Subplot

16 - Ron

"Ron! What are you doing over there on the left again? You've got to keep the whole of the goal guarded, not only one loop!"

Swallowing a cheeky reply, Ron steered his broom in front of the central loop. "Alright, Angelina," he shouted. Why did the captain of the Quidditch team always have to pick on him during practice? True, he was one of the team's latest acquisitions, but if he was not mistaken, Angelina did not correct the new Chaser Rhonda Celps nearly as much as him. For at least the third time that Quidditch practice, Angelina came flying towards him, her face serious.

"Ron, you've got to keep up your concentration, or we'll be flattened by Ravenclaw. If you have to fend off an attack from the side," her right arm indicated the place where Katie Bell had approached Ron's goal, trying to score a hit, "it doesn't mean you can leave the other side unwatched. All the other team has to do is come at you with two Chasers who take turns in the scoring area. If Katie had passed the Quaffle to Rhonda, Rhonda would have entered and scored before you could have changed position."

Ron did his best to nod patiently. It wasn't as if he had not heard it before.

"Never leave the central position before you know where the attack comes from," Angelina reminded him.

"Don't start your lecture over, I'm not that slow," Ron replied angrily. "I know I'm not supposed to leave one side unguarded."

"Then why do you do it?" Angelina asked softly, fixing him with her stare.

Ron wished Angelina would just leave him alone for a practice or two so he could have a go at her requests without feeling watched all the time. He saw the other team members gather around the goal and felt all eyes on him. He wished they would look somewhere else instead of watching him being put down again. Katie and Rhonda seemed to snicker, Fred and George looked at him expectantly, and Harry, doing his best to look uninterested, did not make him feel any better either. I am no good, he thought for maybe the hundredth time. I'm not much of a keeper, and she is already regretting she put me on the team. They try not to hurt my feelings, but neither do they want to keep on playing with a rubbish keeper.

"Ok, folks, let's do this in slow motion then. I'm sure it will be a good exercise for everybody." Angelina hooked her fingers into her thick, wavy hair and frowned in thought. "We will do a Chaser attack No. 6 on the goal as practiced. Katie and Rhonda, we three will make sure we get the moves right, and Ron can take his time to react correctly. Don't forget that nice rotating anti-Stooging movement we practiced, girls, to make sure you are out of the scoring area before the next Chaser enters. We'll do two runs with three slaps, two with two, two runs with two slaps and Bludgers out, then - well, let's take it so far for now."

Ron had read about the slap technique in a footnote of 'Flying with the Cannons', but had never actually imagined there could be any such dreary routine in Quidditch practice. If you did a practice move with three slaps, it meant that whoever caught the Quaffle had to slap the large ball three times with his or her hand before moving on. This gave the rest of the team a second or two to adjust their moves, time you did not get in a real game. As far as Ron knew, Oliver Wood had considered the slap technique as too basic for the Gryffindor team. Now he wondered why Angelina used it so frequently. Did that mean she was a bad team captain, or did it only mean she considered Ron a lousy keeper who was not able to react in adequate time?

Ron brought himself into the required central position while Harry, Fred and George flew upwards to get out of the way. Rhonda, bearing the Quaffle, came at him from the left. Katie approached from the right, bringing herself into position to take the Quaffle and dive into the constrictions of the scoring area if needed, while Angelina hovered in front to fly towards him from below. Ron swallowed. A three-sided attack, his personal nightmare. How, he wondered, was a single and lonely keeper supposed to defend himself against three Chasers? How could he be everywhere at once; how could he properly guard one side without neglecting the others? With his brothers he had often been keeper, but never had they gotten a whole team together. His body had learned to react instinctively when a Quaffle was thrown, but these instinctive reactions, he had to accept, were not what was expected of a Keeper: He had to learn to play with his head, to keep an overview of the Chasers' attack, instead of moving where his body told him to move. While Ron tried to monitor the three girls' movements as well as he could, he felt his spirits sink. Quidditch practice had become a hard task which often involved a good deal of humiliation for him. Why couldn't he be a natural like Harry?

Rhonda threw the Quaffle to Katie, flying backwards just as the other girl entered the scoring area to avoid a Stooging foul. "One-two-three," the experienced Chaser counted breathlessly before throwing the Quaffle back to Rhonda. Ron half-turned, ready for defence but not hopelessly out of place if the Quaffle changed hands again. "One-two-three." Three slaps, slower than Katie's, then a pass downwards. Ron forced down the tip of his brand-new Comet 97. Angelina's upward passes even from outside the scoring area were notorious. He saw the team captain incline to the right. Knowing Angelina, she was faking, he thought when he heard the Quaffle swoosh by his right ear and through the loop.

"Neat," Katie commented without emotions. Come on, Katie, I'm in your team, too, Ron wanted to yell, but the words stuck in his throat. Angelina caught the Quaffle and moved upwards to face him.

"You thought I was faking," she stated. Ron nodded. "Ok, once more, three slaps," Angelina shouted and passed the Quaffle back to Rhonda.

They went through the anti-Stooging practice move again. Rhonda passed to Katie, Katie back to Rhonda, Rhonda down to Angelina. Ron knew he could not afford to make the same mistake twice; he had to be ready for everything. Angelina might fake an attack this time, or pass the Quaffle on, or do exactly the same as last time, namely attempt a goal at once. When the team captain threw the Quaffle from exactly the same angle as in the practice run before, he caught it, but felt no triumph. That wasn't practice, that was just playing 'well, have we learnt our lesson now?'

"Ok, two slaps." Angelina retrieved the Quaffle from Ron without commenting on his meagre success. They went through the move again in the slightly less delayed mode, but this time Angelina passed the Quaffle up to Rhonda again. Rhonda tried to score, but Ron caught the ball and passed it back to her. Angelina nodded to indicate another go.

Practice continued like this for the remainder of the appointed two hours. The Chasers went through pre-determined practice moves with or without slap technique delay, while Bludgers and Snitch were left in their box most of the time. Fred, George and Harry were practicing dives at the other side of the field, probably to keep themselves warm in the icy weather Ron did not feel. He was far to busy watching his goal posts, trying to prevent hits, trying to ignore his body's instinct, to stay in front of the goal even when his body told him he shouldn't. Sometimes he succeeded and sometimes he failed, and even though he had the feeling he was improving slightly, he knew it was not good enough. So far Ron had not made too many mistakes in the two matches they had played; both had been won by the Gryffindor team. However, Ron knew that the Slytherin team presently was no competition to speak of, while Hufflepuff was not only weakened but also dispirited by the loss of their team captain and Seeker. The match against Ravenclaw was another matter altogether. Like Gryffindor, they had not lost a single match that season, which was hardly surprising under the circumstances. "They are pretty good," even team spirit lifter Angelina had conceded. "Their Chasers are even better than pretty good." Ron knew that he could not afford to make mistakes this time. Beating him into shape in practice was a good idea, his reason agreed. Yet he could not help feeling humiliated and resentful.

Back in the changing room, Ron carelessly threw his practice robes and gear into his Quidditch bag and headed off before anybody else was dressed properly enough to follow him out. He did not want to talk to anybody now, not even to Harry. Especially not to Harry, he had to admit. His friend's well-meaning attempts to keep up Ron's spirits did little to re-establish the feeling of equality Ron had experienced when he had been appointed keeper in the team of his friend. While he walked back to the castle, he saw two cloaked figures take a leisurely stroll through the heavily snow-covered grounds. Bushy brown hair ruffled by a slight breeze, a meagre red braid flapping on a cloaked back - Hermione and Ginny. Before they could catch up to have a chat with him, he hastened up to Gryffindor Tower, blind to the beauty of the snow-covered trees, white branches with a slender black lining on bottom.

He took a shower, glad he had opted for the afternoon privacy of the tower bathroom rather than the changing room facilities where Harry, Fred and George would discuss team matters. The steaming hot water running down his back soothed him only a bit. He dried his hair and body with an almost vengeful spell and dressed in his normal robes. Coming out into the Common room, Ron saw Hermione sit on her own in a half-secluded niche, Crookshanks on her lap. She was looking at him rather than at her History of Magic homework. Drawn to her table half against his will, he slumped down into the armchair next to her.

"Dear me, it's Weasley Crisis Day," Hermione said, but her eyes were friendly.

"I'm fine," Ron growled.

Hermione opened her mouth as if to object, but closed it again without saying anything. She moved her books and parchment to make room for him, even though he had not brought any homework material with him.

"So what's wrong with Ginny?" Ron asked when her comment had sunk in.

The Gryffindor Prefect straightened her pile of books. On top of it lay her Defence Against the Dark Arts Magic Log. Ron noticed it bore a roman number three on its cover. He had not touched his in ages, probably had not filled more than three pages of the first notebook. Hermione shrugged. "The usual," she replied.

"Oh, come on, that's stupid," Ron complained. "She can't be serious, er, I mean...."

Hermione nodded and fiddled with her quill. "I know what you mean, but we can't choose with whom we fall in love, can we?" she said softly.

"But - I mean, he's old." Ron kept his voice down, embarrassed by his sister's foolishness. Since shortly after Christmas, Ginny had been prone to crying fits. When Harry and he had persisted in asking, Hermione had told them the reason after making them promise that Ginny's secret would go no further.

"I don't think there's anything to worry about that," Hermione replied. "She's fourteen. Girls of that age do that, I mean develop crushes on unattainable adults, and they usually forget about them a few weeks later."

"Did you, too?" Ron asked rebelliously. Last year it had begun to dawn on him that girls lived on another planet altogether, even though Hermione usually seemed to be comparably down-to-earth.

Hermione blushed. "No, I didn't."

"Not even a crush on a teacher? Come on, admit it, you were in love with Professor Lupin," Ron teased her, suddenly finding the game enjoyable. Again Hermione shook her head. "A nerd like Vector then? Oh no, you must be lusting after Professor Snape - a Prefect with a taste for the bizarre. Or even better, Filch? Wait, I've got it - the most unattainable male in this castle must be Professor Binns."

Both of them were laughing now. Hermione Bannished a cushion at him.

"I never told you about teenage boys," she said, keeping her voice low and mysterious. "This morning my tea leaves told me that you are destined to marry Professor Trelawney one day, when you're older. Much older, I should say."

Ron threw the cushion back at her. Crookshanks protested with a cat profanity, but did not leave his comfortable spot on Hermione's lap. "You should have stayed in her class with your ability to predict truly horrible things."

She laughed, but instead of replying turned back to her books.

"It's funny, though," Ron said, unwilling to let her attention wander off to her homework, which meant depriving him of an excuse not to do his. He bent over his armrest to stroke the short fur on Crookshank's nose. The ugly cat rewarded him with a purr. "Everybody kept going on about how she was infatuated with Harry, and now - I mean, do you think there's something not right about Ginny?" Troublesome as his little sister could be, he felt a bit bad about the fact that Hermione seemed to know what was going on in Ginny's life, while he didn't. The crying fits were new, and they worried him.

Hermione leant back in her squashy armchair, spatially distancing herself from the demands of a table full of books and parchments. "I could tell you a few things about her, Ron, but I'm not sure I should. The things she confided in me are, you know, girl things. I shouldn't have told you two anything about it in the first place, because I now see that was a breach of trust. I didn't tell Ginny I told you about it either, and I feel bad about that, too."

Ron leant towards her over the armrest of his chair. "I'm her brother, you know," he said. "Mum told me to keep an eye on her at Hogwarts, especially after that thing that happened in her first year. She always seems to worry about Ginny more than she worries about the rest of us. Do you think that's because she's a girl?"

"Am I a mind reader? How am I supposed to know what your mother thinks?" Hermione snapped a little harsher than usual, then relapsed into silence. Ron waited her out. He knew from experience that when Hermione did not want to tell him something, she wouldn't, so probing and harassing her with questions would not help. The only thing that might make her decide to tell him more was silence. After a minute or two, his patience was rewarded.

"It's not easy for her, you see, because things are pretty complicated," Hermione said softly. "Ginny suspects that Sirius and Professor Varlerta might become a couple, and although she knows perfectly well that it is out of place for her to have a crush on Sirius, it really bothers her. She likes Professor Varlerta a lot, you know, and now she's jealous, and thinks she shouldn't be. She is berating herself for her feelings because she knows Sirius is an adult and has no interest in teenage girls. Of course, if he had he would be quite a sicko, which luckily he isn't, at least I'm pretty sure he isn't. At the same time Ginny feels she is being disloyal to Professor Varlerta, but right now she doesn't know whether she likes her or hates her. You see, there's nothing to worry about, Ginny is just having a horrible time at the moment, but as I said, I'm sure it will pass."

While he listened to Hermione, Ron felt his jaw drop. He touched his hand to his chin to push it up again, but while he could adjust his facial expression, he could not readily adjust to all these amazing and frightening new insights. It was as if Hermione was turning his world upside down with a few sentences.

"Wait a minute." Ron could hardly decide which of her outrageous allegations to question first. "I can't believe you said that. Didn't you hear what they said about Professor Varlerta? She is - I mean, she's not necessarily the enemy or the traitor, but she's You-Know-Who's daughter, so she can't possibly get married to Sirius, can she?"

Hermione tried to hide a hint of giggling behind her hand. "Stop jumping ahead of time, Ron. Nobody said anything about marriage, we are just talking about stuff that may or may not happen. And about Professor Varlerta being a traitor - you know Dumbledore trusts her, and that should be enough for us."

"Dumbledore trusted Quirrell," Ron whispered imploringly, counting on his fingers. "He trusted the fake Moody and never batted an eye. He trusted Barty Crouch Senior. He never doubted Sirius' guilt for a second until we told him what really happened, he never doubted Peter Pettigrew's death and never knew that Sirius and his friends were Animagi. Dumbledore trusts Snape even though he knows Snape was a Death Eater, and now he trusts the daughter of You-Know-Who, who, by the way, is friends with Snape. They might very well be partners in crime. There seems to be a traitor in the secret order, but Dumbledore doesn't do a thing. Maybe he is losing his touch. He's been wrong so many times now."

"Dumbledore trusts Lupin, even though he's a werewolf," Hermione replied slowly. "He trusts Hagrid even though he is a half-giant. He kept faith in Harry when everybody thought him the heir of Slytherin. So did we. You think that's wrong, too?" Ron shook his head, unhappy that he could not convince her. Hermione went on: "Ginny trusts Professor Varlerta, too. When we had a walk outside, she called her an old bitch, a great teacher, a cool musician and a stupid slut, but never a traitor."

"She trusted Tom Riddle, too, and it nearly got her killed," Ron answered dryly.

Hermione rubbed her face with both hands. Suddenly she looked less sure of herself than a minute ago. "It's ghostly, isn't it?" she finally asked. "I never really asked Ginny about what happened, because back then we weren't really friends, and later I did not want to bring up any painful memories. It's only today that she talked about it. She said she tried to forget about it, but now everything is coming back to her. And you know what? She says she's getting more and more confused because Professor Varlerta is the spitting image of Tom Riddle from the diary. Of course, she's female and older and alive and everything, but Ginny says they really look alike, have the same face, the same eyes and so on. Ginny doesn't draw any conclusions from this other than that apparently Professor Varlerta really is Riddle's daughter, and neither do I. It's just a little creepy."

A growing discomfort was threatening to overwhelm Ron. "Ginny is at her building every day. It can't go on like this. We've got to do something about it before something terrible happens to my sister." He started to rise from his chair only to be pulled back by Hermione's hand.

"Don't be stupid, Ron," she whispered. "The reason I think Professor Varlerta is no traitor is that everybody knows who she is. When Moody said so, a lot of people were surprised, but others weren't. Dumbledore was as cool as ice, didn't you remember? All he wanted was to avoid a brawl in his meeting. I don't think Ginny is in danger from Professor Varlerta, and neither are we. Just think about your parents. They know about it, too, and they are not worried, are they?"

Ron shook his head. For a while, he just said there, returning Hermione's stare. Then he broke eye contact. He had to think things over on his own later, but for now he just wanted to change the subject. For lack of a better suggestion he asked: "How about a game of chess?"

Hermione gave him a crooked grin. "How about writing our History of Magic essays? I bet you haven't finished yours."

Ron thought for a moment, then got up to fetch his things. "Might as well. Will you let me copy?"

Hermione sighed and hooked her fingers into Crookshank's fur. "You'll never grow up, will you?" But after he had returned with his books and parchments, she did not object when he pulled her first role of parchment towards him and jotted down some notes. She had a point in refusing to let him copy it word for word, he had to concede, as even Binns was bound to notice. But sometimes she let him use her work as a kind of quarry. If he did not want to practice developing his own thoughts, that was his problem, or so she said.

A few minutes later, Harry came to the table as well with his school books, but as soon as he had sat down, Angelina walked over to consult him on team affairs. Ron knew that she often talked things over with Harry so he would get used to making decisions for the team. It seemed to be accepted as fact that he would be the Gryffindor Quidditch captain next school year after she got her NEWTs. Ron sighed and wondered if he would even still be on the team then.

"Don't worry so much about the team, Ron," Hermione said gently, her gaze probably following his. "You did fine these last two matches. And even though you may disagree, I'm reminding you that after all, it's only a game."

"While OWLs are the blood and the marrow of life," Ron answered. Hermione smiled, her eyes focussed on infinity. Ron hoped she would not take that as an invitation to continue their discussion about Ginny, because the subject made him uncomfortable, but Hermione looked back down on her parchment. She finished the sentence she had been writing before the interruption, then said:

"So how about the pawn - taught it any rules yet?"

"Nope." Ron was glad to put down his quill. To him, the Wizard Intermarriage Laws of 1726 were a topic as boring as any. "It's still bent on doing its own thing on the chessboard, tries to take pieces that face it directly, moves several paces at once and hits back when it is attacked. Mr. Pigmalgion told me to keep on trying, but said I should consider it as a first attempt. I think he's trying to tell me the polite way that the pawn is useless and will never be a proper game piece."

Hermione nodded. "It's your first attempt, that's true. What does it do instead of being a useful pawn?"

"It sits on my trunk and insults me whenever it sees me," Ron replied casually.

"Why should it insult you?" Hermione twisted a bushy curl between her fingers. "That seems to be very ungrateful."

"Anarchy pawn, George calls it. A useless and impolite little thing, really. Professor Varlerta said I should try Coaxing it, of course, but the pawn only laughed at me. I wonder what the Bludger will turn out." Mr. Pigmalgion had given him a bigger object to practice on now that the practice pawn showed signs of a will of its own. Ron had been delighted to get a Quidditch ball on which to practice his doubtful Ensouling skills.

"Oh yes. Did you use it in practice today?" Hermione looked interested.

Ron shook his head. "Mr. Pigmalgion insists that nobody but me should touch the Bludger until it can fly on its own, and of course, it would not make much sense to practice with a lifeless Bludger, either. Actually, I have no idea what to do with it. How do you train a Bludger - hurl it at people and see whether it gets the hang off it? What's more, I simply do not have time to throw it around when there's so many real Quidditch practices every week."

"Not to mention the upcoming OWLs," Hermione commented.

"Not mention them? Don't even try, Hermione. There's things between heaven and earth that are even beyond your formidable powers."

Again Hermione sent the cushion flying at him, then turned back to her essay. She could not concentrate properly, it seemed; her quill hovered unused over the parchment for a while. Ron watched her, himself unable to force his mind to such vile things as 'inbreeding in the dynasties of the magically gifted Egyptian Pharaohs.' For almost a minute, neither of them moved. Then Hermione turned to Ron and gave him a strange look.

"Could you do me a favour, Ron?"

Ron shrugged. "Sure, if I can."

"Could you get me Harry's parents' Spellsearchers' log out of the boys' dormitories?"