Scarlet Woman

There was no time to panic. Within seconds, I had wrenched myself from Mrs. Weasley's grasp and torn out of the room after Ron. Mrs. Weasley's voice buzzed in and out of my ears in broken sentences, "no.... Neville... don't follow.... just go.." but I was deaf to the meaning of the words. Finally, her voice distilled into silence and I followed the blurred outline of Ron.

As I ran, it occurred to me that I had no idea what I was going to say or do to Ron. I just knew I needed to talk to him- even if it meant I had to run forever. Which, come to think of it wasn't a fantastic idea for a chubby teenager with asthma and no inhaler.

My breathing turned to an ominous wheeze, and my feet dragged along the ground like feathers in molasses. However, if Ron wasn't planning on stopping, then neither was I. The effort of running was sending stabbing pains and constrictions to my chest that I wanted to ignore in a heroic manner, but made my head spin so much I had to kneel down on the tatty rose patterned carpet. Little blue shapes started to swim in front of my eyes and threatened blackout. Forcing deep breaths into my lungs, I looked up to see Ron stopped dead on the landing, staring at me with the same horrified expression.

"I'm..... OK.." I wheezed, trying to bring Ron into focus from the fuzzy red blob that stood before me. "Are.. you... er..?" A coughing fit followed, in which I had to bang my chest very hard. I almost knocked myself out with my own wrath, not that unconsciousness would be unwelcome at a time like this..

Ron's chest heaved, and stupidly I wondered if he was an asthmatic too. He was ashen faced but his eyes burned with such rage they were almost black. In my cowardice, I wondered if he would have the nerve to hit a man who was already down.

"What," he began through his teeth, breath coming fast. "was that?"

I took in shallow breaths, and his face started to swim into focus. If only I'd been given the gift to lie constructively.. But then, it couldn't have been anything else. It had very obviously been a kiss- and I could hardly tell him that his own mother had wantonly launched herself on poor, unsuspecting moi.

"Neville, what was THAT?!! WHAT? WHAT?" A furious blush started to rise in his cheeks as the crushing pain in my chest started to forbid breathing. "You! You! YOU AND MY MUM?! You...."

Good God, the boy could rant. I could only catch certain words, trying my best not to die as it were. I closed my eyes and summoned a deep breath. It shuddered and ripped my chest with searing pain. But it was breath to say the least.

".. She's MARRIED! She's... she's my BLOODY MUM, Neville. What the bloody hell were you doing snogging my MOTHER??!"

Tell the world, Ron. Shout a little louder, I don't think they quite heard you in Timbuktu.

He looked around furtively, then pulled me into what must have been an airing cupboard. It was tiny, stuffy and smelt horribly musty. Not too good for the old asthma, but I was beyond caring.

"What did you do to her? Got her drunk, did you? I know your type, Neville Longbottom, oh, I know you." I took a hesitant look at his face. He was standing very upright- well, as upright as you can stand when you're 6"4 in a cupboard- with a trembling finger pointed in my face. Which might have been effectively threatening had it not been for the pink tiara from his cracker nestling in his hair and the fact that he'd had one two many brandies.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BLOODY MOTHER?!"

I cleared my throat to find my voice weedy and shaky. Not even slightly manly or brave.

"Ron.. I'm so sorry. I was very.. very drunk. Yes.. Drunk." I added a slight slur to my words for extra drunken effect hopefully.

"You sick bastard.." Ron hissed in a venomous whisper. Rather like his mother had done when angered. "So drunk you thought it was acceptable to take a poor, unsuspecting woman- MY MOTHER!- and snog her face off?! Do you get kicks out of that?"

Now I saw what Mrs. Weasley had meant. Everyone would see it as my fault- not her. To everybody else she was an angel. And I had always been slightly creepy- strangely quiet and undeveloped.

"What about Ginny? You're her boyfriend and you... you cheat on her with.. with her MOTHER! That's.. that's disgusting, Neville, really, really..." he searched for a word in his drunken state and failed, waving a floppy hand dismissively, "disgusting."

I was so tempted to tell Ron the truth. It was getting hard to keep in these days. But how, exactly, could I explain to him that his mother had drawn me in- that she was the seducer? It was all far too complicated for me, for him- for anybody.. So I just stood and took more rant, waiting for Ron's fire to burn out and wheezing occasionally.

"How.. even... How could you?" Ron's glare suddenly softened and his voice dropped a few decibels.

"How could you, Neville?"

His tone of grave disappointment hit me far harder than his anger had. It seemed to underline my betrayal, and that hurt more than fifty-six asthma attacks.

"Mum belongs with Dad...She loves him." Ron's eyes burned again, but this time it was with hurt. I took in small, shallow breaths and hung my head in shame. "He's downstairs, Neville! Why would you do this?"

I concentrated on the floor and said nothing. Ron passed a hand over his eyes and threw off the tiara, swearing in frustration. It hit the floor with a sharp clang that made me jump.

A large silence followed, rife with Ron's disgust and my shame. How could I have been so stupid? Did we really think we'd never be caught? This just proved that yes, I, Neville Longbottom was a failure on all parts. And I say that without any angst or self-pity. It was just the truth, really.

"How long?"

I raised my head to see Ron staring straight at me. His eyes shone in the dark of the cupboard with peculiar red flecks, making him appear a man possessed. Which, come to think of it, he had every right to be.

"How long has this been going on? Neville, I'm not stupid. Tell me."

I suddenly thought of the chess board. Ron was in check, and I could make no move for freedom. It was tell-the-truth time. Ron would most likely explode in a fit of rage and pull my head off with his bare hands, but at least he could look back on my life and say "Ah yes, Longbottom. Bloody pervert but at least he had the balls to tell the truth!" Maybe.. just maybe, he would forgive me. And maybe I was the Dalai Lama.

"Since.." I began, wondering how this would all end. In a way, Ron knowing was a benefit- it now had to stop. However, before any more fateful words left my mouth the room began to spin. Yellow towels, red towels, blue towels all became a blur of merging colours... A vortex about to swallow me up. Ron's voice came slow and thick, and I did not understand the words he spoke. Rushed visions of scarlet women, red hair and Neville trees swirled in my head.

The asthma, alcohol and emotional overload defeated me in one easy blow. The last thing I saw as my head hit the floor was Ron leaving the cupboard, shutting the door quietly behind him and leaving me in darkness.

*

The minute I opened my eyes, I knew I had done something very, very bad. I couldn't remember what, but Gran's disapproving glare was invading my thoughts. I rubbed my eyes into focus and realised I was... in a cupboard. An airing cupboard, by the looks of it. Nice fluffy blue towels.

It wasn't my airing cupboard though- I knew that. Because our towels were pink. But then.. whose cupboard was it? I squinted, and an orange towel swam into focus, bearing the crest of the Chudley Canons. Which meant...

Ron?

I was in Ron's cupboard. And what might I have been doing in Ron's airing cupboard, exactly?

I massaged my head and stood up gradually. My knees were so stiff I stood with them bent in a rather unattractive Sumo stance. Strange images were coursing through my mind; turkeys, knives and lime and pink stripes.

Lime and pink stripes, red hair and rosy cheeks

Roaming aged hands and pink lipstick.

A man, ashen faced, with burning eyes.

The recognition hit me harder than a lead bulldozer.

Oh God!

Oh holy shite, I was in trouble. Very big trouble, with a capital T. Ron knew- and let's face it, had probably told the whole Weasley contingent, including Fred Jr. the parrot. Fred Jr. would have squawked it all over the house for anyone who didn't quite catch the scandal and it would be all over the village in no time. Mr. Weasley would grab his trusty axe and go on the rampage for my blood as Mrs. Weasley cried sexual harassment on me. Oh yes, the minute I stepped out of this cupboard my life as I knew it would be over.

On second thoughts, I couldn't stay in this cupboard forever. Sooner or later, a Weasley would require a clean towel and discover a most unwanted inhabitant in the airing cupboard. Besides, it was horribly stuffy in there and there would be no food supply. And I had planned to die in dignity in my bed rather than in much discomfort in an airing cupboard.

On that thought, I shut the door behind me and tried my best to compose myself. I wondered if they all knew at this very moment as they sipped the last of their coffee through pursed lips. Had I just torn a whole family apart because of my inability to say no to a lady's insatiable lust?

Again, without any self-pity, I cursed the insufferable fool that was Neville Longbottom. I shuffled down the stairs with a throbbing pain in my head. In a bizarrely masochistic way, I blessed its presence as a reminder of my wicked ways.

I could hear an off-key piano playing Christmas carols, to which a woman was singing. Her voice was richer than it was tuneful and she sung with Cornwall's telltale lazy tongue. I instantly knew it to be Mrs. Weasley's voice filling the room with cheer, which set a guilty pang in my heart.

The guilt grew and swelled as I entered the room. The pianist was Mr. Weasley, playing with his jovial vigour. Beside him on the stool sat his wife, an arm that had previously held me wrapped around his wiry waist. Oblivious to my adulterous presence, he carried on playing and she continued to sing. The Weasley contingent continued to smile warm, drunken grins.

And in the middle of it all, turned away from the others with his head buried in a book sat Ron. Most unusually, Hermione was sitting next to Gran teaching her 'Silent Night' in German rather than with her other half. As Ron lifted his head, turning it towards the door, I knew I had to leave. I was on dangerous ground now- thin ice, a ring of flames.

On the soaring last note of 'O come all ye faithful', I shut the door of The Burrow behind me. It was bitterly cold, and the thick mist had yet to lift. The candles had burnt down to waxy stumps and shone with a mysterious halo. I stuffed my hands up my sleeves and walks hurriedly up that garden path. The chickens clucked loudly, making my stomach churn with paranoia.

"Neville?"

I ignored the voice and continued walking, just desperate to get away. I could take the next train out of here and leave this scarlet mass of trouble behind. I just had to leave, simple as that.

A hand gripped my shoulder and turned me around. I sucked in my breath as I realised that it was Ginny, holding a shimmering candle in cupped hands. As angsty and pathetic as it seems, it hurt to look at her and know the pain I could cause her.

"Neville.. I should tell you something." Her eyes shone in the candlelight, and instantly I knew what that something would be. It may have lifted my heart at any other time, but now was not the right time for it. And I wasn't sure it would ever be after today's goings-on. I couldn't let her tell me- it would complicate things further. I was just not made to deal with such intricate matters.

So, turning to face Ginny, I put my hands gently on her forearms. In my current state of whirling angst, I had no time to be nervous and was surprisingly confident and coherent.

"Not now, Gin. I've got to go home, I'm afraid. I'll speak to you soon, OK?"

I let her go and walked away, leaving her standing alone on that long garden path. I kept on walking, until she was just a tiny silhouette. Then I saw the silhouette blow out her candle and turn back towards the house.

A sense of heavy guilt and panic lay upon me that I couldn't and didn't want to deal with. So, the minute I got home, I went to my room and sent angsty Neville to bed.

It had to be all right in the morning, after all.