Half a Man

This was the most spectacular Quidditch game Ron had ever been in, he thought. His brothers were relentless in their attempts to score, but he blocked every single Quaffle they sent his way. Hermione was flying next to him, wearing a long, purple evening robe. She pushed her sparkling tiara straight and directed her broom down to fly a little lower. Suddenly she tilted her head toward Ron. Alarmingly, her happy expression had changed to a scared one.

Fred and George had obviously changed their plan of action. Instead of using Bludgers, Fred beat Puffskeins to force Ron out of the way. He tried to avoid the first one, but it was no use. A little custard-coloured furball hit him on his shoulder. Soon the air was filled with flying Puffskeins.

To escape from his evil brothers, Ron landed on the ground. He was in Hogsmeade now. A few feet before him, Harry was dancing on the green grass wearing Dutch wooden shoes.

"Ron, I did it. He's dead! I just killed Voldemort!" Briefly, Ron wondered why Harry was so happy. The last time Harry had ended Voldemort's life, he hadn't been so cheerful to be a murderer.

Hermione had joined Harry in his silly little dance. "Come on, Ron, join us," she said. Ron wanted to, but his legs had stopped working. He knew he was in trouble. Someone was out to get him. If only he could move his feet a little bit, he would be out of danger. But his legs felt like they were made of jelly.

"Ron, watch-" Hermione shouted.

A hot-white pain shot through Ron's back as he fell to his knees. Then everything went black.

Ron jerked awake, startled and disorientated. Was he still on the grounds of Hogsmeade or perhaps at St. Mungo's? After a few unsettling moments it dawned on him that he was lying in his bed at The Burrow. He had been dreaming, again. This recurring dream wasn't an ordinary dream though, but one based on his memories of the battlefield of Hogsmeade.

Hermione had told Ron what had happened behind his back. After Bellatrix Lestrange had witnessed Voldemort's defeat, she had taken her revenge. The spell that she had used was aimed at the first person she could hit. Unfortunately, that person had been Ron. The spell had hit his spine, almost completely paralysing him from the waist down.

With one movement, Bellatrix had turned him into what he was today: a sweating, useless wizard. Too afraid to go to sleep again, too desperate to be fully awake. And it was too early to start another miserable day.

As Ron rolled himself onto his other side, using his arms to move his body, his eye fell on the blasted Airchair. The morning sunshine fell on its metallic armrest, making it shine. He sighed. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for the work his dad and Charlie had done. He knew it was a clever device.

Two years ago, Charlie's colleague Pete Mitford had had an accident involving a Hungarian Horntail on its way to a midday snack (two sheep and a cow). The beast, not in the mood for a detour, had stepped on Pete and had broken his spine.

After that, the dragon-tamer was confined to the Floatchair that all disabled wizards used. People who couldn't walk were a rarity in the Wizarding World because of their magical healing methods, so nobody had put any effort into changing the design of the Floatchairs since their invention by Rafael Huygens in 1733. That meant that they were not very practical. You had to direct it using your wand, and if you wanted to do another spell, it was necessary to hover. The Floatchairs in this form weren't useful for Mitford, a man who needed to do magic and move at the same time to avoid being trampled again. So, when Charlie had come home for a holiday, he had talked about this problem with his dad.

Arthur Weasley, not without a reason a plugs collector, loved solving technical problems. He had suggested to Charlie that he use a complicated series of charms and spells, usually applied to stir brooms. That way you could control the chair with one hand, keeping your wand hand free. It worked well and made Pete a much happier man.

During the two weeks that Ron had been in the hospital, both Charlie and his dad had spent the time remodelling an old Floatchair of Pete's to improve it. They had kept the simple black leather chair, but charmed it to fit Ron's body perfectly. Its big armrests were replaced with smaller metallic ones. The old Floatchair didn't support the owner's legs, leaving them to dangle in the wind, so Ron's new and improved chair had a metallic framework attached to it, on which he could put his feet. After all the work, they gave it a new name: the Airchair. They even thought about selling more of them since Pete had already shown interest. It would be a small market, but now that Voldemort was gone, Arthur could easily adapt a chair or four a year in his free time.

Too bad Ron loathed everything about the chair. What made it worse was that he had to be grateful for it too. Every time his dad talked with Charlie about the business opportunities of the chair, Ron wanted to scream.

Ron pushed himself onto his back again and closed his eyes. When he put his arms under his head he could smell his own sweat, a sour scent of fear. He was just drifting off to sleep again, when he heard the voices of people walking up the stairs. They only had to finish one last stairway till they reached his floor.

"Ron is going to love it," he heard Ginny say. "He thinks you're still on holiday with your parents in France."

Holiday, France? Ron was quite confused about who was coming to visit him. The only person he knew to be in France right now was Hermione.

Bugger.

This meant that Hermione could barge into his room any minute now. Now, when he looked like an ape, had the odour of a dead poodle and was still in his ragged old Cannons pyjamas. Shite. Was Ginny out of her blasted mind?

Ron pulled up the edge of his pillow, where his wand lay under a crumpled letter. Quickly, he did a Cleaning Spell on his body. Then he Levitated himself to the Chair, and Summoned his clothes with a speed he didn't know he possessed. Getting his robes over his buttocks and legs slowed him down; he needed to Levitate himself again to get that done. By now, he was beginning to wish it was that daft Mind Healer from St. Mungo's instead of Hermione coming to visit him. He was going to make an arse of himself, that was for sure.

Ginny and Hermione were almost at his door. Ron could hear their footsteps on the landing. With the desperation of a man in deadly terror, he straightened his hair with one flick of his wand. It was an old spell, so his hairstyle would be out of fashion, but he couldn't let it bother him. At least this way it wouldn't look like he had been hit with a Stunning Spell. He took the letter and shoved it in his pocket. Did he still have time to make his bed---?

A loud knock on his door told Ron his time was up. "Come in!" he answered.

"Hey, big brother, stop crying in your pillow," Ginny said as she swung the door open. "I've got a little surprise for you."

"Hi Ron," Hermione said, smiling slightly shyly at him. Her hair was up in a French roll and she wore a beautiful, red summer dress.

Absolutely gorgeous, Ron thought. And then her arms were around him as she pulled him into a big hug. A moment later his jaw touched her cheek. It felt warm and soft. The Niffler in his stomach stopped chewing and started running, using Ron's inside as a hamster wheel.

"I hope you don't mind me visiting without warning, but my parents had to come home early to replace a dentist in our neighbourhood who'd been in an accident. Nothing serious, though," Hermione rambled.

"He'd drunk a bit much after a cricket game and stumbled on a cat on his way home. Thankfully, the poor beast wasn't hurt, but the dentist broke his hand trying to catch his fall. And you can't fill holes with a broken hand, now can you? It should teach him a thing or two about the effects of alcohol abuse, at least. Anyway, I got bored at home and wanted to see Harry and you. Not that Harry is talking much, but it's nice to see him anyway."

"Er," Ron managed to stammer. Why was Hermione talking so much? She normally only talked quickly when she was nervous. Maybe she didn't know how to act about him, now that he was disabled. It had not been a problem before...

"Your mother must be growing soft on you. You're slowly turning into a porcupine," Hermione joked as she touched the stubble on his chin. "Anyway, it's lovely seeing you again. And you too, of course, Ginny." Ginny smiled as if she knew something nobody else did.

"Mum has made a wonderful lunch - breakfast for some of us," Ginny said, as she walked back to the door. "Are you coming with me? I'm starving."

"I am a bit hungry as a matter of fact," Hermione said. "I'll meet you in the kitchen, Ron." She said goodbye as she and Ginny turned and went down the stairs. Instead of following them Ron headed to the upstairs bathroom.

While splashing Easy-Hair-Away Potion on his face, Ron mumbled to himself. Shaving- why the hell had he forgotten to shave?