about death. He thought he had stared it in the face. But being advanced upon by a transfigured chess piece, or screaming at a convicted murderer was nothing compared to seeing your best mate on the ground not moving. THAT was death. That was cold and unforgiving. That taught Ron Weasley what it meant to be powerless. That was what war meant. That was what being an adult meant... an Auror, a soldier...
Fourteen year olds were prone to delusions of grandeur. Youth meant that what you learned one moment was quickly forgotten the next. How long would this lesson hold? Who knew. But, until Harry woke up, Ron would be cured of childish dreams of heroism and glamor.
***
“I told him to take the cup with me.” said Harry.
Ron shouldn’t look. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew Harry was trying to hold it all together. He could tell just by looking at him that Harry was trying to stay strong and not break. He knew, because Ron himself had felt that way too often this year. But in his case, it was over nothing.
Harry knew what it meant to suffer. Ron might be poor, but he had a home and a family. Security. Harry had been a target since before he was born. He hadn’t had a real family since he was a baby.
Harry had a reason to cry, to feel pain. Ron decided he wouldn’t look away. He was going to remember today. He was going to remember it all. The omnioculars, the Goblet, the Horntail, and this moment here. He had almost lost Harry too many twice. And the first time was because he was jealous, and the second time was because a murderous villain wanted him dead. Some friend he had been. But no more. Ron would look, and remeber. For Harry's sake. Harry would never stand alone again, not while he had Ron Weasley. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
THE END