Michelle

Chapter Five

Introductions

As Ron led Michelle by the hand out of the woods, one hand clutching his packages, he wondered, What will Mum and Dad think of Michelle?

Are Ginny and Michelle friends? Do they even know each other?

What about Harry and Hermione? Will they be polite to me, or will they be total jerks? Harry probably will, but I don't think Hermione will...she's usually really nice...when she's not breaking up with people....

Fred and George will be real arseholes about this whole thing...first I break up with Hermione, then I come home with this strange girl! But no one ever said they were coming to dinner...I still have hope...

He glanced at Michelle as they hurried up the slope and started toward the Burrow's back door--he felt his stomach flutter as he felt her hand in his and looked at her beautiful features. He shook himself sternly. C'mon, Ronald, you don't love her! I mean...you hardly know her! Ron! Ron! You don't love Michelle!

"Ron! Ron!" Michelle's voice cut into his thoughts.

Crap. "Er...what is it?"

"Is this your house?" she asked, tilting her head back so that she could see the whole house.

"Yup, this is it, the Burrow," Ron replied, feeling a small stab of pride; it took very powerful magic to hold up all those floors, and his mum and dad had done that, with no help from Dumbledore.

"Wow..." Michelle said in awe, her eyes widening.

"C'mon, I'll introduce you to my family." Ron checked his watch: 4:49. Almost supper time--not too early, not too late. He breathed a sigh of relief and took a step closer to the house.

"And Harry Potter too?" Michelle gasped excitedly.

"Yeah," Ron said, feeling his stomach drop at the idea of what Harry would say--would he ignore Ron, or just be plain mean?

"Oh cool!"

Carefully, his heart pounding, Ron pried open the back door and flung it open; he stepped inside, Michelle close behind him.

Immediately Ron regretted that he hadn't come home.

"Ron!" Hermione squealed, landing on the floor with a dull thud in the living room. Harry's glasses were lopsided and he was sitting on the couch right above Hermione, his eyes wide and his face bright red.

"Uh..." Harry stuttered, resembling a beet more and more with every second.

Ron dropped the packages.

"Oh my," Michelle breathed behind Ron.

"Who the hell is that?" Harry demanded suddenly, pointing at Michelle.

"Michelle. Michelle Gales," Ron said, his mouth half hanging open.

Michelle elbowed him hard in the ribs and hissed, "Gilmore."

"Er...Michelle Gilmore," Ron corrected quickly. He bent down, picked up the packs, and placed them on the table.

"Ron!" Hermione squeaked again, pulling herself up into a sitting position and leaning against the couch, her cheeks nearly as red as Ginny's hair. "We...we weren't expecting you for an hour at least!"

"How could you have known where I went?" Ron asked hotly. "You had no idea...I could have been anywhere..."

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, her eyes stretched wide in fear. "We...we just thought you needed some time to...to unwind and...and cool off!"

"Really? Was that dear Harry's idea? Have you two been shagging while I was off 'unwinding'?" Ron blurted out angrily.

"Hell no, Ron," Harry said disgustedly. "What kind of sick perverts do you take us for? Besides, you know that Hermione would never have pre-marital sex!"

Hermione nodded fervently. "Mum and Dad would kill me if I got pregnant before marriage."

"Great," Ron said. He was really starting to get pissed--he already knew all these things! "And here's Michelle. Michelle Gagron"--"Gilmore," Michelle hissed in his ear--"er, Gilmore, from..."

"London," Michelle said, beaming at Harry and Hermione but looking embarrassed at the same time. "Thanks for the introduction, Ron."

"Twice," Harry growled. "First he said Gales, then he said Gagron. Honestly, Ron, you're such an idiot."

Michelle looked taken aback at such language and said, "Uh...so, um, Harry...how've you been?"

"Been better," the raven-haired boy merely grunted.

"Um...who is this? Is this Hermione Granger?" Michelle asked. Oh no, Ron thought exasperatedly. You're making everything worse....

"Yes," Hermione said, standing up and trying to smile but managing instead a twisted smirk.

"Head Girl? And...and everything?" Michelle asked timidly, apparently trying to take in everything, from Harry's scowl to Hermione's blushing face to Ron's look of defiance.

"Yep, that's her," Harry mumbled. "Now if you'll excuse us, we have some serious snogging to do."

There was soft chuckle from the stairway and Ron turned to see Ginny, her face spread in a wide grin, and a boy he didn't know, with dark brown hair, big brown eyes, and rather large front teeth.

"Now who's this?" Ron asked Ginny fiercely. "Don't tell me you're going out with another guy!"

Ginny ignored Ron and continued to grin. "Hey, Michelle. Long time no see."

"Yeah. Same here." Michelle responded rather awkwardly, as if she couldn't believe that Ginny was friends with the Boy-Who-Lived and the (former) Head Girl of Hogwarts and had daily, completely regular conversations with them.

"Who the hell is that?" Ron exploded impatiently, waving his finger at the black-haired boy.

The boy spoke, in an American accent. "Paul. Paul Withers. Yeah, I'm American, been raised there 'til I was 10, then we moved here. I was in Ginny's year at Hogwarts, only in Ravenclaw." He exchanged brief smiles with Michelle and continued, "Michelle and I were actually going out for a few years, remember, Michelle?"

"Couldn't forget," Michelle stammered, going a shade of red that was, in Ron's opinion, absolutely beautiful.

Paul grinned and said, "Yeah, it was fun. I made a lot of new friends."

"Where'd he come from?" Hermione asked curiously, sitting down on the couch next to Harry, who tried to get up but was pushed down by Hermione; he scowled at her in an excellent imitation of Viktor Krum.

"Um..." Ginny turned a shade of purple that Harry's Uncle Vernon would have been proud of and muttered, "Apparation...you know...."

"To where?" Harry asked slyly, apparently trying to get on Ginny's bad side for some unknown reason.

"Um..." Ginny's blush deepened and she murmured something inaudible.

"What was that?" Ron demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Ron, I really don't think--" Michelle began, but Ron raised a hand to silence her.

"Bedroom," Ginny muttered at last, her cheeks flaming.

"I thought so," Ron said triumphantly. "Tell me...whose bedroom? And when?"

"Mine," Ginny whispered. "About two hours ago."

"Mmm," Paul said, his cheeks also aflame.

"My my my, Ginny Weasley, a Gryffindor, going out with Paul Withers, a Ravenclaw. I'd say we've got ourselves a situation here, gentlemen--and ladies," Harry added hastily as Hermione shot him a withering look.

"Shut up, Harry," Ginny snapped suddenly, taking all of them by surprise. "Just because you're my ex-boyfriend doesn't mean I'm going to put up with your crap. C'mon, Paul, let's go outside." She grabbed Paul's arm and marched out the door, brushing lightly against Ron and Michelle and hurrying away from the house.

"Great job, Harry, just great," Ron rounded on Harry, frustrated. "Why did you have to do that? There's nothing wrong with it. You were crushing on Luna in sixth year before Ginny!"

Harry turned red, a shade relative to Ginny's, and hissed, "So? I mean, no, why would I ever like Luna? And so what? Even if I did--"

"So you have no right to talk about my sister like that!"

"Shut up," Harry snarled, getting to his feet; Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder but he roughly shoved it off.

"You can't make me shut up!" Ron hollered, his hand closing automatically around his wand.

"How do you know? I know more hexes and curses than both of you put together!" Harry pointed wildly from Michelle to Ron and narrowed his eyes.

"And how do you know that? You don't know how smart Michelle is!" Ron carefully raised his wand and pointed it at Harry. "If you move, I'll make a point of killing you."

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, her eyes filling with tears as she jumped to her feet. "Stop it! Stop it, both of you!"

"No! He's a filthy bastard and he'll pay for what he did!" Harry bellowed, and he launched himself at Ron.

"Ron, look out!" Hermione screamed.

Michelle jumped in front of Ron, wildly waved her wand, and caused Harry to stop in mid-air, a few feet above the ground; he fell to the ground with a crash, clouds of dust billowing up around him.

"What did I ever do to you?" Ron asked shakily, backing up against the wall. "What? Tell me, what did I do?"

Harry struggled to his feet. "You eavesdropped. You didn't believe I had entered the TriWizard Tournament. You did so many things that made me mad that I can't even name them."

"Oh, come on Harry, that was fourth year," Ron said weakly.

"Harry," Hermione said slowly, "get away from them. Now. Before Ron's mum--"

"Too late," a voice said, and Mrs. Weasley appeared at the bottom of the stairs, her hands on her hips and her face contorted in anger. "Tell me what this is all about," she said firmly.

"Nothing," Harry said, dusting himself off; Michelle was staring at him, her eyes wide in horror--was it possible that she was regretting that she had done what she did?

"Something," Mrs. Weasley corrected tartly. "I want you three--now who is this?" She seemed to have just noticed Michelle.

"Michelle, ma'am. Michelle Gilmore, ma'am," Michelle stammered, lowering her wand.

"Nice to meet you, Michelle," Mrs. Weasley said kindly, before turning to Ron and saying resolutely, "You and Michelle go outside. Harry and Hermione, go the other direction."

"Apple orchard," Ron said hastily, and he led Michelle past Harry and Hermione--Harry tried to trip them--and out the door to the orchard.

They walked in silence along the rolling hills of the countryside, each immersed in their own thoughts. Finally they stopped at the orchard, and Ron put his hands in his pockets, occasionally reaching out to touch the rough bark of an apple tree.

"You know," he said unexpectedly, "I used to come out here, all the time, when I was younger, like five or six. My brothers would bring their brooms and play Quidditch with these apples, throwing them as far as they could or enchanting them to be Beaters and using some of the larger ones as the Quaffle. I used to watch them, longing to play with them. But no, they'd say, 'you're too young'. I was so sad. Even back then, I didn't fit in...not even with my own family...." He hung his head.

Michelle was watching him sadly. "You really want to fit in, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do. I never have, and I probably never will." He walked over to the next tree and lifted a hand to hang on to the lowest branch, thinking, Why am I telling her all this? Why? I hardly know her...and yet...he glanced at her and felt his stomach flutter. Yet I think I love her. "I'm tired of always being second-best. You know, with Harry and Hermione...Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived, and Hermione's the smartest girl in school, and I'm just the dumb idiot who decided to be friends with the famous Boy-Who-Lived." He sighed, defeated. "Why can't people like me for who I am, not what I am? Everyone always has to judge. If they see a Weasley, they automatically think, 'oh, that's the poor family who has more kids than they can afford to have!' It's so annoying. People just tend to judge on the outside. It's what's on the inside that counts, right?"

He had no idea where the words were coming from; they just were. It was almost scary, but Ron was starting to sound like Hermione. But he didn't really mind. A part of him still loved her, and a part of him, however small, always would.

There was a long silence, in which Ron fiddled with a small twig on the branch and Michelle stared at her shoes.

Michelle broke the silence, saying, "I know how you feel."

"You do?" Ron asked, surprised. He turned and saw her face upturned and catching the setting sun's rays.

"Yeah," she said absently.

Suddenly there was a cry from the house. "Michelle! Ron! Dinner!"

"Mum," Ron murmured under his breath.

"C'mon, let's go," Michelle said, looking at him and then starting for the house.

He did go.

But reluctantly, never wanting to leave the orchard, where those happy, care-free memories were.

The only problem was, they were beginning to seem bitter.