Scarlet Woman

The messy colours of Christmas ran into Boxing Day, and then New Year. The optimist in me that had concluded that it would all be fine the morning after raised its white flag in surrender, giving way to a new tidal wave of worry for me.

What was I going to do?

For the week that followed Christmas Day, I stayed in my room claiming myself victim to a cold. My solitary confinement gave the illusion that I was giving myself time to do some serious thinking, when in reality, I was staying as far away from the Weasleys as possible.

So, when Gran asked for me to pop round to The Burrow with a dozen mince pies, my cold turned into a contagious bout of influenza. This led me to another week of imprisonment, forcing feeble coughs and surreptitiously warming the thermometer on the radiator.

'Flu, I read, in Doctor Carbuncle's Medical Notes, does not normally last more than a fortnight.

And that left me where I was now, sitting up in bed and flicking through the book for a new medical complaint. If nothing else, the book kept me from dire boredom. I had forgotten that I had few possessions of much interest- a mere bookshelf, a wand and what looked like it might be a festering set of bagpipes. The wallpaper was driving me mad with it's navy fleur de lys pattern that distorted before my eyes after a good minute's staring.

There was a small window, which gave a rather dismal country view. Under a grey sky the fields appeared sludge brown, edged with leafless trees. A farmer trundled along the field, one hand on his flat-cap to protect his head from the sad drizzle. Behind him, even, walked an aged cow, hanging her grey speckled head at her mundane bovine life.

Ugh.

I couldn't stand the boredom of being alone much longer. I took my wand from the small bedside table and turned it over in my hands, wondering... Could a wand change my feelings? Or Mrs. Weasley's? Could I make her forget, or Ron?

And more importantly, could I even remember how to use a wand?

Magic, I was certain, could help me. Yes, memory charms, love potions... It was possible to free myself from the scarlet woman! Nobody would ever remember our affair- not even me! And we would all live happily ever after. Simple as that.

In my excitement, I waved my wand with a delicate flick of the wrist. A shower of magenta stars shot out, a confirmation to me that I could indeed work miracles with it. In a matter of days- hours even!- we would be none the wiser of our sordid cinnamon liaisons. It was brilliant, so brilliant and...... And I had just set the curtains on fire.

Oh God! The curtains were up in flames! It must have been the wand, I thought as I flapped a slipper at the fire in desperation to put it out. Was Gran home? If she was, I would be in trouble of the worst kind. Think, Longbottom, I screeched to myself.. What puts out a fire?

Water!!

I dashed out of the room, skidding on the wooden floor as I went. We had a bucket on the doorstep to collect rainwater- its purpose had never been clear to me. I fumbled with the doorknob frantically, finally managing to wrench it open with my teeth. I reached down for the bucket, when a cold hand grasped my shoulder.

I screamed of course, almost splashing water all over the person in question. I looked up to see rather a disgruntled Ron Weasley holding the Daily Prophet over his head in the rain.

"Er.. Ron.. Can't talk now- fire!" I turned on my heel, certain that the fire had by now burnt down my whole room and half the downstairs loo.

"Couldn't you come up with something better, Longbottom?" Ron stayed on the doorstep, face twisted into an uncharacteristic smirk. I realised that he must have noticed how I was avoiding his family and that a fire did indeed sound like a pathetic excuse.

"No, really!" I flailed my arms, gesturing at the house. "Really, Ron, there's a fire!" He followed me inside and I ran to my room, wielding the bucket.

"Stay back," I told him, "this might be dangerous."

And I opened the door with a deep breath to see........ Nothing. Unless you counted the meagre pile of ashes barely smouldering in the dim light.

"Er... oh." I gave Ron a sheepish smile. His eyes did not meet mine, but he sat down on my bed and cleared his throat.

"Well," he began, taking care not to make eye contact. I wasn't complaining. "Christmas."

Oh marvellous, the very thing and very person I had been trying so hard to avoid. Ron stared straight at me, locking me in his increasingly scary glare.

"Do you love her?"

I blinked.

"What?"

"Do you love her- my mother?"

Er.... It was my turn to clear my throat. Did I love Mrs. Weasley? Not in a romantic way. Not in the way that would suggest we were infact star crossed lovers. I was fond of her and felt I was doing her a favour. I thought she was beautiful and let's face it, rather sexy. But I was in no way in love with a scarlet woman!

"No...."

I hadn't meant to speak it out loud, and only realised when Ron's blank expression turned to an open mouth. I knew I had almost certainly said the wrong thing.

"God, Neville."

Sorry, Ron, you may have seen me snogging the face off your mother, but don't worry, I'm not in love with her. I'm just using her for the sex. Stupid Neville! What dignity I had swirled its way into the jaws of oblivion and left me speechless and wide eyed.

"What I meant was... me.. your mum- it was the summer and- ahem.."

It was at that moment when Ron almost leapt off my bed, whipping a bottle out of his pocket. He stood before me, eyes glittering and chest heaving rather melodramatically.

"Tell the truth, Neville. Or will I have to make you?"

Perhaps I should have kept the fire going and let it swallow me up.

"Yes.." Ron continued, pacing around the room. In other circumstances, I might have laughed at his performance. It was so deliciously pantomime villain that I wondered if Ron was having me on.

"Veritaserum!" He tapped the bottle with a long finger and gave me a threatening glare. I backed away slightly, trying to control my cowardly tremble.

I did not want the truth potion. It would not be my first encounter with it- when I was six the ministry held an enquiry for the attack on my parents and being the only witness, I was forced to recall the events. I would not take the potion again, but an invisible hand was drawing me to tell Ron the truth anyway. This time I would not pass out, and would leave out no details. There was no need for Veritaserum.

"No, Ron." I held up my hand, palm outstretched to him.

"I'll tell you the truth."

*

As I laid out my soul before Ron's eyes, I started to see the absurdity in it all. Here I was, a chubby, unremarkable boy not yet eighteen drawn into a ridiculous affair with a middle-aged mother of seven. This mother of seven, the lady who made the best cakes in the village, who rescued kittens from trees, who knitted every child in the village a jumper at Christmas; had seduced me against my will, manipulated me and snatched my innocence from under my virgin nose.

The words not, bloody and likely all came to mind.

I told Ron about my love for Ginny- how I thought her a goddess and I a mere mortal. How in a way, being with his mother made me feel like a bigger person, or a person Ginny might have some interest in. I told him about what happened after I woke up in the airing cupboard and how I snubbed his beautiful sister in my state of angst.

And then, I went on to telling Ron about my need for a mother figure. I figured he would think I was a pervert after that, but I had already done a good job by sleeping with the mother of the girl I loved. Somehow, I thought, it might explain my reasons for the affair- a deep psychological need I had to fulfil. Or, if not, it would emphasise to Ron that this was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Of course, Ron had raised his eyebrows at this.

"You mean you wanted to sleep with your mother?"

Oh shit. I hadn't ever really thought about that. What if I was really, really sick and twisted?

As I mulled that over in my head, I continued my story for Ron. I told him about the notes his mother left me and the sly feet under the table. Of course, I was careful with the wording- I didn't really want to make Ron think his mother was so wanton. So I told him what I knew was a downright lie- that she had not been to blame for this.

"Don't blame her, Ron." I said, with the air of one about to sprout white, feathery wings and start twanging a harp. "She was confused, it happens a lot to women of her age in a stable relationship." Why was it, I wondered, that I had become so fluent when I really ought to shut up? "You know how much your mum loves your dad. She was missing him so much- she just needed a shoulder to cry on, really." Oh yes. This was working. "She began to think she loved me, when really, she was just looking for a substitute for your dad while he was away. She started to get very upset when I told her to stop- poor woman. Must have been her, er, hormones."

I didn't know if Ron was buying this, but I was planning to make full use of my new gift to distort the truth for the good of others.

"I felt sorry for her, Ron. She was so vulnerable- so lost. As you can imagine, I'm pretty used to that feeling." I laughed weakly. Ron said nothing, his expression blank. "She didn't really know what she was doing. And neither did I, Ron. We were two confused people looking for comfort in all the wrong places. I'm sorry it had to turn out like it did."

Finally, the language flowing through me ceased. And I wondered, just maybe if the words had more truth in them than I thought. Ron sat there on my bed for what seemed like ages, face scrunched up into a frown whilst he muttered to himself. This was more like the Ron I knew, the one who always tried to make sense of the truth even if he didn't like it. Finally, he spoke.

"You know what, Neville? I'm going to forget this ever happened. And maybe you should, too."

The wisest words to ever come from a Weasley.

"Break things off with my mum, before it gets any worse."

I nodded dumbly, half wanting to jump up and hug him and half wanting to give myself an Oscar for my fantastic performance. Of course, I did neither, thinking them a little unsuitable for these circumstances.

Then I realised how uncomfortable Ron looked, now standing with his big hands dangling at his side. He didn't seem to want to look at me, or anything for that matter. I would have been grateful a while ago, but what I wanted now was things to go back to the way they were. For Ron to come round occasionally and drag me to the pub, where the other lads would be waiting. To have a laugh, which I hadn't done for a while now, unless at my own expense. I wanted Mrs. Weasley to go back to making cakes and knitting jumpers. And I wanted to go back to being the desperately uncool Neville Longbottom, only having to worry about the little things like what colour socks to wear or what flavour crisps should be eaten with beer.

"Well.." Ron began, eyes fixed on the nasty wallpaper. "Thanks, Neville. And I almost forgot- Ginny wants to talk to you about something. She said you could find her at the Hag's Beard tonight."

Ron glanced up at me and then left the room. I followed him to the door, where I made to open it for him. Ron tensed up and looked sideways at me.

"No, it's alright. Really."

Then he opened the door and let himself out, walking quickly up the path until he was out of sight. And silently, I made the resolution to break my relations with Mrs. Weasley for good, if not for myself and everybody else, then for Ron. I would also find Ginny in that stuffy little pub tonight and listen to whatever it was she had to tell me, and more importantly, I would talk to her. Properly.

After I had swept up the ashes, of course.