The Curse of Ravenclaw Tower

The next day dawned bright and clear, as they often did after a dramatic night or personal crisis, and when Ron awoke, his dormitory was empty except from a very grumpy Harry, who was still tied spread-eagled to his bed. Ron yawned and ran a hand through his hair before swinging his legs out of bed and finding his slippers. He put them on, stood up, stretched, yawned again, and then made his way over to Harry's bed whilst absentmindedly scratching himself. He untied Harry's skinny arms and legs and, leaving Harry to untie his gag, went to the toilet. On his return, Harry was sitting on the end on his bed trying to massage some life back into his hands and feet, looking rumpled (physically and emotionally).

"Thanks for that mate, " Harry said gruffly. "I wasn't feeling myself last night."

"Don't mention it," replied Ron briskly, now feeling ever so slightly guilty at the pleasure he had felt when he stunned the melodramatic little git.

They dressed in silence. Once he was ready, Ron said in a falsely cheery voice, "You coming down to breakfast? The house-elves really pull out all the stops on Sundays!" Ron inwardly grimaced at his condescending tone.

Harry grunted. Ron took this as a 'yes'. "I'll be down in the common room with Hermione and Ginny. Come down when you're ready," Ron said as he sped out of the dormitory.

The common room was deserted. Ginny and Hermione had obviously gone down to breakfast early, either that or he had slept in and was, as a result, later than usual. Ron sat down by the fire and decided to try his hand at brooding whilst he waited for Harry. He discovered over the next twenty minutes that he was really quite good at it. From his position by the fire he found he could watch the female Gryffindors that passed through the common room in dribs and drabs on their way to the Great Hall, and what would be a truly excellent breakfast. Ron's stomach growled insistently. After receiving the twelfth admiring glance, he decided he could wait a little longer for Harry.

Half an hour after leaving Harry in the dormitory, Harry came down to the common room. Without speaking, Ron got up and walked over to the Fat Lady's portrait and climbed through the opening. Harry followed, looking sulky.

They entered the Great Hall and found seats beside Hermione, Ginny and Luna. Harry grunted a greeting, poured himself a coffee, and slumped himself against the table. Ron nodded to all and sundry and greeted them with a brisk, "Alright?"

Hermione, Ginny and Luna watched in mild horror as he began to feed himself.

"You know, I've never heard a human being make noises quite like that," commented Luna, utter disbelief jolting her out of her usual dreamy demeanour.

"You get used to it," said Hermione somewhat glumly.

"Luna, trust me, this is quite tame. You should come over to breakfast sometime during the holidays, when all seven of my brother are there. You can't hear yourself think," said Ginny.

There was a slurping noise as Harry finished his coffee, which was quickly followed by a loud 'thunk' as Harry's forehead hit the tabletop.

The four students around him watched his little display dispassionately. Ron heaved a sigh and poured a goblet of pumpkin juice. He tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Here. Get some of this down you," he said as he pushed the goblet into Harry's hand.

Harry peered into the goblet suspiciously. "Did you spit in this?" he demanded.

Ron stared at him incredulously. "Why would I do that?" he asked, bewildered.

Harry didn't answer but narrowed his eyes at him as he took a tentative sip of the juice. Harry proceeded to swill the juice around in his mouth, apparently testing the juice. He nodded and swallowed. "Just as well you didn't. I can tell when it's been tainted by spit," he said matter-of-factly.

"I remember that," muttered Ron, "because next time I'll piss in it."

The three girls spluttered and laughed at this. Harry, who hadn't heard Ron's last remark, glared at them. Harry got up and left the table, muttering darkly. When he reached the door to the entrance hall, he spun round and screamed to the massed assembly of students, "I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY YOUR BREAKFAST! AND I HOPE YOU ALL BLOODY CHOKE ON IT!"

A jet a red light issued from the tip of Dumbledore's wand and caught Harry in the chest. He fell to the floor stunned and Dobby ran out of the shadows and grabbed his hand. They vanished with a pop. Dumbledore smiled at the students and motioned them to continue with their breakfast.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Luna all looked at each other, and shook their heads.

"Do you think perhaps he should be medicated?" Ginny asked.

"Probably. Give him one foot up the arse at breakfast, lunch and dinner. That would help," sniffed Hermione.

"Well, I suppose it might help," said Ginny doubtfully. "It may cause slight discomfort but, on the bright side, it wouldn't cause drowsiness. But three times a day? I don't know... How about one foot up the arse as and when required?"

Hermione smiled. "Yes, that would be more appropriate." She looked around at Ron and said, "We're going to hit the library to try and find out about that creature and you're coming too."

"I take it I don't have a choice," commented Ron, already knowing the answer.

"Nope!" said Ginny, happily. She was happy because if she was going to spend all day in the library researching, when she could be out practising Quidditch, Ron was going to be there with her and suffer too. Ah, the bliss of having big brothers, she thought.

"What creature is this?" enquired Luna dreamily.

"Oh, just something Hagrid mentioned in passing," lied Hermione, quickly.

"Oh, I shall see you later then. I've got homework to do. Goodbye," said Luna, as she got up and drifted away.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny went to the library and found themselves a table near the Magical Creatures section. After giving Madam Pince a venomous look, Hermione went to the shelves and started selecting books. Ron and Ginny sat down feeling thoroughly depressed. They watched with deepening gloom as Hermione selected a number of heavy volumes and brought them to the table. Hermione dumped them in a pile and set off back towards the shelves for more equally heavy, boring, and dusty books. They looked at each other. They gave a resigned sigh, grabbed a book, opened them and started to search the index.

Hermione walked between the shelves and the table several more times, her arms laden with books on each return trip. Ron and Ginny shifted in their seats, uncomfortably aware of the towers of books on their table.

As Hermione went back to the shelves, Ron, seeing the despondency in Ginny's face, tried to lighten the situation with a bit of mindless chit-chat. "So, Ginny, how's life treating you? Enjoying being fifth year? How are you getting on with your homework? My homework back then was a total nightmare."

"Life's fine. Fifth year's all right. Homework is more gruelling than any Quidditch session that I've ever played. But, luckily, I have a secret weapon for dealing with my homework," replied Ginny.

Ron's eyebrows raised questioningly. "What?"

Ginny leaned over the table closer to Ron. "Well," she whispered conspiratorially, "Luna's doing it."

"What?" hissed Ron, unable to believe his ears.

"She's quite happy to do it," whispered Ginny. "She likes to practise my handwriting." She looked troubled for a moment. "I wish I knew why...." Then she shrugged. "And what with splitting my time between Dean and Quidditch, I'm quite happy to let her."

Ron goggled at her. "Does Hermione know?" he whispered, his eyes flicking fron Ginny's face to Hermione who was standing with her back to them.

"No! I'm not fool enough to tell her and neither will you if you know what's good for you!" Ginny threatened. "Anyway, I study for the tests and stuff. Luna only helps out when it gets a bit much! Also, for your information Mister Weasley, Luna also happens to write very good notes." She sniffed. "Don't look at me like that! You and Harry always used to look at Hermione notes!"

Ron opened his mouth to reply but Hermione had returned and he quickly shut it again. He briefly considered telling Hermione, but he decided against it, as he liked his testicles where they were, thank you very much.

"Let's get started then," ordered Hermione.

They spent the next two hours pouring over the books trying to find out more about the brownie. The search was proving to be utterly fruitless (there was not an apple in sight). They stopped for a break, thoroughly dispirited at their lack of success. Ron and Ginny were then subjected to a would-be rousing speech from Hermione regarding the importance of finding out more information. Unfortunately, most of this speech went straight over their heads as they were Weasley's, they were bored, and Hermione kept on using big words with four or more syllables that they didn't understand. They just nodded and said "You're right, Hermione" at strategic points of the speech (this technique was a sort of defensive mechanism most of the Weasley family had adopted to cope with their mother's lectures and Percy's inane orations about more or less everything).

They resumed their research, but after half an hour, Ron was getting fidgety and Ginny was gazing out of the window. After being kicked inadvertently by Ron under the table for the sixth time, Hermione snapped. She grabbed Ron by the ear and dragged him out of the library, deaf to his feeble whimpers of pain and pleas for mercy. She threw him against the opposite wall and he watched dumbfounded as Hermione stalked back inside and did the same to Ginny.

"Right! I've had enough! I'm utterly sick to the back teeth of both of you! I'll do it myself! You two can talk to the ghosts, the house-elves, teachers, the students and those that have been attacked," Hermione spat. "Go now! Don't come back until you've found something!"

"Hermione, I've been one of your best friends for six years! You've just assaulted me!" yelped Ron, holding his throbbing ear protectively.

"Yes! I know! Six years! It's no wonder then, that I'm utterly sick of the sight of you!" she fumed. She spun on her heel and strode back into the library.

There was a shocked silence between Ron and Ginny.

Ron threw his hands up into the air in frustration. "Women!" he shouted.

Ginny glared at him. "What do you mean by that?" she challenged.

Ron glared back at her and said sarcastically. "What do you mean, what do you mean by that?"

Ginny bared her teeth. "What do you think I meant by that, Ronald? I meant, what do you mean, what do you mean, what do you mean by that?"

"What?" said Ron, completely perplexed.

"Oh, never mind! Look, you go see those students that have been attacked and I'll go speak to the others!" Ginny snarled.

Ron watched as she disappeared around the corner.

"Women!" he repeated, very, very quietly.

*~*~*~*

Ron opened the Hospital Wing door very carefully and stuck his head inside. He couldn't see Madam Pomfrey anywhere. He breathed a sigh of relief. Madam Pomfrey would have complicated things. The bloody woman always complicated things, Ron thought bitterly, she just can't leave well enough alone!

Ron quickly scanned wing and made his way stealthily towards the infirmarie's only occupant. Orla was sitting up in bed engrossed in a book, with bits of parchment scattered over her bedclothes. She looked up as he approached.

"Hello, hero," she said shyly, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

Ron looked taken aback for a moment. "What? Oh, yeah, right. It was nothing." Feeling that a bit more was needed, Ron continued on suicidally, "No need to thank me but I will accept any offers of sexual favours for my selfless heroism." It was, at this exact moment, that Ron realised that Orla was about fourteen years old. Oh shit, he thought.

Orla blushed more and looked down. "I'll see what I can do, shall I?" she said. When she looked back at him, Ron saw that she had an odd sort of heat in her eyes.

Ron panicked. Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! Buggery, balls, bollocks, bastards... Oh bugger! he heard his brain cry. He knew he was sailing deep into uncharted waters. Very dangerous uncharted waters. She was two years younger than Ginny for crying out loud! In his opinion it was bad enough that Lavender insisted on flirting with him, but for a young girl... Oh, good grief! he thought. Hermione's going to kill me! He knew, with depressing certainty, that this girl's broken heart was going to be his fault. He also knew that it would be because he was a heartless, inconsiderate, male chauvinist pig who had been repressing other members of society through a combination of bigotry, ignorance, prejudice or plain bone idleness. He probably would also be accused of clinging to out-dated beliefs because he was too lazy or too selfish to consider alternative ways. He knew this because Hermione had recently been saying it regularly. At first, he had been startled and hurt by the accusation and tried to argue back. He had taken being called a bigot as particularly ridiculous and told Hermione that she had obviously had left her senses as she knew for a fact that he'd never even been married, not even once. At that point, she'd started throwing books and hurling hexes at him so he'd had to flee for his life. It was only later when Ginny and Luna had explained the difference between bigotry and bigamy, did he realise his mistake.

"Ron?" asked Orla, interrupting his thoughts.

Ron jumped and rejoined reality, aware that his mind had drifted off. He hurriedly recalled it and said apologetically, "Sorry, I got a bit side-tracked for a minute there. Look, I didn't mean to say that about the favours. I didn't realise that I was talking out loud." He grinned sheepishly. "I should have said 'How are you?'"

Orla's face lit up in a grin. "Don't worry about it. I'm fine, thanks for asking. Madam Pomfrey's just being her usual over-bearing, over-protective self. I was fine last night but she wanted to keep me under observation." Orla's voice changed and became husky and she looked at him through her eyelashes. "I could have been a lot worse if you hadn't been there to save me. I could have been seriously hurt or even killed, if it wasn't for you."

Ron surreptitiously wiped his now sweating palms on his robes and tried to calm the queer feelings in his churning stomach (nausea, he suspected). His brain screamed at him, She's fourteen going on forty! She's a man-eater! Vixen! Minx! Harlot! Scarlet woman! Run man! Run for the hills! Ron tried to silence the voice whilst out-loud he mumbled, "Don't mention it."

Orla looked at him expectantly, obviously waiting from him to say something. Seconds ticked by. Ron knew what he was here for, he just couldn't work out how to start the conversation. Here goes nothing, he thought, mentally steeling himself in case of verbal backlash.

"So," started Ron brightly, "have you recently done anything that would result in someone wanting to attack you?"

Orla's jaw dropped. "Of course not!" she cried, slightly offended. "I'm not a bad person! I'm not nasty to people! I do all my homework on time and help other people when I can!" She surveyed Ron for a moment. "I know that you're friends with Luna and for your information I stop people being mean to her when I catch them."

"What do you mean by that? What do people do to her?" asked Ron, surprised.

"Oh, stupid, immature things like hiding her clothes, books and homework. Or sometimes they charm her things to shrink when she puts them down, so she can't find anything. As I said - stupid, childish things."

Ron remembered that Harry had mentioned something about this (before Harry had thrown a total fruit loop) but Ron hadn't really been listening at the time (he'd been thoroughly whipping Hermione at Wizards chess). Ron felt his anger at what Orla had said began to heat the tips of his ears.

"Oh, they do, do they?" he said dangerously.

"The younger ones do, Ron," she said, adopting a superior, holier-than-thou tone. "The one's that don't know any better. The one's that don't have enough brains to spread across a small water biscuit." Orla gave him a small smile. "I'm surprised that some of them actually get sorted into Ravenclaw."

"They sound like they'd fit into Slytherin," remarked Ron.

"The majority of the students leave her to it. It's just that some of them aren't mature enough to understand that everyone's different and that everyone has the right to be who they are. To be themselves. I understand that and you do too."

Ron considered this before nodding. He felt strange. He felt as though a door in his mind had opened and he didn't know where it led too. He rather suspected that this was going to lead to some deep introspection on his part - something he didn't relish the thought of.

"What do you think about the Curse?" asked Orla, abruptly, jerking him out of his thoughts.

"Well... I dunno. Me and a bunch of others are trying to find out though," he answered. "What do you think about it?"

"I don't know either," she said pensively. "It's strange. We've all tried to work out a pattern to the attacks but we can't. We've looked at all the different factors and variables that we can think of, but we can't come up with anything concrete or conclusive. Not to mention we can't find a motive or any evidence of the perpetrator after the attacks. The Ravenclaw common room has been turned into an incident room like the one the Auror's have at the Ministry. We've got schematics of the castle, diagrams and photographs of where the attacks took place, and statements from the victims. What we really need are testimonies of the witnesses but, so far, there's only been one witness. You."

"Ah," said Ron, a sudden premonition clouded his inner-eye.

"Which brings me to my next question." Orla looked at him imploringly. "Would you be free tomorrow for an interview?"

Ron felt uncomfortable under the younger girl's gaze. "Yeah. Sure. No problem." He realised that he'd agree to anything as long as she stopped looking at him like that. "How about after breakfast tomorrow? You can come over to the Gryffindor table, if you like."

Orla looked relieved. "Oh, I hoped that you'd agree! But, it won't be me that'll be doing the interviews," she said brightly. "For the sake of consistency and to produce an unbiased report an independent intermediary will be conducting it."

"Oh, right," said Ron. "Who'll be doing it then?"

"Lisa Turpin will be asking the questions and Stewart Ackerley will be acting as note-taker."

Ron was impressed. "You Ravenclaws are really doing this thing properly, aren't you?"

Orla blushed. "Well, naturally. If something's worth doing, it's worth doing properly."

Ron chuckled. "Right." In his mind's eye, he saw the Ravenclaw common room filled with Hermiones' sorting through the gathered information. He saw them all assessing, reviewing, collating and discarding bits of parchment. He chuckled again. How absolutely terrifying, he mused to himself.

"Hang on," said Ron, frowning. "You said that the interviewers were going to be independent intermediaries. But they're Ravenclaws! How can they be independent?"

Orla looked uncomfortable and said a little hesitantly, "Well... We... Um... Well, what I mean to say is that, well...." She stopped and took a deep breath before continuing. "To be utterly frank, we felt that we couldn't ask the other houses or the staff for help. It's just, well, you know, House pride and all that jazz." She saw the look on his face and said defensively, "Well, we're hardly going to use the Slytherins or Hufflepuffs, are we? The Slytherins wouldn't take it seriously and probably wouldn't help because muggle-borns are involved - they're all afraid of that Malfoy cretin - and besides they'd just blame it on Hagrid or the Gryffindors. And... The Hufflepuffs would mean well, but, you know," she grimaced, "they're Hufflepuffs. Most of them don't know their arse from their elbow."

Ah, thought Ron sarcastically, it's good to see prejudice and bigotry alive and well at Hogwarts in this day and age. Aloud, he asked, "What about the Gryffindors?"

Orla looked extremely uncomfortable. Quietly she said, "Well... The thing is... Some of the Ravenclaws think that Gryffindor is behind the Curse"

"What?!" yelled Ron, outraged.

"I don't think that! But it's just that a lot of Ravenclaws think that Gryffindors are jealous of us because of our intelligence," she explained hurriedly. She shifted on the bed. "Also, there's the H.G. factor."

"H.G.? What's the H.G. factor?" Ron demanded.

"Hermione Granger. Common consensus is that she should be in Ravenclaw. Hermione's won an awful lot of points for Gryffindor, points, that some people - not me, I hasten to add - believe belong to Ravenclaw. Hermione's the smartest student in the school and she's s Gryffindor! That hasn't happened in over twenty years!" exclaimed Orla. "It's stupid, but that's what some people think."

"You're right, " Ron confirmed, "it is stupid. Ravenclaws are holding a grudge against Gryffindor house because they didn't get Hermione! I'm surprised that those that think that were sorted into Ravenclaw." Ron looked at Orla's worried expression and sighed. "Look, I'm not taking this out on you... I've had a hard year with a lot of stuff happening and...." He trailed off. "Thanks for your help Orla. I'm sorry if I've offended you or anything, it's just that sometimes, well, I get stressed out and, as my sister reminds me on a daily basis, I speak before I think."

Orla smiled at him. "It's alright, Ron."

There was an awkward silence.

Ron got up. "Well, I'd better be going."

Orla smiled at him and said, "You know Ron, you're the most charmingly gormless idiot I've ever had the good fortune to meet."

Ron struggled to work out if this was an insult or a compliment. He settled on a compliment and replied in what he hoped was a rakishly debonair way, "You don't get out much, do you?"

He turned and strolled out of the infirmary.