Fic: Something Like Growing Up
Title: Something Like Growing Up
Author:
that_september
Rating: PGish.
Characters/Pairings: Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Hermione Granger, hints of R/Hr and mentions of Harry.
Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's.
Summary: Dumbledore and Ron discuss a certain prefect badge over a cup of tea. Ron frets, Dumbledore eats lemon drops, and Hermione does a lot of blushing. Oneshot missing moment from OotP.
8:30 A.M., Breakfast
Ron’s not sure what to think at first.
The note is brief but pleasant and obviously scrawled a tad hastily, and he wonders if perhaps he’s misunderstood-maybe this is really for Harry, maybe he is just supposed to give it to him or something…
Merlin, this year is really shaping up to be weird.
“Who’s that from?” Hermione asks conversationally, eyeing the parchment in Ron’s hand and his worried frown. “Everything okay?”
“It’s from Dumbledore.”
“From-from who, exactly?” The expression on Hermione’s face is not unlike the one she wore when she discovered it was Ron (and not Harry) who was the prefect.
“Dumbledore,” Ron repeats, this time a bit sharply. “He wants to have a chat this evening.”
“A chat?” Hermione practically rips the note from his hand and scans it curiously. “ ‘Good morning, Mr. Weasley,’” she proceeds to read aloud, “ ‘I hope I shall have the pleasure of your company this evening in my office around 7:30. There are a few things I should very much like to discuss with you. Most sincerely, Professor Dumbledore.’”
“That is a really annoying habit,” Ron points out, though he can’t help but grin at his friend’s uncharacteristic (and absolutely not cute in the slightest) bafflement.
“What is?”
“Reading everything aloud. You know, there’s a reason I’ve managed to get through years and years of school before now, Hermione-I, y’know, learned my ABC’s.”
“Yes, well,” she says distractedly, not even bothering to bristle with indignation or get defensive or anything else remotely Hermione-ish. “Why do you suppose he wants to see you? I mean, you’ve been on your best behavior so far, never mind that it’s only a few weeks into term, and he made you prefect-wait, you haven’t hexed Malfoy, have you? No…no, you can’t have done, you would have bragged about it to me…I don’t suppose you’ve managed to abuse your prefect duties yet? Well, of course you haven’t, I’d know, we do rounds together, and-” (Damn her, she knows me far too well.)
“Hermione,” Ron interrupts through gritted teeth.
“Yes?”
“I know this is a long shot in the dark, but it’s possible Dumbledore just wants to talk to me.”
“But…but…that’s ridiculous!” She shakes her head emphatically, dark hair flying everywhere.
“Ridiculous?” He can’t bite back the offense in his tone. “Yeah…yeah, I see how it is.”
“Oh, Ron.” Her sigh is half-apologetic, half-exasperated. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I just mean that…well, Professor Dumbledore is a very busy man these days, what with-” She lowers her voice. “-business for the You-Know-What. I mean, if you’ve been on your best behavior and there’s nothing wrong, then why would he want to have a private conversation with you? He’s never done anything like that before, not for anyone.” Ron has to nod his agreement (Neither of us are going to point out that an ‘except for Harry’ should have ended that sentence…).
“Well, yeah, I reckon you’re right.” A pause. “And you don’t think there’s something…nobody’s, well, I mean…?”
He doesn’t have to spell it out; he’s never had to, not for her.
Her hands take both of his (Your heart did not just bottom out; c’mon now, breathe properly! For Godric’s sake, it’s just Hermione, why are you so twitchy today?) and Hermione says,
“No.”
“Really? Because, I mean, he could just be trying to…y’know…break it to me gently.”
“No.” Her grasp tightens for the briefest of moments, and then she lets go and his hands feel almost lonely, empty, at her sudden withdrawal (It’s just Hermione, it’s just Hermione, just Hermione...). “He would tell you immediately if someone in your family was hurt, Ron. Besides, his note sounds pleasant, not ominous.”
“You’re right, as usual.”
“You don’t look entirely convinced.” She hands him a mug of what smells like coffee with milk, three sugars, and a little cinnamon (How does she always know exactly what to do?) and he accepts it gratefully. “Drink that. You’ll feel better.”
“It’s just that…you know, it is pretty strange. Why would he want to talk to me? Like you say, he’s never done that before.” Ron gulps at his coffee, ignoring the scalding heat of it. “I don’t get it. It’s not like I’m-”
Hermione doesn’t do much more than incline her head and take a sip of tea, but he gets the hint. When Ron turns, he sees Harry (Merlin, he looks horrible. When did he get so damn skinny?) stalking toward them, bag thrown over one of his shoulders, head down. It’s not exactly a grand entrance but people are doing everything short of pointing at him; the whispers start up, they shoot him significant glances, make rude gestures-one particularly nervy little Slytherin prat even dares to throw a half-eaten piece of toast at him.
Throughout this, Harry does not look up or explode with anger like he does with Umbridge or throw a tantrum. He just takes it, exhaustion creasing his face, and keeps walking.
Ron can’t say exactly why, but he sort of wants to break something.
“Oi, you,” he snaps at a particularly gossipy, rude third-year across the table from him, “shut up.”
“Hey, that’s not on!” the third-year tries to protest. “I’m only telling ‘em what I know-”
“-Which is absolutely nothing,” Ron says icily. “So do the world a favor and stop talking.”
“But that Potter kid is a raving-!”
“Shut up, Connor,” the stupid little kid’s peaky-looking friend advises, eyeing Ron (who has turned an interesting shade of maroon) warily. “That’s Potter’s best mate.”
“And proud of it, too,” Ron snarls. “Now get the bloody hell out of here. One more fucking word out of you, and I will personally see to it you spend every Hogsmeade weekend for the next two years in detention.”
Thankfully, this seems to have lasting effect. The brat is gone before he can blink an eye.
Hermione raises an eyebrow at him, but she doesn’t say a word about abusing his power or his foul language, just half-smiles as she takes another sip of tea.
“Hi,” Harry says, sliding in between the pair of them and making a grab for the plate of sausages. “Sorry-I was just finishing up that stupid History of Magic essay.”
“Do you want me to look over it?” Hermione asks at once (Her way of bellowing at third-years.) and Harry actually cracks a disbelieving grin.
”Really? That’d be great, Hermione, really great.”
Ron manages to catch her eye and grins at her, an appreciative, admiring sort of grin, and in return she beams her own approval at him.
(Oh for the love of-Dammit, it’s just Hermione!)
--
7:30 PM, Headmaster’s Office.
“Ah, Mr. Weasley! How delightful to see you!”
“Erm-nice to see you too, sir.”
“Do come in!” Professor Dumbledore gallantly waves him inside. “Have a seat right there, I’m sure it will be most comfortable. Would you care for a lemon drop? Some tea, perhaps?”
“Oh, yeah, tea would be great! Uh, sir.” Ron is suddenly uncomfortably aware of the fact that he has never been completely alone in a room with Dumbledore before, and he really has no idea how he’s supposed to talk to him. He’s used to having to say, ‘Yes sir,’ and, ‘No sir,’ and maybe the occasional, ‘Thank you, sir.” Ron isn’t all that great at small talk as it is, but small talk with his long-time hero, the greatest wizard in the world? (You’re dead, Weasley.)
“I suppose,” Dumbledore says conversationally, summoning a couple of cups full of steaming tea and a tin of lemon drops, “you might be wondering why I’ve asked you to meet with me this evening?”
“Er…yes, sir.” Ron takes a cautious sip of tea, uncertain if he’s supposed to wait for Dumbledore to drink first. Dumbledore sits down in the big, comfy chair behind his desk, helps himself to a lemon drop, and then surveys Ron over steepled fingers.
“Mr. Weasley, there is absolutely no need to look so uncomfortable. I can assure you, you are not in any trouble that I know of, and I do not intend to be the bearer of bad news this evening. Please, relax.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dumbledore appears amused, settling back into his chair.
“Really now, there is no need for such formalities! You certainly do not have to end every sentence with the word, ‘sir’, Mr. Weasley-may I call you Ron?-I promise that I do not bite.”
“Yes, s-I mean…um…okay?”
“Okay,” Dumbledore agrees, and smiles reassuringly. “Now, I’ve asked you here this evening to discuss my appointing you prefect.”
(Oh Merlin. This is where he tells me to hand in my badge.)
Ron really can’t stop his heart from sinking-just once he thought…well, why shouldn’t he have thought? The letter was addressed to him, the badge fell into his hand, Mum bought him a new broom-well, it was just some clerical error, probably…Dumbledore will sort it all out now, tell him that it was Harry who’s the real prefect, how could Ron have been stupid enough to even hope…?
“Okay,” he manages hoarsely, fists clenched. (What am I going to tell Mum?)
“Forgive me if I’m too forward,” Dumbledore says gently, “but I am almost positive that the reaction to your new badge has been a little…well, dubious at best.”
“Yes,” Ron agrees quietly, keeping his eyes fixed steadily on the whites of his knuckles. (What am I going to tell Hermione?)
“I’m going to tell you something, Ron, and I’d like it very much if you didn’t share it with Harry. Do I have your word on that?”
“Yes, Professor.” (Sir.)
“I have never considered him as a prefect. Not once.”
“You haven’t?” Ron asks, shocked, and he forgets to be polite.
“No. And I do not want you worrying that I gave you the position because I felt sorry for you or because I made a mistake-I make many mistakes, Ron, but I have never appointed an undeserving prefect once.” (If Malfoy and Parkinson are deserving, that’s really kinda scary.)
“Could I ask…why?” Ron is still a little too nervous to meet the headmaster’s eyes. “I’m not like-not like Harry, Professor. I’m not anything special, and well, really. Everyone thought for certain it’d be him you picked.”
“You must never think yourself inferior to Harry, Ron,” Dumbledore says sharply, surveying his pupil knowingly. “That is the worst thing you could ever do for him. I don’t expect he is prone to telling you this, but he needs your friendship and trust and support greatly-even he probably does not know how much. You are as much his equal as anyone else, do not forget that.”
“Yes, si-I mean, okay, Professor.” Ron meets his gaze for the first time. “I don’t think of Harry as some invincible hero or anything. I just…well, I’m not outright stupid. He’s done a lot of stuff and he’s got a lot on his shoulders and he’s always been pretty close to you. It just seemed like he was the obvious choice.” (The only choice.)
“You, too, have done a lot of-to use your term-‘stuff’, and have quite a bit resting on your young shoulders, Ron. Perhaps it has never been properly expressed to you, but nearly every single year you have attended this school, you have played a very large part in saving us all. Your best friend is ridiculed daily in the papers, and you loyally stand by his story. I do not pretend that your peers are as sympathetic, and I expect you and Miss Granger receive just as much torment from them as Harry does.”
“Yeah,” Ron agrees. “ But still. Harry’s…well, he’s Harry! I’m really not sure I understand, sir-if I had never met Harry, I’d never have done anything brave or important. I’d be just as useless as I am today, only more so.”
“You are far from useless, Ron.” Dumbledore now looks faintly concerned. “Listen to me, I picked you as prefect because I know loyalty when I see it. You are brave, faithful, intelligent-and here is the deciding factor: you can see the difference between what the rules say and what you know is the right thing to do, and do the right thing. Harry has that unique quality himself, but he has far too much responsibility to be getting along with, as I’m sure you’ll agree.” Dumbledore pauses, surveys Ron, who still looks dubious. “He would not have thanked me for granting him the position, and frankly I doubt he would have done it properly. If there is one thing Harry does not need, it is more attention.”
(…Well, what am I supposed to say to that? Spot on?)
“You have often watched as your brothers and friends took the limelight, Ron,” Dumbledore adds softly. “I rather think it’s time you got to share it, too.”
For some reason, Ron’s memory flashes to a little redheaded first year, standing in front of a dusty mirror and staring at a wistful future full of Quidditch Cups and Head Boy badges.
Suddenly that doesn’t seem so important, and he rather thinks if he had another look in the mirror, he’d see something very different.
“Thanks, Professor Dumbledore,” Ron says aloud. “I-well, I’ll really do my best. I promise.”
“Of course you will, Ron. Now, I’d like to discuss those twin brothers of yours.” Professor Dumbledore leans forward seriously. (Now I’ll get it for sure. I knew I should have listened to Hermione when she told them off-) “I don’t suppose you could procure one of those amusing Skivving Snackboxes for me?”
--
10:45 pm, Gryffindor Common Room
“How did it go?” Hermione asks anxiously as Ron clambers through the portrait hole.
“Actually, it went great,” Ron tells her, brushing off his robes and flopping down in the armchair next to her. “Where’s Harry?”
“He went to bed already-detention tonight with that Umbridge woman apparently was horrible.” (You really should find out what’s so bad about writing lines, you know. She can’t be threatening him, can she?)
“Just as well he’s getting a good night’s rest,” Ron says, shaking his head in disgust. “That stupid old cow.”
“Something has to be done about her,” Hermione says, looking dangerous. “She’s absolutely vile…” With a sigh, she lets her chin fall to her hands. “So…what did Professor Dumbledore want?”
“To talk about me being a prefect.” Even as he says it he feels the tips of his ears turn red.
“Really?” Hermione frowns. “And…?”
“Apparently I’m not to worry that he made a mistake,” Ron mutters. “He says…he says that he never considered Harry-that I shouldn’t feel inferior to him or anything, that I was just as…well, brave, I guess…I dunno. He seemed really set on making sure I knew I deserved the position or whatever.”
Hermione stares at him, a funny expression on her face.
“What?” Ron asks self-consciously. (Did that sound as stupid to her as it did to me?)
“I’m glad he told you that, Ron,” she says softly. “You really do deserve it, you know?”
“I guess.” Ron shifts uncomfortably. “It doesn’t matter,” he adds hastily. “I mean, I just thought at first that-well, Harry is Dumbledore’s favorite-”
And then suddenly Hermione has leaned over and hugged him fiercely (OhGoodMerlinwhycan’tIbreathe?) and she whispers in his ear,
“Of course it matters, Ron. You matter.”
She draws away, an embarrassed blush reddening her cheeks, and he sits there stock-still for a moment before murmuring,
“Hermione?”
“Yes?” is her tentative reply.
“Thank you.”
(Dumbledore has me over for tea. Hermione is…is…and then I’m prefect and…
Damn, this year is just too bloody weird.)
Ron feels odd-not important, exactly, but more...mature, or something. Like now he knows people respect him or that he does matter-that he and Harry are equals (C’mon, you knew that all along.) and that he’s really starting to let this whole Hermione thing get a bit out of hand and…Well, maybe he’ll mull that one over later.
He knows he’s not grown-up yet-not by a long shot-but this feel something like it.
Hermione exhales softly, then clears her throat.
“Did you finish your Transfiguration essay?”
A long pause.
“We had an essay?”
“Oh, Ron, honestly!”
In spite of his really rather dire homework situation, he can’t help but crack a smile as an irritable Hermione berates him shrilly, throwing parchment and quill at him, moaning that it’s O.W.L. year and when is ever going to learn some responsibility and for the love of Merlin, if he gets detention for handing in the essay late and misses prefect rounds tomorrow, she is going to volunteer him to be Fred and George’s new test subject, don’t think she won’t!
(Always nice to know that some things never change.)
Author:
that_september
Rating: PGish.
Characters/Pairings: Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Hermione Granger, hints of R/Hr and mentions of Harry.
Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's.
Summary: Dumbledore and Ron discuss a certain prefect badge over a cup of tea. Ron frets, Dumbledore eats lemon drops, and Hermione does a lot of blushing. Oneshot missing moment from OotP.
8:30 A.M., Breakfast
Ron’s not sure what to think at first.
The note is brief but pleasant and obviously scrawled a tad hastily, and he wonders if perhaps he’s misunderstood-maybe this is really for Harry, maybe he is just supposed to give it to him or something…
Merlin, this year is really shaping up to be weird.
“Who’s that from?” Hermione asks conversationally, eyeing the parchment in Ron’s hand and his worried frown. “Everything okay?”
“It’s from Dumbledore.”
“From-from who, exactly?” The expression on Hermione’s face is not unlike the one she wore when she discovered it was Ron (and not Harry) who was the prefect.
“Dumbledore,” Ron repeats, this time a bit sharply. “He wants to have a chat this evening.”
“A chat?” Hermione practically rips the note from his hand and scans it curiously. “ ‘Good morning, Mr. Weasley,’” she proceeds to read aloud, “ ‘I hope I shall have the pleasure of your company this evening in my office around 7:30. There are a few things I should very much like to discuss with you. Most sincerely, Professor Dumbledore.’”
“That is a really annoying habit,” Ron points out, though he can’t help but grin at his friend’s uncharacteristic (and absolutely not cute in the slightest) bafflement.
“What is?”
“Reading everything aloud. You know, there’s a reason I’ve managed to get through years and years of school before now, Hermione-I, y’know, learned my ABC’s.”
“Yes, well,” she says distractedly, not even bothering to bristle with indignation or get defensive or anything else remotely Hermione-ish. “Why do you suppose he wants to see you? I mean, you’ve been on your best behavior so far, never mind that it’s only a few weeks into term, and he made you prefect-wait, you haven’t hexed Malfoy, have you? No…no, you can’t have done, you would have bragged about it to me…I don’t suppose you’ve managed to abuse your prefect duties yet? Well, of course you haven’t, I’d know, we do rounds together, and-” (Damn her, she knows me far too well.)
“Hermione,” Ron interrupts through gritted teeth.
“Yes?”
“I know this is a long shot in the dark, but it’s possible Dumbledore just wants to talk to me.”
“But…but…that’s ridiculous!” She shakes her head emphatically, dark hair flying everywhere.
“Ridiculous?” He can’t bite back the offense in his tone. “Yeah…yeah, I see how it is.”
“Oh, Ron.” Her sigh is half-apologetic, half-exasperated. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I just mean that…well, Professor Dumbledore is a very busy man these days, what with-” She lowers her voice. “-business for the You-Know-What. I mean, if you’ve been on your best behavior and there’s nothing wrong, then why would he want to have a private conversation with you? He’s never done anything like that before, not for anyone.” Ron has to nod his agreement (Neither of us are going to point out that an ‘except for Harry’ should have ended that sentence…).
“Well, yeah, I reckon you’re right.” A pause. “And you don’t think there’s something…nobody’s, well, I mean…?”
He doesn’t have to spell it out; he’s never had to, not for her.
Her hands take both of his (Your heart did not just bottom out; c’mon now, breathe properly! For Godric’s sake, it’s just Hermione, why are you so twitchy today?) and Hermione says,
“No.”
“Really? Because, I mean, he could just be trying to…y’know…break it to me gently.”
“No.” Her grasp tightens for the briefest of moments, and then she lets go and his hands feel almost lonely, empty, at her sudden withdrawal (It’s just Hermione, it’s just Hermione, just Hermione...). “He would tell you immediately if someone in your family was hurt, Ron. Besides, his note sounds pleasant, not ominous.”
“You’re right, as usual.”
“You don’t look entirely convinced.” She hands him a mug of what smells like coffee with milk, three sugars, and a little cinnamon (How does she always know exactly what to do?) and he accepts it gratefully. “Drink that. You’ll feel better.”
“It’s just that…you know, it is pretty strange. Why would he want to talk to me? Like you say, he’s never done that before.” Ron gulps at his coffee, ignoring the scalding heat of it. “I don’t get it. It’s not like I’m-”
Hermione doesn’t do much more than incline her head and take a sip of tea, but he gets the hint. When Ron turns, he sees Harry (Merlin, he looks horrible. When did he get so damn skinny?) stalking toward them, bag thrown over one of his shoulders, head down. It’s not exactly a grand entrance but people are doing everything short of pointing at him; the whispers start up, they shoot him significant glances, make rude gestures-one particularly nervy little Slytherin prat even dares to throw a half-eaten piece of toast at him.
Throughout this, Harry does not look up or explode with anger like he does with Umbridge or throw a tantrum. He just takes it, exhaustion creasing his face, and keeps walking.
Ron can’t say exactly why, but he sort of wants to break something.
“Oi, you,” he snaps at a particularly gossipy, rude third-year across the table from him, “shut up.”
“Hey, that’s not on!” the third-year tries to protest. “I’m only telling ‘em what I know-”
“-Which is absolutely nothing,” Ron says icily. “So do the world a favor and stop talking.”
“But that Potter kid is a raving-!”
“Shut up, Connor,” the stupid little kid’s peaky-looking friend advises, eyeing Ron (who has turned an interesting shade of maroon) warily. “That’s Potter’s best mate.”
“And proud of it, too,” Ron snarls. “Now get the bloody hell out of here. One more fucking word out of you, and I will personally see to it you spend every Hogsmeade weekend for the next two years in detention.”
Thankfully, this seems to have lasting effect. The brat is gone before he can blink an eye.
Hermione raises an eyebrow at him, but she doesn’t say a word about abusing his power or his foul language, just half-smiles as she takes another sip of tea.
“Hi,” Harry says, sliding in between the pair of them and making a grab for the plate of sausages. “Sorry-I was just finishing up that stupid History of Magic essay.”
“Do you want me to look over it?” Hermione asks at once (Her way of bellowing at third-years.) and Harry actually cracks a disbelieving grin.
”Really? That’d be great, Hermione, really great.”
Ron manages to catch her eye and grins at her, an appreciative, admiring sort of grin, and in return she beams her own approval at him.
(Oh for the love of-Dammit, it’s just Hermione!)
--
7:30 PM, Headmaster’s Office.
“Ah, Mr. Weasley! How delightful to see you!”
“Erm-nice to see you too, sir.”
“Do come in!” Professor Dumbledore gallantly waves him inside. “Have a seat right there, I’m sure it will be most comfortable. Would you care for a lemon drop? Some tea, perhaps?”
“Oh, yeah, tea would be great! Uh, sir.” Ron is suddenly uncomfortably aware of the fact that he has never been completely alone in a room with Dumbledore before, and he really has no idea how he’s supposed to talk to him. He’s used to having to say, ‘Yes sir,’ and, ‘No sir,’ and maybe the occasional, ‘Thank you, sir.” Ron isn’t all that great at small talk as it is, but small talk with his long-time hero, the greatest wizard in the world? (You’re dead, Weasley.)
“I suppose,” Dumbledore says conversationally, summoning a couple of cups full of steaming tea and a tin of lemon drops, “you might be wondering why I’ve asked you to meet with me this evening?”
“Er…yes, sir.” Ron takes a cautious sip of tea, uncertain if he’s supposed to wait for Dumbledore to drink first. Dumbledore sits down in the big, comfy chair behind his desk, helps himself to a lemon drop, and then surveys Ron over steepled fingers.
“Mr. Weasley, there is absolutely no need to look so uncomfortable. I can assure you, you are not in any trouble that I know of, and I do not intend to be the bearer of bad news this evening. Please, relax.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dumbledore appears amused, settling back into his chair.
“Really now, there is no need for such formalities! You certainly do not have to end every sentence with the word, ‘sir’, Mr. Weasley-may I call you Ron?-I promise that I do not bite.”
“Yes, s-I mean…um…okay?”
“Okay,” Dumbledore agrees, and smiles reassuringly. “Now, I’ve asked you here this evening to discuss my appointing you prefect.”
(Oh Merlin. This is where he tells me to hand in my badge.)
Ron really can’t stop his heart from sinking-just once he thought…well, why shouldn’t he have thought? The letter was addressed to him, the badge fell into his hand, Mum bought him a new broom-well, it was just some clerical error, probably…Dumbledore will sort it all out now, tell him that it was Harry who’s the real prefect, how could Ron have been stupid enough to even hope…?
“Okay,” he manages hoarsely, fists clenched. (What am I going to tell Mum?)
“Forgive me if I’m too forward,” Dumbledore says gently, “but I am almost positive that the reaction to your new badge has been a little…well, dubious at best.”
“Yes,” Ron agrees quietly, keeping his eyes fixed steadily on the whites of his knuckles. (What am I going to tell Hermione?)
“I’m going to tell you something, Ron, and I’d like it very much if you didn’t share it with Harry. Do I have your word on that?”
“Yes, Professor.” (Sir.)
“I have never considered him as a prefect. Not once.”
“You haven’t?” Ron asks, shocked, and he forgets to be polite.
“No. And I do not want you worrying that I gave you the position because I felt sorry for you or because I made a mistake-I make many mistakes, Ron, but I have never appointed an undeserving prefect once.” (If Malfoy and Parkinson are deserving, that’s really kinda scary.)
“Could I ask…why?” Ron is still a little too nervous to meet the headmaster’s eyes. “I’m not like-not like Harry, Professor. I’m not anything special, and well, really. Everyone thought for certain it’d be him you picked.”
“You must never think yourself inferior to Harry, Ron,” Dumbledore says sharply, surveying his pupil knowingly. “That is the worst thing you could ever do for him. I don’t expect he is prone to telling you this, but he needs your friendship and trust and support greatly-even he probably does not know how much. You are as much his equal as anyone else, do not forget that.”
“Yes, si-I mean, okay, Professor.” Ron meets his gaze for the first time. “I don’t think of Harry as some invincible hero or anything. I just…well, I’m not outright stupid. He’s done a lot of stuff and he’s got a lot on his shoulders and he’s always been pretty close to you. It just seemed like he was the obvious choice.” (The only choice.)
“You, too, have done a lot of-to use your term-‘stuff’, and have quite a bit resting on your young shoulders, Ron. Perhaps it has never been properly expressed to you, but nearly every single year you have attended this school, you have played a very large part in saving us all. Your best friend is ridiculed daily in the papers, and you loyally stand by his story. I do not pretend that your peers are as sympathetic, and I expect you and Miss Granger receive just as much torment from them as Harry does.”
“Yeah,” Ron agrees. “ But still. Harry’s…well, he’s Harry! I’m really not sure I understand, sir-if I had never met Harry, I’d never have done anything brave or important. I’d be just as useless as I am today, only more so.”
“You are far from useless, Ron.” Dumbledore now looks faintly concerned. “Listen to me, I picked you as prefect because I know loyalty when I see it. You are brave, faithful, intelligent-and here is the deciding factor: you can see the difference between what the rules say and what you know is the right thing to do, and do the right thing. Harry has that unique quality himself, but he has far too much responsibility to be getting along with, as I’m sure you’ll agree.” Dumbledore pauses, surveys Ron, who still looks dubious. “He would not have thanked me for granting him the position, and frankly I doubt he would have done it properly. If there is one thing Harry does not need, it is more attention.”
(…Well, what am I supposed to say to that? Spot on?)
“You have often watched as your brothers and friends took the limelight, Ron,” Dumbledore adds softly. “I rather think it’s time you got to share it, too.”
For some reason, Ron’s memory flashes to a little redheaded first year, standing in front of a dusty mirror and staring at a wistful future full of Quidditch Cups and Head Boy badges.
Suddenly that doesn’t seem so important, and he rather thinks if he had another look in the mirror, he’d see something very different.
“Thanks, Professor Dumbledore,” Ron says aloud. “I-well, I’ll really do my best. I promise.”
“Of course you will, Ron. Now, I’d like to discuss those twin brothers of yours.” Professor Dumbledore leans forward seriously. (Now I’ll get it for sure. I knew I should have listened to Hermione when she told them off-) “I don’t suppose you could procure one of those amusing Skivving Snackboxes for me?”
--
10:45 pm, Gryffindor Common Room
“How did it go?” Hermione asks anxiously as Ron clambers through the portrait hole.
“Actually, it went great,” Ron tells her, brushing off his robes and flopping down in the armchair next to her. “Where’s Harry?”
“He went to bed already-detention tonight with that Umbridge woman apparently was horrible.” (You really should find out what’s so bad about writing lines, you know. She can’t be threatening him, can she?)
“Just as well he’s getting a good night’s rest,” Ron says, shaking his head in disgust. “That stupid old cow.”
“Something has to be done about her,” Hermione says, looking dangerous. “She’s absolutely vile…” With a sigh, she lets her chin fall to her hands. “So…what did Professor Dumbledore want?”
“To talk about me being a prefect.” Even as he says it he feels the tips of his ears turn red.
“Really?” Hermione frowns. “And…?”
“Apparently I’m not to worry that he made a mistake,” Ron mutters. “He says…he says that he never considered Harry-that I shouldn’t feel inferior to him or anything, that I was just as…well, brave, I guess…I dunno. He seemed really set on making sure I knew I deserved the position or whatever.”
Hermione stares at him, a funny expression on her face.
“What?” Ron asks self-consciously. (Did that sound as stupid to her as it did to me?)
“I’m glad he told you that, Ron,” she says softly. “You really do deserve it, you know?”
“I guess.” Ron shifts uncomfortably. “It doesn’t matter,” he adds hastily. “I mean, I just thought at first that-well, Harry is Dumbledore’s favorite-”
And then suddenly Hermione has leaned over and hugged him fiercely (OhGoodMerlinwhycan’tIbreathe?) and she whispers in his ear,
“Of course it matters, Ron. You matter.”
She draws away, an embarrassed blush reddening her cheeks, and he sits there stock-still for a moment before murmuring,
“Hermione?”
“Yes?” is her tentative reply.
“Thank you.”
(Dumbledore has me over for tea. Hermione is…is…and then I’m prefect and…
Damn, this year is just too bloody weird.)
Ron feels odd-not important, exactly, but more...mature, or something. Like now he knows people respect him or that he does matter-that he and Harry are equals (C’mon, you knew that all along.) and that he’s really starting to let this whole Hermione thing get a bit out of hand and…Well, maybe he’ll mull that one over later.
He knows he’s not grown-up yet-not by a long shot-but this feel something like it.
Hermione exhales softly, then clears her throat.
“Did you finish your Transfiguration essay?”
A long pause.
“We had an essay?”
“Oh, Ron, honestly!”
In spite of his really rather dire homework situation, he can’t help but crack a smile as an irritable Hermione berates him shrilly, throwing parchment and quill at him, moaning that it’s O.W.L. year and when is ever going to learn some responsibility and for the love of Merlin, if he gets detention for handing in the essay late and misses prefect rounds tomorrow, she is going to volunteer him to be Fred and George’s new test subject, don’t think she won’t!
(Always nice to know that some things never change.)