Half a Man

Ron couldn’t decide what was worse: the fact that his legs felt like they were being stung with burning needles, or that John Walters didn’t stop cheering that he was doing, ‘Marvellous, absolutely fabulous.’

That morning his fysiotherapeut had come by for the first time. Only a few minutes after Walters had walked into Ron’s room, he already loathed the chap. While putting down the big bulky bicycle he had carried on his shoulder, Walters had only talked about himself. It felt like Ron had met Gilderoy Lockhart’s long-lost baby brother.

The only difference between the wizard from St. Mungo’s and Ron’s former professor was that Walters didn’t boast about his intellectual capacities. Ron was more under the impression that Walters never touched a book unless it was an absolutely necessary.

Instead of telling tales about fake adventures as Lockhart had, this man seemed more impressed by his own physique. That might explain, Ron thought, why Walters didn’t find sleeves on a robe important. Even in the unusual cold early August weather, with constant rain, Walters still insisted on showing off his strong, muscled arms. The rest of his robes were extremely sharp cut, leaving nothing to imagine about the state of all his other his muscles. Ron could’ve dealt with knowing far too much about his trainer’s body, if it wasn’t for Walters’ overly enthusiastic personality.

At that very moment Ron’s feet were fastened to the pedals of a bicycle, which was stationary in the middle of his small room. The pedals were turning automatically, moving Ron’s legs along. Walters’ bike was enchanted, so it floated still in the air. There wasn’t a lot of space left between the bed and the bike so the trainer was standing very close to Ron. Too close if you asked him.

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Ron felt slightly murderous. Having the lower part of your body moving without any control over it felt awkward enough, a bit like he was under an Imperius curse. Ron hadn’t walked in over five weeks now, and his legs weren’t used to it anymore. The lazy muscles in his legs stung with every round he made on the pedals and every few minutes he was attacked by a spasm, which didn’t make the exercise any more fun.

A little drop of sweat fell from Ron’s forehead into his left eye and, with an impatient movement, he wiped it away. He knew why he did all of this, why he put up with the horrible trainer and the pain in his body. He wanted- no, needed- that chance to recover. Being dependent on other people for the rest of his life simply wouldn’t do.

Besides, he promised Hermione that he would give it all he had. Hermione. Ron sighed while he concentrated on the moves his legs made. Five more rounds to spin. The past week, Hermione had stayed just as bossy, smart and sweet as she always was. Nothing in her behaviour towards Ron had changed.

It was Harry she acted differently towards. It wasn’t that the two were caught snogging behind a tree, or even that they did more things together. Instead of spending time with his new girlfriend, Harry had picked up the habit of making long afternoon walks with Ginny, most likely to avoid any suspicion. They probably didn’t want to burden Ron with the fact that his best friends left him out, especially at a time when he was weak. But often, Ron would catch Harry and Hermione laughing or smiling without letting him know the joke. Apparently, the joke was on him.

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That last part was directed at Molly Weasley, who had just entered the room and was now beaming at Walters. Aside from his dad, his mum sure had awful taste in men.

Ron was still trying to run from his mother when he flew into the living room an hour later. Hiding yourself, while zooming around in a chair, wasn’t very easy. But Ron thought that he had finally shaken off his mum by flying out of the upstairs window and coming back in downstairs. With his airchair he couldn’t apparate. Because he was still recovering, taking a big object with him was too risky.

Ron’s mother insisted on giving him a leg massage, but Ron believed that there are certain things mothers shouldn’t do and this was one of them.

Ginny and Hermione were sitting in the two big fauteuils before the fireplace. Instead of a fire, the girls had lit several candles to give them some light on a grey afternoon. The stacks of books and magazines between had been forgotten as they were now chatting amicably.

Since Charlie and Bill had returned to their homes, Hermione and Harry were now the only visitors at the Burrow. The twins were back at their store, ready to serve all students who where getting ready for the start of Hogwarts. Besides books and quills, all students wanted to make it through the year with extra supplies from the joke shop.

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Ron felt safe to confess this, now that she and Harry were a couple. Nobody would find this strange now, right? He’d always loved Hermione’s hair, especially when it was a bit bushy. It simply fit her.

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She was smiling at him again and, despite everything, Ron felt his heart lurching. The candlelight fell on her face, making it seem even more beautiful than ever. When would he ever get over this lousy crush? Wasn’t the fact that she loved somebody else enough? Did he have to wait until Harry asked him to be his best man for their wedding? Or would he simply never stop loving her?

A sudden voice diverted his attention. "Oh, there you are Ron, I’ve been searching all over the place," his mother said. "Come here and let me massage your legs."

The next morning, the weather had changed from bad to worse. It only stopped raining once every hour, but the dry periods didn’t seem to last longer than a few minutes. The grey sky and dark clouds above the Burrow didn’t promise any changes for the good. Practical thoughts about umbrellas and raincoats replaced ones of Quidditch and other outdoor activities.

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Hermione looked up from the Daily Prophet that lay spread out all over the table. Ron must have seemed hungry, because she shoved her own untouched cucumber sandwich towards him.

Harry and Ginny, who were standing before the outside door looking through its window, agreed with Ron’s comment on the weather. They then continued their own discussion about the influence of Death Eaters on the weather. Ginny argued that they were to blame for most horrid things in England, so why not the rain? Harry disagreed but only because Death Eaters hate rain as much everybody else.

Ron, who sat next to Hermione, was contentedly reading parts of the newspaper over her shoulder. This wasn’t an easy task, since Hermione was wearing her hair as she always had: bushy and wild. Quite a few hairs where tickling Ron’s face while he read. He especially enjoyed today’s paper because for once there wasn’t a sappy story in it about the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, the beautiful and brilliant witch who stood by his side, and the poor bloke who accidentally happened to be in the way and got cursed.

If Ron’s name was mentioned in these articles, it was always at the end of them with a casual mention of him never being able to walk again. Every time this happened, Ron received postcards from old witches all over the country, wishing him well. Why those women thought that cards full of puppies and sleeping kittens would cheer him up was beyond him.

Harry and Ginny has just decided to be brave and conquer the rain for a midday stroll when tapping sounds on a window announced the arrival of three owls. After Ginny let them in, a big grey owl dropped a letter in front of Ron. The two others did the same for Harry and Hermione.

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Ron opened his, it read:

Ron’s already unstable state of mind shattered as he read those words. Rage raced through his body like a fire seeking oxygen, ready to explode. As if it wasn’t enough, he thought, that he couldn’t walk, that he had to take those vile potions and do painful exercises. As if it wasn’t enough that the women he loved dated his best friend. No, life really had it in it for him.

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He took the invitation that had fallen onto his lap and tore it up into little pieces.

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Hermione seemed stunned by this declaration.

Ron couldn’t even stay in the same house with Harry and Hermione. The idea of them dancing together overwhelmed him. This would be the future, them together and happy. He, like the loser that he was, would be left behind. Ron flew outside, slamming the outside door hard.

He didn’t know where he was going-- he just flew. Ron only knew that he had to get away from the pain he felt. But soon he realised that he couldn’t leave it behind. Wherever he went, he would always take it with him. Unsure of what to do, he stopped flying.

Somehow he had ended up next to the pond at the same spot he had felt so good and then so heartbroken only a few days ago.

The birds and the frogs had hidden from the storm. Without sunshine, the place seemed rather sinister and lonely. Nothing could be heard, but loud thunder in the distance. When lightning cracked trough the sky, Ron turned his face up to the pouring rain. He felt like crying, but he didn’t. He simply couldn’t. So he stood there for a while, letting the rain fall onto his face.