Daddy's Favorite

OK. It's time to wake up.

I bite my tongue hard as we pass out of the Hospital Wing. Salty, tangy blood fills my mouth.

Wake up.

I've had a brilliant thought as I lay in my bed recuperating from my tangle with the brains in the Ministry. It's all a dream. All of this horrible, terrible, unthinkable year is a nightmare I'm having. That's it. That HAS to be it.

Hermione has said something. I look at her blankly. Between the throbbing in my mouth and the incessant effort to force myself awake, I have completely missed what she was talking about. Strange considering how strictly alert I've been to Hermione lately. To her voice, her gestures, her smell.

Her smell? I've GOT to be dreaming.

"I said," she repeats patiently and with that cute -- no, make that adorable -- long-suffering manner of hers, "that we should go to the Great Hall. Harry is probably having breakfast."

"You go on," I manage to say around my sore tongue. "I'll be along in a few minutes."

She gives me a puzzled look, like I've grown another nose or something. Refusing food isn't like me.

The truth is I'm afraid she's right. I'm afraid Harry will be in the Great Hall. And if I see him it will be that much harder to make myself wake up.

Finally she just shrugs and walks off toward the Hall while I take a sharp left and head in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. I figure if I lay down it will be easier to snap out of the dream. It least I've got some vague notion along those lines.

Wake up. I keep trying to encourage myself awake as I move down the silent hallways, slowly chewing my abused tongue. Get up. Get up and get yourself out of this nightmare.

It HAS to be a nightmare. That is the only thing that makes sense. There is no way things could have gone this wrong. There is no way everybody could have acted like - well, like giant pricks all year long. And certainly there isn't any way Sirius could be dead. No, that is TOTALLY impossible. We have to clear his name so Harry can live with him. Yes, I'm dreaming.

It's July of 1995. I'm just upset because of what happened to Harry last month in the tournament. That's it. I'll wake up any minute now and go downstairs to see Mum. I bet there'll be a message from Dumbledore saying Harry can come and spend his birthday with us! He has to let Harry come to us, he just couldn't leave him in that house with those people for so long. Dumbledore wouldn't do that. That's why this is a dream.

All the trouble with the Daily Prophet will turn out to be a part of the dream too. Fudge is a git and always has been, but the Prophet and the rest of the wizarding world know enough to trust Harry. Of course they do! They would never turn on him like they have in this silly nightmare. Harry is a hero. They couldn't treat him that way. It just wouldn't be right.

And maybe, just maybe, when I go downstairs Percy will be there. That's another reason this is all a nightmare. Percy just couldn't act they way he has in this dream. He couldn't turn his back on us. He couldn't try to hurt Harry that way.

No, it's just ridiculous! Percy is stuffy, but he wouldn't do the things I've been dreaming about. Not my brother who used to come and find me when Mum had yelled at me or the twins had teased me or I had had a nightmare about spiders. Not Percy who would pick me up and take me to his bedroom and rock me and cuddle me until I quit crying. It was Percy who helped me bury my puffskein after the twins used it for bludger practice. It was Percy who yelled at them so loud that for once it was them who went crying to Mum.

Percy wouldn't be such a git. Not Percy, who came to me at the end of my first year when I was in the Hospital Wing after battling McGonagall's chess set. Not Percy, who thought I was asleep and wrapped his arms around me and kissed me and cried while he rocked me back and forth like he used to do when I was little.

Yes, maybe Percy will be there when I go down to the kitchen. He'll have some silly boring thing to say about cauldron bottoms or flying carpet imports. And we will all roll our eyes but I'll make sure I sit next to him so I can maybe give him a hug when nobody else is looking. I would like that a lot, even though I would rather die than admit it - especially in front of any of my other brothers. I would really like to hug pompous, sweet, kind, perfect Percy and know that it's all been a dreadful nightmare.

Maybe we can have Hermione over too. That would be great! Harry and Hermione can both come to stay, and in a few days we will get our Hogwarts Letters and of course Harry and Hermione will both get prefect badges and I won't but that will be all right because I would gladly, gladly give up this hunk of metal if this year turns out to be a dream.

Except I'm not waking up. I've turned two of the corners heading toward the tower and I've ground my tongue until I can't stand it any more and I'm not waking up.

OK. It's August. That's right, it's August and we are at 12 Grimmauld Place and I'm upset and excited and it's making me have strange dreams. That's what it is.

That won't be so bad. I'll have my prefect badge, and that will be nice because truth to tell it made me feel really good to be named prefect and Harry didn't mind - at least not much. And it's true that Harry has had to stay with those muggles all summer and got attacked by Dementors, but he repelled them - he's Harry after all! Fudge is acting like a prick but Dumbledore will take care of it and he'll have a good explanation for why Harry had to stay isolated this summer. And Percy has had a fight with Dad and has acted really stupid and hurtful to Mum but that's just because he's tired and confused. Once he figures out what Fudge is really like we'll fix it. Harry is angry and hurt and he yelled at us and that cut me deep inside, but he didn't mean it and we can fix that too.

Except that I'm on the stairs now. I'm on the stairs and I haven't woken up yet.

Wake up. Oh please, please, wake up!

It's October. It's October and everything's wrong. Dumbledore is being really strange and everybody is acting stupid and hurtful toward Harry. Harry is angry and confused and he won't listen to anybody and it's just horrible because of what that hag Umbridge has done to him. That's why I'm having this nightmare. It's the night of that awful, terrible detention when he came back with his hand bleeding like it had been chewed on by a dragon and I'm so angry and scared and confused that's why I'm having this nightmare.

OK, so Umbridge is real and those detentions and that damned quill are real and nothing is right because everybody is acting like they've gone insane. But Sirius is still at Grimmauld place and I'll owl him in the morning and tell him what's going on. He'll make Harry listen to us! He and Hermione and me and maybe Professor Lupin will figure out what to do. We'll MAKE Harry go to McGonagall and tell her what's happening. If that doesn't work we'll MAKE him go to see Dumbledore. Damn Harry for being so stubborn! Doesn't he know how much it upsets Hermione to see him with his hand bleeding like that? Doesn't he know how much it upsets me?

But now I'm at the top of the stairs, and I'm still in the middle of the nightmare.

OK. It's November and Harry won't listen and the Umbridge bitch has just given him and the twins lifetime quidditch bans for defending my family. I never felt so bad in my life as when he told me that. That explains why I'm having this dream. Harry is in the bed next to me suffering because of everything he's lost and what's been done to him and I'm sick with shame and horror.

How could they? How could they treat Harry, MY Harry, Harry who's more to me than any of my brothers, that way? How could they mock him and ridicule him and torture him and take away everything he loves and then laugh about it? This isn't what's supposed to happen! You don't treat heroes like that! Where are all those people who were falling all over him last year? Where are bloody McGonagall and Dumbledore?

But we can still fix it. We'll get Sirius and Lupin and MAKE Harry listen to reason. We'll all go to see Dumbledore and make him explain what's going on. We'll go - where? I know, we'll go to see Percy! He's been acting like a total git, but he doesn't understand what's happening. We'll explain to him about the quill and Umbridge and the Prophet and the quidditch ban and he'll help us. I know he will!

I'm walking down the last corridor towards the Fat Lady, and I'm still not awake.

It's Christmas. It's Christmas and Dad is in St. Mungo's and Percy won't even come to see him and Harry is having dreams and visions that frighten me so much I feel like my insides have turned to water. Everything is wrong, everything!

Harry is suffering and in pain and he's having visions so bad they make him vomit and there isn't anything I can do! Dad is sick and hurting and Percy has turned his back on all of us and there isn't anything I can do!

I pass the Fat Lady. The Common Room is deserted. The tower is silent. I start to ascend to our dormitory.

It's February or March or April. Harry is under constant attack from all sides and I can't help and I just want to scream at everybody to leave him alone.

Please, please let me wake up. Hermione and I will make it our purpose in life that Harry practices his Occlumency. Hell, I'll even take classes with that potion-making bastard myself if it will encourage Harry to practice and close his mind to the visions and attacks.

I reach the dormitory.

I'm still in the Hospital Wing. I'm in the Hospital Wing and I'm unconscious because of the battle at the Ministry but Sirius wasn't there and he didn't get killed and I'll wake up and he'll still be at Grimmauld Place and we can still clear his name.

I pass into the room. It is empty except for Harry's bed. He is resting on it, his eyes closed in fitful sleep, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. As I watch he tosses and moans and gives a soft sob. Even from the door I can see that his face is wet with tears.

It's not a dream.

I'm frozen now. Frozen in horror and shock and pity and anger and fear and so many other things I can't name.

Sirius is dead. He's dead and everything happened and it's all wrong, wrong, WRONG!

Somebody else is is the room. I can feel them. When you have a best friend with an invisibility cloak you get good at that type of thing.

"Hello?" I call softly, not wanting to wake Harry. I move into the dormitory and cautiously pull back a couple of curtains, careful so that light doesn't fall across Harry's face. The rays of illumination pour in like thick honey.

The room is empty.

I move over the bed and look down at Harry. Without really thinking, I sit on the edge of the bed. It is warm, as if someone were sitting there just recently.

Great, now I'm paranoid. Not that this year wouldn't be enough to make anybody barmy.

There is a glass on the nightstand, along with several potion bottles. Sleeping draughts probably, and numerous other foul concoctions. They aren't doing much good. Harry is still sobbing softly.

Fuck it.

I position myself full length on the bed next to Harry and carefully take him in my arms. He is so small, so fragile.

"It's alright Harry," I whisper, drawing him close, "It's alright."

Harry turns into my arms and cuddles against my chest, his head bent under my chin. I wrap my arms around him tightly, tangling the fingers of one hand in his sopping, sweaty hair while I massage his back with the other.

"Go ahead and cry mate," I say softly, resting my cheek against the top of his head. "I'm here, your Wheezy's here." I feel my breath starting to hitch as tears begin to trickle from my own eyes. "It's OK Harry. You're safe. Your Wheezy has you."

It's not OK. Nothing's OK. This wasn't supposed to happen! We were going to clear Sirius and Harry was going to leave those hateful muggles and have a real father! This wasn't the plan.

I had a plan. I never talked about it with anyone, but I had it and I was sure it was going to work. Harry was going to defeat You-Know-Who - he's Harry after all - and go live with Sirius and Fudge was going to apologize and Harry was going to be loved and honored and respected like a hero is supposed to be. He was going to be a great Auror and I was going to do whatever. Hermione would be the greatest scholar of the century. And we would all be so happy! Especially Harry. He deserves it so much. My Harry deserves to be happy so much.

Yes Harry would live with Sirius and Hermione and I would live somewhere close (maybe together, I've started to think these past months) and Professor Lupin would get a job somewhere around London too, once we got Umbridge's werewolf legislation repealed. And Harry would find some girl that could take care of him - by which I mean somebody with more sense than Cho who understands how wonderful and fragile he is and would love him and snog him breathless every time he starts getting angry or blaming himself for all the pain in the world. I wouldn't even mind if Ginny wanted to do that - and usually I find myself going explosive at the thought of any bloke getting within kissing distance of my little sister. And we would all be happy and loved and whole.

But it will never happen now. Sirius is dead and Harry is hurting and there's not anything I can do. I bite my lip to keep from screaming and let my tears roll down to mingle with Harry's.

I hear something. I soft swishing, like someone moving a curtain. Or someone walking in heavy robes. I look up, expecting to see Hermione or maybe McGonagall. But it isn't either of them.

Dumbledore is standing on the far side of the room next to the windows. The light plays off his heavy blue robes, striking sparks from the richly embroidered moons and stars that make him look like he is wearing a part of the night sky. How did he get there?

I don't need a cloak to become invisible. He said that once, in our third year.

He moves forward, his inevitable smile dimmed as if by weariness or sorrow. "Hello Ron," he says softly, "are you feeling well?"

I don't trust my voice so I just shrug.

Dumbledore sits carefully on the other side of Harry's bed. He stretches out his hand and gently runs his palm over my friend's hair, stroking down across my hand to caress softly down Harry's back.

"The potions Poppy gave him are not working. I will have to tell her to increase the strength of the dosage." His statement is factual, but he looks at me as if expecting a retort.

Harry moans and writhes slowly. I tighten my embrace yet more and he burrows against my chest, his small frame trembling.

And then I am angry. I feel a hot, burning rage boil up from the depths of my gut. Heat engulfs my face and I know I am flushing brilliantly.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" My voice is a fierce hiss that would have done credit to one of Charlie's dragons. "WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT'S WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU?"

So much for being a prefect.

Dumbledore looks at me with an unreadable expression.

"HE'S A HERO! DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT HE'S DONE FOR YOU? DON'T YOU CARE?" My voice betrays me and I half-sob out my accusation.

"Yes I care." The old wizard's eyes are glittering, but with what I don't know half-blinded as I am by my own weeping. "I care so much I feel like I will bleed to death from the caring."

"Bleeding!" I say spitefully, no longer caring what the consequences might be. "What do you know about bleeding? Umbridge made Harry cut his hand open again and again, did you know that? Do you even care?"

"Yes I know. I knew it at the time. And yes I cared." He fixes me with eyes that hold no twinkle at all. "I still do. Sometimes, my young lion, the worst pain of all is having to watch someone you love suffer, and not being able to help."

"I know that." I begin to sob openly now. What a sight! Two teenagers bawling and an old man looking like he's swallowed wormwood.

"Yes Ron, I am sure you do." He sighs and looks - old.

"He loved you. He looked up to you more than anyone." I am choking on my tears and don't care. "Why didn't you help him? Why do you make him go back to those awful people every year? It hurts him."

He looks at me and I expect to get a stern reprimand. At best I expect a cryptic dismissal.

"Mr. Weasley," he says softly, "are you ever jealous of Harry?"

I'm so surprised I stop crying.

What the bloody hell is he talking about? The old man's gone mad at last.

"Answer me please." Now his voice is stern, but strangely not angry. He just wants an answer.

"Yes," I admit softly, "I'm jealous of him a lot." I redouble my caressing of Harry's back, as if to reassure him even though he cannot hear us.

"Why?" He reaches out and softly strokes Harry's hair. I don't protest.

"Because he's so famous and wonderful." There was a time last year when we didn't speak for the better part of a month because I was so envious. "And everybody favors him - even my Mum and Dad. I used to think you favored him too."

"And yet you are holding him now. Why?" His blue eyes are soft and kind.

"Because he's my friend." I'm really puzzled now.

"Just a friend?" There is just a faint hint of a twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes.

"Well, no." This is getting to be a really personal and uncomfortable conversation. "He's my best friend."

"More than that, I think." The twinkle is gathering strength now.

And I say again, fuck it.

"I love him." The sobs come again at that. "He's the most wonderful, sweetest, best boy I've ever known! He's been so good to me! Better than any of my brothers! He's, well, he's Harry."

Dumbledore watches me with his eyes twinkling fiercely. His hand leaves Harry's back and gently strokes my cheek.

"He holds a piece of your soul, doesn't he, my little griffin?" His thumb softly swipes away the large tear making its way down my cheek. "And you hold his. And you both hold Miss Granger's and she holds his and yours."

"Yes." What this has to do with my question I don't know.

"And if you love him so much, even as you are jealous of him, what do you think it feels like to love him without jealousy?" His voice is soft and sad.

Is he talking about Sirius? Or maybe Professor Lupin? I look hard at the Headmaster's weary face. Merlin, he means himself.

"Why didn't you help him?" I'm angry again. Harry senses it and stirs, moaning. Without really thinking what I'm doing I press my lips against his scar in a comforting kiss.

"Because I love him so much that I hurt him. I wanted to protect him so badly that I forgot his needs. I was so very afraid that he would come to harm that I delivered him into the hands of his persecutors."

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND!" I hiss desperately.

"I know you do not." He is sad again. He is sad and old and his eyes are dull. "I don't know that I fully understand myself."

I just stare at him, stunned, as a tear leaks out of the corner of his eye and rolls down his cheek.

"I seem very powerful to you, don't I Ron? I look powerful and wise and mysterious. But I am only a man. I am an old man who was very afraid and made so many mistakes."

He looks at Harry then. He looks at Harry and closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath.

"I made so many mistakes, Ron. And I don't know if he will forgive me. Do you?"

He regards me calmly but I have a feeling, just a feeling, that his calm is masking desperation. He is truly afraid, and truly wants to know what I have to say.

"I don't know." I feel like I'm failing him for some reason. But I don't know what else to say.

Dumbledore rests his hand on my shoulder and smiles softly. Then he leans forward and, I can't believe it, kisses me softly on my forehead much as I have just kissed Harry.

"Love him my little griffin." His voice is suddenly hard and fierce. "Love him and protect him and shield him. Shield him even from me. And make sure that you never, ever do anything to lose that. Because he loves you, too. He loves you more than his own breath. And that is a very great gift - one that I will envy you! I will envy you his love more than you can possibly imagine."

"Don't desert him," I say suddenly, "he needs you. We all need you."

Dumbledore smiles then. He smiles and his eyes twinkle with there old light. "I am not going to desert him or you, Ron. I could not do that any more than I could desert my own heart. I will be there for him, and for you, in all the trials to come. And they are coming, you know."

"I know," I say softly. "Because - HE - is back."

Dumbledore nods.

"That will be alright." I say it as strongly as I can, and I find myself, despite everything, believing it. "Harry will defeat him. He's Harry, after all."

The Headmaster laughs at that, softly. But there is no mockery in his chuckle, only warmth. "He is indeed."

The old wizard leans forward again, and this time kisses both Harry and me.

"I will leave you to your duties, Mr. Weasley, now that Harry is well taken care of." He rises from the bed and circles to reach the door. On his way through, he stops and looks back. "And remember what I have said."

I nod to him and he leaves, smiling.

Harry groans as if protesting a loss. I stroke his back and whisper soft comforting words. But I have begun to cry again. I cry for Harry. I cry for Hermione and me. I cry for my family.

And for the first time in my life, I cry for the greatest wizard in the world. I cry for Albus Dumbledore, who envies me the love of the sweet, wonderful boy sobbing in my arms. The greatest wizard in the world is jealous of me, and I cry for him anyway.

And later, much later, after Harry is finally sleeping peacefully and Hermione has come to help me comfort him, I realize something that almost makes my heart stop. Albus Dumbledore is jealous of me.

But when I look down at Harry, as I stand there holding Hermione's hand and staring down a my wonderful friend, I understand that that isn't very surprising, after all.