An AtE Outtake by Phil

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This story takes place immediately after Chapter 26

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“Thank you,” Ron said to her, although he was certain she had already fallen asleep…he heard her softly snoring before he had even finished his story.  He reached down and ruffled his sister’s hair, and as he did, he noticed—for perhaps the first time in his life—that she really was growing up.  She was no longer that pig-tailed, freckle-faced, annoying eight-year-old girl who used to scream at him for sneaking gnomes into her wardrobe.  She was turning into a woman, and an amazing one at that.  He smoothed her blankets a bit and turned to walk out of the room.  He had just gotten to the doorway when, almost instinctively, he turned his head slowly around and looked over his shoulder at his sister one last time.

“You’re going to be the most brilliant Weasley of all,” he whispered.  And with that, he gently closed the door.  Walking down the hall, Ron felt inexplicable emotions.  Without pausing to think about it, he entered his old room and sat down on the side of the bed, not even bothering to turn on a light.

He wasn’t sure what had just happened to him.  He had relived that horrible memory in his mind so many times over the last year, he thought he had grown completely numb to it.  Yet saying it out loud, saying it to someone who wanted to hear, somehow made it all come back just as real as the day it happened.  But it felt different this time.  The visions had come to the surface, as they had so many times before, but Ginny had somehow made them…softer.  Each time Ron had thought about that day, the fear, anger, and resentment had all come out, but when he forced the memory away, those emotions somehow made their way back into him, burgeoning in his mind and tearing at his heart.  But this time…this time it was as if Ginny had made them…just…go away.  He remembered the cool breeze he had felt just after telling Ginny he was ordered to kill Hermione, and he wondered if she had somehow conjured it up to sweep those feelings out of him.  The memory was as vivid as ever—Ron figured it would be that way for the rest of his life—but the feeling was so different now.  The horror of being tortured was lessened; the guilt over killing Bellatrix Lestrange was nearly gone.

Ron teemed with emotion.  But what emotion?  He felt passionate love for his family, that much was certain.  And not just for the redheaded clan that were his immediate relatives, but for Harry, Remus, and Sirius.  They were as much his family as any blood relative could be.  If any one of them were to go away, to be taken from him, Ron knew it would devastate him as much as when he lost Percy.

And he felt it for Hermione.

Ron hated the Lestranges, but he had never been able to come to terms with the fact that he had actually killed one of them.  Whenever he had thought of it, he had always become overwhelmed with guilt.  He was never able to fully rationalize it, no matter what angle his mind took, or how many people told him it was the right and brave and honorable thing to do.  Deep down, he had always wondered if there was another way.  He had convinced himself if he had just used Petrificus Totalus, or even Crucio, he could have saved Hermione and not become a murderer at the same time.

But tonight, Ron saw it for what it was.  They would have killed her.  Just like they had so many others.  They would have tortured her for what she knew, and then, without hesitation or ceremony, ended her life.  And Ron simply couldn’t let that happen, Imperius Curse or not.  It was Hermione.  Hermione, who had gone in alone to get Ron out of there.  Hermione, whose words of love had finally penetrated the Imperius and enabled Ron to make that conscious decision.  She had saved him before he had saved her.

Ron was suddenly and painfully aware that he had spent the better part of the last year hating himself for what the Lestranges, Crabbe, and Goyle had forced him to do.  But now, his mind was clear.  Now, his resolve did not falter.  I would do it again, he told himself.  If anyone ever tried to hurt her, I would do it again.

Memories and emotions whirled inside him so quickly he was having difficulty focusing on one thing at a time.  He remembered his first day on the train with Hermione, and his last night in her room.  He remembered rescuing Harry from the Dursleys in a stolen car, and being rescued by that same car from Aragog’s lair.  He remembered the exact moment he first met Hagrid, and the exact moment he found out he was dead.  He remembered winning the House Cup in his very first year, and watching Hogwarts fall in his last. 

He remembered that night…the night Voldemort was defeated and the second war ended.  In all the commotion of helping his father round up the surviving Death Eaters, he had completely lost track of where Hermione had gone.  He had made his way around the Hogwarts grounds twice, and when there was no sign of her, he began to panic.  Maybe one of the surviving Death Eaters had caught her off guard.  Maybe Draco had gone insane.  When he finally looked up and saw light coming from her dormitory window, he was so relieved he nearly lost his balance.  He knew she had to be there.

Ron remembered his words to her that night.  “You have to promise me that you won’t let anything happen to you.”  And as he said them, he made a silent promise to himself to always, always protect her from harm.  At any and all cost, and for the rest of her life, he would always make sure she was warm and safe and sheltered from evil.  For if anything ever did happen to her, he knew he'd never survive.  Life without Hagrid was horrible.  Life without Dumbledore was unthinkable.  Life without Percy was unbearable.  But life without Hermione was impossible.

Ron was exhausted and exhilarated. Injured and healed.  Triumphant and crestfallen.  Every emotion all at once, and it all flooded his soul with its power.  Hermione.  Lestrange.  Crabbe.  Goyle.  Hermione.  Cruciatus.  Voldemort.  Percy.  Hagrid.  Hermione.  Imperius.  Dumbledore.  Hogwarts.  Draco.  Dennis.  Wormtail.  Harry.  Hermione.

Hermione.

Hermione.

Hermione.

Ron took a sharp, ragged breath, and realized all at once what was about to happen.

“Oh God,” was all he managed to say.  Without thought, almost without warning, Ron buckled over, cupped his face in his hands, and erupted into tears.  Tears unlike any he had ever known before, and probably ever would again.  It wasn’t sadness, it wasn’t despair.  Nor was it joy.  It was everything.  The loss of a brother…the unbelievable love of friendship…the horrors of war…Hermione’s perfect touch.  He couldn’t move.  He could hardly breathe.  He sat alone on the bed and wept for everything and everyone in his life.  It was impossible to know where the tears of sorrow ended and the tears of happiness began—they were intertwined in his soul and escaped all together in a torrent of emotion.

Ron cried and cried.  He cried with such passion, such force, he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to stop.  He tried once, forcing himself upright and taking as deep a breath as he could manage, but it only seemed to make the next outburst that much more intense.  As he hunched over again, he knew he would have to let his body decide when it should stop.

Somehow, he managed to lay himself down on the bed.  He buried his face in one of the pillows and continued sobbing for what felt like hours.  He cried for so long, he almost didn’t notice when he had finally stopped.  But slowly, gradually, his breathing returned to normal and the corners of his eyes stopped watering.  The dark walls of the room, which had been blurred through his tears, regained their definition.  He could even see a few stars through the open window, and he was surprised to discover that he wasn’t a bit cold.  Even though he had just gone through the most intense emotional experience of his life, even though he should have been a wreck, he felt inexplicably warm and content.  For the briefest of moments, Ron even forgot what it was that had brought him to this room and onto this bed in the first place.  But even then, he was glad it had.

Ron lay there for several more minutes, just breathing in the glorious nighttime air.  It felt as though a thousand massive stones had been lifted from his chest, and finally his lungs could fully expand again.  He felt more alive than he had in months.  Exhausted, but alive. He slowly lifted himself up from the mattress and sat upright once more, catching his reflection in the mirror as he did.  His eyes were as red as his hair.  He swiped at them with the heels of his hands and took a slow, deep breath.

“I wish you were home, Hermione,” he whispered.  “God, I miss you so much.”  He stared at nothing in particular and smiled.  Home.  That word had taken on so many meanings for him in the last few years.

The Burrow was home…it always would be.  The home where he was born, where he had played and fought and laughed and grown.  The home where his mother and father would always be waiting with smiles and unrestrained, unconditional acceptance. 

Hogwarts was home, too…the home where he had learned and matured, the home where he first saw the magic in magic, and where he truly saw his own potential in this world—even if he didn’t always live up to it. 

Lupin Lodge was home.  The home where he was welcomed without hesitation or question, where he and his best friends in the world were allowed to invade and live under one roof for the first time in their lives. 

The Notch was his newest home, of course.  It was the home where he had started his real adult life.  The first home he had paid for with his own money.  That was important, and it made him feel more grown up than he had ever imagined.

It was odd, he thought.  The concept of home had changed so much as he got older.  When he was little, home was a physical place…a small house where he and his siblings ate and slept.  But now, home traveled with him.  Home was more than one place, it was more than one person.  And it was all around him, all the time.

Ron felt amazingly light.  He looked out the window again and suddenly realized how late it was.  Harry would surely be at the Notch by now, and would be wondering where he was.  Without making a sound, Ron rose from the bed and crept out of his former bedroom.  He went down to the girls' room again and put his ear to the door.  The slow, rhythmic breathing he heard told him that his sister was now fast asleep, so he turned and walked down the stairs.  He wasn’t sure he should attempt Apparition after such an emotional episode, and he felt more like walking anyway.  He slowly made his way through the front room of Lupin Lodge and stepped out the door.

The night was magnificent.  Again, Ron knew the November air should have frozen him to the core, but he didn’t feel cold at all.  He slowly walked the road back to the Notch.  The gravel crunched under his feet, and he thought he heard the whimper of an aging dog in the distance, but other than that, it was utterly silent.  Ron knew those moments—those brief passages where the world seems to be truly at peace—and he knew this was one of them.  The last few years had been horribly tumultuous, and he had faced indescribable loss.  And sometime in his life, he knew he might have to face it again.  But right now, right here on this spot, everything was calm and serene and just as it should be.  He stopped near the front porch of the Notch and looked up at the full moon resting proudly in the night sky.  He took in a long, rich breath, smiled again, and walked into his house.

Harry was right where Ron knew he would be…slumped on the couch in his dragon gear, eating crisps.  The wireless was on, but Harry must have been unable to find a Quidditch match; he was listening to old-time soft jazz music and gently tapping his right foot.  As Ron entered the room, Harry looked up and gave him a tired smile.

“How’s it going?” he asked Ron.

“Good,” Ron said automatically, although he wanted to say more.  “You?”

“N’bad,” Harry mumbled through a mouthful of crisps.  “Where’ve you been?”

“Over at the Lodge.  Ginny wanted to talk.  She was…” Ron hesitated.  He knew Harry knew about Ginny’s gift, but he wasn’t sure how he would react to her having practiced on him.  After all, her new powers, however impressive, were also the reason Harry hadn’t seen her in weeks.  “She was nervous,” he said, “about the Wolfsbane potion and all.”  Harry nodded absently.  There was a bit of a pause before either of them spoke again.

“She doing okay?” Harry finally asked.

“Yeah,” replied Ron, with a measure of brotherly pride.  “More than okay, she’s brilliant.”  Harry’s brow furrowed at this last statement, and Ron realized what he had just implied, considering how long it had been since Harry had been with her.  “I mean,” he quickly backtracked, “brilliant at the potions and stuff.”  Harry nodded again, but it was clear that he was only partially convinced.  He shoved another crisp in his mouth and turned back to the wireless.  A soft melody had begun playing, and Ron decided to lighten the mood a bit.

“What are you listening to?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Music,” Harry replied. 

“I know that,” said Ron sarcastically.  “It’s just…that song sounds kind of familiar.”

“It's an old Muggle song,” Harry said. “I think it’s called Moonlight Serenade.”  He and Ron both found the humor in this at the same time, and they shared a long overdue laugh.

“How fitting,” Ron managed.  “You eaten yet?”  Harry held up the bag of crisps with his left hand and gestured to it like a spokesmodel with his right.

“Ah,” said Ron.  Harry held out the bag to Ron, who took him up on the offer.  He sank into the couch next to Harry and they both ate crisps and listened to the music for a few minutes.  The crisps were good, if a bit stale, and Ron reveled in the thought that no one was around to scold the two of them for eating such a horrible supper.

“How’s dragon riding?” he asked Harry.

“Actually, not too bad,” Harry replied.  “I think I’m finally getting used to it.”

“As much as one can get used to riding around on wild, fire-breathing beasts to keep undead creatures from escaping the very prison they used to guard, of course,” Ron said wryly.

“Of course,” Harry repeated with a laugh, finally finding a bit of humor in the ridiculousness of his situation.

“You could’ve been a Seeker…” Ron teased.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry said dourly, although the glint in his eye let Ron know he wasn’t being entirely serious.

“It’s not too late, you know.  Just walk up to that git of a brother of mine, hand over your gear, and tell him you quit.  Say, ‘Alright, Charlie, I’m bloody well tired of this.  I’m the world-famous Harry Potter, Patronus Prodigy, Quidditch Ace, Defeater of Dark Lords, and I am above this piddling little task.’”  Ron pushed an invisible pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose, causing Harry to laugh so violently that he spat a mouthful of half-eaten crisps onto the floor.  “‘Now I’m off to play Seeker for the greatest team on the planet, and get out of my way.’”

“I doubt Oliver would take me back,” Harry laughed.  “You should’ve heard him yell at me when I quit the team.”

“Not take you back?” Ron yelled.  “Wood should kiss the ground you fly over, Harry!  You’re the best Seeker I’ve ever seen!”  Harry tried not to smile, but failed terribly.  “Don’t get me wrong,” Ron continued, “Maureen Knight’s a really good Seeker, but you saw her last night.  She missed the Snitch twice before catching it.  She just doesn’t have your…instinct.”  To prove his point, Ron grabbed a coaster and flung it at Harry’s head.  Harry reached up and snapped it out of the air.

“Hey, watch it!” he said.  “You trying to kill me or something?”

“You see?” Ron laughed triumphantly.  “Fastest reflexes in the business.”  Harry brandished the coaster as if he were going to throw it back at Ron, but thought better of it and simply plunked it down on the table.

“I’d love to play Quidditch, Ron,” he said, more seriously than Ron wanted him to be.  “You know I’d love to.  But I just can’t right now.”

“Well, make me a promise, then,” said Ron.  “When this whole thing is over, when the Dementors are gone or contained or sent to hell or whatever, promise me you’ll play Quidditch.  Promise me you’ll play for that team.”

Ron tried to give Harry a look of pure seriousness, although he knew his lopsided smile was giving him away.  It didn’t really matter; Harry seemed to miss it completely.  He appeared to be contemplating his response very carefully, as if he knew he shouldn’t say anything unless he really meant it.  It wasn’t often that Ron put Harry right on the spot like this, and Ron found the awkward pause strangely enjoyable.  Finally, after several moments of earnest consideration, Harry looked up at him.

“I promise.”

“HA!” Ron shouted so loudly that it made Harry jump.  “You’re caught, mate!  Now you have to do it!”  Harry looked at Ron quizzically, but Ron just continued.  “Harry Potter always keeps his word. Harry Potter never breaks a promise.  His bloody conscience won’t let him!  You’re playing Quidditch for the Chudley Cannons!!”

“Okay, okay,” Harry said with a laugh.  “Calm down.  I’m not playing Quidditch yet.”  Ron was actually disappointed for a moment; he really wanted Harry on that team. He laughed to himself, realizing that part of him wanted the Dementors to disappear not so much for the safety of his world, but for the benefit of his favorite Quidditch team.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, glancing around the room.  “Chess then?”

“Chess then,” Harry repeated.  The two of them set up the board, while the music softly filled the house. As Ron was sorting through the pieces, he momentarily lost himself in another thought of Hermione.  He glanced down at the three pieces in his right hand, and to his surprise, he was holding the knight, bishop, and castle…the very pieces that he, Harry, and Hermione had played during their first great adventure together.  In some ways, it seemed so long ago, in others, like it had just happened.  Ron wondered what other adventures life had in store for them. As long as we're together, he thought, we'll be OK. As long as we're together, there isn't anything we can't do.

“Ron?” Harry jolted him out of his reverie.  “You okay?” 

Ron placed the pieces in their proper squares and looked up at Harry.

“Yeah,” he replied, realizing it was true.  He moved his pawn forward, beginning his favorite game with his best friend in his own house.  “Yeah, mate, I think I am.”

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