Half a Man

When he woke up that morning, Ron had the strange feeling that there was something wrong. He knew there was. When he opened his eyes, he saw the familiar orange walls of his room in the Burrow. The Chudley Cannons posters he'd put up just before he'd started his first year in Hogwarts hung there like they had for the past seven years; the only difference was that each player had been magically replaced when they left the team.

Nope, that wasn't it.

Ron listened very carefully. The ghoul in the attic and the sounds of his mother cooking in the kitchen below were loud in the otherwise quiet household. Still, there was something nagging deep in his brain, a sense that something was wrong. He sat up straight and lazily stretched his arms, ready to swing his legs and jump out of bed.

Only he didn't. More correctly, his legs didn't. They lay there as if they didn't have a job to do. And then Ron remembered everything that had happened in the past three weeks: the fight, the curse and the fact that he was now a disabled man. He was eighteen years old and useless. And as he had done every other morning that week, Ron Weasley fell back on the mattress, pulled his blanket over his head and sunk back in his sorrow.

When Ron woke again later, his legs still didn't work. Not that he expected them to. He tried to lift his left leg, but it refused to move. So he pushed himself up and pulled up his pyjama trousers to check them. They looked wrong, all pale and stiff. They still felt like a part of his body, but they refused to do the things they always had done. He couldn't move his legs or even wiggle his toes. He pulled up his blankets up and made sure that his legs were tucked in so he wouldn't get cold feet.

An awful feeling settled in his stomach, like a small animal eating him up from the inside. All he wanted now was to go back to the unconsciousness of his sleep.

Unfortunately, his mother wouldn't let him. Ron could hear her calling from downstairs that he needed to come down for his breakfast, but he decided to ignore her. Instead of going out of bed he snuggled deeper under his blanket. Not that his peace would last very long.

After the second time his mother called upstairs, he could hear her footsteps up the stairs. He knew from experience that if there was something his mother disliked, it was good food going to waste. A small tap at his door told him his mother had now reached his room. Ron didn't answer it. He just wanted her to go away and leave him in his warm and save bed. But she didn't do that, instead she walked into his room.

"Wake up, Ron, it's time to get out of bed. It's half past ten and breakfast is ready," she said. "If you're not quick, the twins will eat it all."

Ron kept his eyes shut, hoping that his mother would think he was still asleep and leave him alone. He opened one eye just a little and peeked through his eyelashes to she if she was buying it. She walked toward him and sat down on the edge of his bed.

Much to his horror she stroked his cheek. "Love, I know it's hard, but you need to get out of bed. Staying here all day won't make it any better. The healers told me I had to make sure that you eat enough and get some exercise. And I think a bath wouldn't hurt you either."

Her voice sounded cheery, contrasting with her tired face. She didn't look happy to Ron. She worries too much, he thought. She fussed about everything he did or didn't do. Harry, who was staying with them now that they had left Hogwarts, got the same treatment. Since Harry only talked about living in his own flat, but never did anything to get one, Ron figured that his friend liked the attention. Unlike himself.

His mother stood up and walked to the door. "I wouldn't mind seeing you properly dressed for once. I'm expecting some visitors later today and I wouldn't like it if you're still in your pyjamas then."

"All right, no need to fuss," he said grumbled as he lifted his head up. With both arms he pushed himself up into the seating position. One arm he used to steady himself while he took his wand from under his pillow. With a spell he levitated himself into a flying chair which was standing next too his bed. He needed to go to the loo anyway. But the shower could wait for another day, he decided.

Ron swore silently as he sat down on the cold toilet seat. 'Just look at me', he thought. Sitting down as a girl would. The last time he sat on a loo to take a leak, he was four. The twins, being the gentle older brothers that they were, told him he was a sissy, that he should stand up and be a man. He did, and wet every tile in the bathroom before he was able to aim at the right spot. His mother had not been very pleased with that. She made Fred and George clean up the mess. But after that he always stood, secretly thinking he was a man.

Going to the loo wasn't as much trouble for him as it was for disabled Muggles, Hermione had told him that. In the two weeks that he had lain in St. Mungo's, she had visited him every day, sometimes even twice a day.

He had liked that. Most days, when his family visited, he would find himself switching off to their chatter, his thoughts drifting off to the moment when she would appear to brighten his day again. She was the only one who acted normal toward him after the 'accident'. She didn't cry like Ginny or fuss like his mum or even keep silent like Harry. None of that. She was her normal self, even pissing him off more than once.

She had told him that he should be glad to be a wizard, that because of magic he didn't need any help with the every day basics. Being her usual studious self, she had read every book she could find about living with a handicap. She had taught him spells, like the levitating spell that he needed to get up out of his Airchair, his flying chair, and onto the toilet without falling on his head. Oh yes, he was grateful for that.

But the fact remained that he had to sit again. It made him feel weak, not being able to do things as he always had done them. The first week in the hospital he had even needed help to put on his clothes. If he couldn't do the basic stuff, how was he ever going to live on his own or to get a job? Or even have a girlfriend? It was a sure thing that no woman would ever be attracted to him now.

When Ron flew into the kitchen in his Airchair to get some breakfast, he found a situation he had not seen in years: Bill and Charlie were sitting at the table, chatting about some special Egyptian Dragon breed; Next to them sat Fred and George, who were trying to talk Ginny out of eating the last egg. Ron flew toward the table, sat across from Harry and grabbed some Pumpkin juice.

His Mum was probably pleased, Ron thought, with all of the family together. Well, almost everyone. Percy wasn't here and he was glad for that, he didn't feel up to one of his brother's pompous 'abilities of the disabled'-speeches. He put a last bite of sausages with beans in his mouth and shoved his half empty plate away. He wasn't that hungry.

"Oy, Ron," Fred said. "Pass me the salt." Ron stretched his arm to get it but apparently he wasn't quick enough for Fred's liking. "Nothing wrong with your hands, is there ?" his brother said.

"Shut up," Charlie growled warningly, standing from his chair and looking angrily at Fred.. "Don't joke about that."

"What?" complained Fred. "It's not as if he's going to stay--"

A glare from Ginny was enough for Fred to keep his mouth shut. Anger started to rise in Ron. But he was too tired to get all worked up now. That didn't mean, however, that Fred would get away with this. Ron took his mother's fine porcelain salt shaker from the table and threw it at his insensitive brother. It nearly hit Ginny, who sat next to Fred, and then it exploded against the wall. His sister, wanting revenge, was ready to toss her hardboiled egg at his head. But Harry, who sat on her other side, stopped her by laying his hand on her arm.

Harry didn't need to say anything. Not that he talked much these days, not after the big confrontation - the big fight in which Lord Voldemort had been killed, the one that had left Ron crippled. Ginny put the egg down, glancing uncertain at Harry. With a single flick of his wand and a muttered charm, Harry repaired Molly's broken salt shaker. With a small thud he placed it on the table before Fred and stood up. Then he said the only thing Ron wanted to hear at that moment. "Come on, let's play chess."

Ron directed his Airchair towards the living room, controlling it with his left hand. On the living room table stood the unfinished game that they had left the evening before. The pieces were snoring loudly on the board, bored by the long interval between moves. Ron's knight wouldn't wake up, so he gave it a shake but after that, he almost lost the first game to Harry because his grumpy knight refused to move.

Ron's queen was beating up Harry's king for the third time that morning, when the twins and Ginny walked in the room, all wearing Quidditch robes.

"Hey guys," George said. "We're going to show Ginny that you need more than a new broomstick to beat us. Want to defend her honor?"

Harry stood up, looking ready to escape the dark and warm room and get some real exercise instead of sitting down all afternoon.

Ron snorted. "Sure, beat up the girl and let the lame watch. Nice plan."

"You can play with us. Dad and Charlie worked very hard on that chair. It's fast and flexible, you know that," George replied.

This wasn't what Ron wanted to hear. "How am I going to be a Keeper with only one arm?" he yelled. "You know that I need one hand to steer that ruddy chair!"

"Charlie said that the guy at work still tamed dragons with a chair like yours," Fred impatiently. "Could continue to work even after he was trampled by that vicious Hungarian Horntail."

"That's because you only need one arm with dragons," Ron said, feeling his anger at his brother returning. "A hand and a wand are enough. You need more to play Quidditch. You need a broom to sit on, two legs to steer it, and two arms to catch the Quaffle."

"Oh please, do us all a favour," Fred snapped, his voice rising. "Stop whining and act like a man. Just play the bloody game with us. We don't mind if you lose the game against us, do we George?"

The despair that Ron had felt that morning came back with a vengeance. They didn't understand him, nobody did.

"Well I'm not a man, am I? I'm only half a man now." He punched one of his stupid legs as he turned his Airchair toward the stairs. Ron needed to get out of that room fast. He wanted to be alone.

As he flew up the steps to go to his room he heard Ginny say something he could hardly hear. "Half a man, huh? So that's what's bugging him? Well, I happen to know the right solution to that problem. Or should I say the right person...?"

When Ron closed the door of his room behind him, he hoped that she wasn't talking about that dumb Mind Healer they forced him to talk to at St. Mungos. He'd rather go to a tea party with Professor Umbridge than lay a minute on that Healer's couch again. If he ever would feel the urge to 'talk about his feelings', he wouldn't do it with a chirpy blonde 25-year old who used the word 'acceptance' every five sentences. No flock of Hippogriffs could drag him to that place again.