Ron Weasley and the Green Flame Torch

For the following two weeks, Harry and the Weasleys went to visit Hermione every day for two and a half hours in the morning, and then went back to Grimmauld Place to "help the Order" by cleaning every single room.

"It's not fair, Mum," Ron whined one day as they dusted one of the many guestrooms in the mansion. "We did this last year. Why do we have to do it this year?"

"Things don't stay clean, Ron," said Mrs. Weasley before looking at him sharply and saying, "You should know that better than anyone. It's amazing how drastically your room has changed in the past two weeks."

Ron shrugged and mumbled, "Harry's in the room, too", but his mother didn't hear him.

Back at St. Mungo's, Hermione was getting better by the hour. Her ribs were slowly turning back to normal with the help of her fifteen--a--day potions. Ron constantly wondered when she would be allowed to leave, but he never asked, and luckily for him his question was answered on the Saturday of the second week.

"Hermione," he said, looking up from his Chudley Cannons magazine. They were in her hospital room, and Ron was getting restless. He already knew everything there was to know about the Chudley Cannons, and Hermione, the person he was supposed to be entertaining, was immersed in an old, thick book that was liable to put someone to sleep.

"Yes?" she said distractedly, her eyes not leaving her--in Ron's opinion--boring reading material.

"What are you reading that you can't seem to get your nose out of?" he asked, propping up his elbows on her bed and looking at her unblinkingly.

"E. E. Cummings," she said faintly.

"E what?" said Ron incredulously.

"E. E. Cummings," she said slowly and clearing, finally looking up from the page long enough to glance at him. "He's a famous American poet."

"Oh," he said, his voice flat from disappointment. "What kind of name is E. E. Cummings?"

"It stands for Edward Estlin Cummings," she said a little impatiently.

"Oh," he said, nodding comprehensibly. When he didn't say anything else, Hermione smiled vaguely at him, and went back to her book. A few minutes later, Harry walked in.

"Hey," he said, grinning. "What's up?"

"Nothing," said Ron in a bored voice. He looked at Hermione. "Hermione's reading E.D Mummings."

"E. E. Cummings!" interjected Hermione hotly.

Ron rolled his eyes.

"Oh," said Harry, although he looked like he had no idea who E. E. Cummings was. "That's nice."

"He's an American poet," said Ron dramatically, flailing his arms around in rhythm to his words.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, you have no idea what good literature is, do you?"

"'Course I do," he replied matter--of--factly. "Good literature is literature that is good."

Harry snorted while Hermione just looked at him, exasperated.

"Ron!" she cried, pointing down at her book. "This is excellent writing! It's simply brilliant."

"Oh really?" he said, eyebrows raised. "Why don't you read some of that E. W Hummings stuff and I'll just check for myself if it is 'simply brilliant'."

"Fine, and it's E. E. Cummings!" said Hermione before taking a deep breath, and looking down at her book again. She cleared her throat and said:

"My mind is

A big hunk of irrevocable nothing, which touch and taste and smell

And hearing and sight keep hitting and chipping with sharp fatal

Tools

In an agony of sensual chisels I perform squirms of chrome and ex

-Acute strides of cobalt

Nevertheless I

Feel that I cleverly am being altered that I slightly am becoming

Something a little different, in fact

Myself

Hereupon helpless I utter lilac shrieks and scarlet bellowings."

Hermione looked at them expectantly. "Well? What do you think?"

Ron blinked. "I don't know...I'm still trying to understand it," he said, looking as if his brain had just had a work out. "So he's comparing his mind to a flower? That guy's a nutter."

Hermione looked scandalized. She opened her mouth to retort, but Healer Smyth came in to give her her hourly potion, so she resorted to simply glaring at him.

"Hello, Hermione," said Healer Smyth cheerfully as he put a tray of lumpy looking potions on her bedside table. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," she said.

"No problems or anything?" asked the Healer, searching her face for any sign of illness.

"Well, sometimes my ribs hurt if I move too quickly," she said. "But other than that, I'm okay."

"Good, that's good." He smiled. "In that case, you can leave tomorrow morning."

Ron's head popped up. Did he hear him right? Did he actually say she was free to go, she could leave, be gone?

"Are you serious?" said Harry, taking the words right out of Ron's mouth.

"Yes," said Healer Smyth, beaming at Hermione. "This little one has done all that's asked of her, so she's free to go."

Ron leapt from his seat, and punched the air triumphantly. "Yes! She's free! You're free, 'Mione! You're free! Now you can come to Grimmauld Place with us!"

"She's free in the morning," corrected the Healer, looking amused at Ron's behavior.

"Same thing," said Ron distractedly, smiling down at Hermione, who--to his surprise--was looking slightly put out. "You can leave! Aren't you happy?"

"Yes I'm happy, but--"

"Hermione!" cried Mrs. Granger as she and her husband ran into the room. "Healer Smyth's just told us! You're free to go tomorrow! It's just wonderful! Isn't it wonderful, dear?"

"Excellent," said Mr. Granger, beaming at his daughter. He placed a kiss on her head. "I'll go ring your grandparents right now."

Ron watched Mr. Granger pass him in confusion. What was he going to do? What did "ringing" have to do with Hermione's grandparents?

"Your father is so excited, Hermione," Mrs. Granger told her daughter excitedly. "You haven't seen your grandparents since you were a baby. They'll be so pleased to see what a beautiful young woman you've become--"

Hermione merely nodded at her mother's rambling, but her eyes were glued on Harry and Ron. Ron had never been good at emotions, but he could tell Hermione was very upset about something.

"Mum," she said, looking back at Mrs. Granger. "Can I have a moment?"

Mrs. Granger looked from Harry to Ron to Hermione, and a look of comprehension washed over her face.

"Oh," she said, nodding. "I'll leave...I'll be back soon, though."

"Ok," said Hermione, watching as her mother left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Why is your dad going to ring your grandparents?" said Harry, moving closer to Hermione's bed.

"What?" said Ron, utterly confused. He glanced at Harry and gave him a questioning look.

"I'm spending the rest of the summer with my grandparents in Scotland," she said quickly, avoiding their--particularly Ron's--eyes.

Ron's heart dropped and splattered right there on the St. Mungo's floor. "But...why?" he asked, trying hard not to sound desperate and angry at the same time, but instead, it came out as a whine.

"Well, my parents want to spend the rest of the summer with me to keep an eye on me, and our house is ruined, and my dad really wanted to see his parents, so..." Hermione trailed off, looking down at her sheets.

"But--what if something else happens?" said Harry frantically. "What if Voldemort--" Ron cringed "--is in Scotland?"

"If he is, how would he know I was staying there?" asked Hermione, glancing at him.

"He has his ways, Hermione," he said angrily. "You're going to have to tell your parents that it's better for you to stay here where--"

"You can have an eye on me?" she finished for him, eyebrows raised.

Harry turned red, and then nodded reluctantly. "Well...yeah...I guess so."

"You two don't have to watch me, you know," said Hermione in her angry voice.

"No, we don't have to, but we feel like it's necessary." This time it was Ron who spoke. He gave her an expectant look. "You can't go to Scotland...you just can't."

"This wasn't my decision, Ron," she said. "My parents want me to go, and since they are my parents, I have to listen to them."

"But--my mum can tell them to let you stay at Grimmauld Place," said Ron, nodding. "She's very persuasive."

Hermione shook her head sadly.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. And the Order already told my mum and dad it's fine, so there's no reason that I can't go to Scotland."

"It sounds like you want to go," Ron muttered bitterly, hoping she didn't hear him, but--of course--she did.

"I don't want to go to Scotland!" she snapped, throwing the blankets off of her body and quickly getting out of her bed to glower at Ron. "The only reason I'm going is to keep my parents happy."

"What about me and Harry?" asked Ron, towering over her. Hermione scowled and stuck a finger in his chest

"Oh, honestly Ron!" she cried, throwing her arms up in the air. She glared up at Ron with such a fierce it made him double back slightly. "I--don't--want--to--go--to--Scotland," she said through gritted teeth, walking closer to him with each word, causing him to walk backwards.

This must be a funny sight, he thought, I'm running away from a girl nearly a foot shorter than me! And then, as if on cue, Ron saw Harry grinning out of the corner of his eye.

Ron scowled.

"Okay, okay," he said weakly, shrinking under Hermione's gaze. "You don't want to go to Scotland."

She nodded, gave him a threatening gaze, and turned to return to her bed.

"And it's only until school starts up again." She covered herself with her blanket. "I'll see you two on September 1^st."

~*~

The next day was dreary and boring. Ron and Harry woke up at the early hour of six, and went to St. Mungo's with Mrs. Weasley and Ginny to say goodbye to Hermione. When they approached Purge and Dowse Ltd., they found Hermione and her parents departing the vacant warehouse.

"Oh, hey," she said, smiling at Harry, Ron and Ginny. "I'm finally out."

"Lucky you," said Ron dryly.

Hermione frowned. "Oh, honestly--"

"Hermione," said Mrs. Granger, turning to look at her daughter after having a few words with Mrs. Weasley. "We have to get going now."

"Oh, right," said Hermione, nodding. She looked at her friends. "Well, I'll see you soon," she said, smiling grimly. "And I'll owl and tell you how much I hate Scotland," she added in a hushed voice.

"Good," said Ron, Harry, and Ginny in unison.

"Right." Hermione nodded slightly, and then forced a smile. "Well, bye."

"'Bye," said Ron, Harry, and Ginny, waving.

Hermione nodded again, and then followed her parents down the street.

Ron groaned, inwardly kicking himself. He just stood there stupidly, and watched her walk away, knowing that he wouldn't see her for another two months. Why couldn't he just...hug her or something?

"Don't worry about it, Ron," said Ginny comfortingly from beside him. "You'll just owl her a lot."

"Right," he said, nodding at his sister. "You're right."

Ginny smiled knowingly. "I know."

~*~

"Today your mission is to clean up in here," announced Mrs. Weasley as she, Harry and Ron walked into the attic of Grimmauld Place.

Ron scowled. There was no way in hell he was going to clean up this place. There was a musky smell in the air, and every square inch of the attic was covered with dust or boxes or both. He looked up and spotted a rather large spider web. Ron's eyes widened, and he immediately ran for the door.

"Ron!" said Mrs. Weasley, catching him before he could leave. "What is it?"

"Spiders," he whispered as if saying the word "spiders" would make them appear out of thin air.

"Oh, honestly Ron," she said scathingly, rolling her eyes. "Harry'll be in here. If you see a spider, just scream and he'll kill it for you."

Harry laughed, but Ron frowned.

"That's not funny," he said seriously, glancing at the spider web with uneasiness creeping up in his stomach. He suddenly felt very sick. "Mum, please..."

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Fine," she said, her voice flat. "You two go to the kitchen. You'll help me make lunch."

Ron practically ran down to the kitchen. To him, anything was better than being around creepy spiders with their eight legs and intimidating glare. Just thinking about it made Ron shudder.

A few minutes later Harry entered the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley and they proceeded to make sandwiches. Mrs. Weasley placed a tray of bread and assorted meats in front of them, and they started to put them together. This got increasingly boring, and Ron soon found a way to make sandwich making much more interesting. He arranged the meat on the bread to form crude hand signals and even managed to make a picture of Viktor Krum with bologna for eyebrows and olives for eyes. Mrs. Weasley saw this, and snatched the sandwich away from him before he could finish Krum's pretzel fingers.

"You don't play with your food," she scalded him, shaking a finger under his nose.

Ron frowned. "Oh come on, Mum...you never let us have any fun here."

"You can have fun," she said. "Just not the kind of fun you want to have."

"What kind of fun can we have, then?" asked Ron, taking a piece of bologna and biting into it.

"You can do your homework--"

"Mum, you sound like Hermione," he said, shaking his head disappointingly. "Homework isn't fun."

"Well, neither is making sandwiches, but you have to do what has to be done!" she said firmly, her eyes on her son.

Ron shrugged, and glanced at Harry. "You okay, mate?" he asked.

Harry nodded and shrugged at the same time. "Yeah."

Ron raised his eyebrows, but said nothing else. He knew something was bothering Harry; his bothersome--ness was practically oozing off of his baggy clothes, but Ron didn't press him. Harry would tell him when he wanted him to know. Ron knew this, but he couldn't help but feel a little anxious. He wanted to help Harry, he really did, but he couldn't help him if he always pushed his loved ones away.

Ron let out a quiet sigh, and looked back at his mother. "Where's Dad?"

Mrs. Weasley dropped an iron pan in the sink with a crash!, making Ron involuntarily flinch. "He's at work."

"Oh." Ron nodded awkwardly before taking another bite of bologna. It was oddly quiet in the house, and Ron felt very antsy; He wished he had something to do.

"Here," said Mrs. Weasley briskly, motioning for Ron and Harry to get up. They obeyed, and took the plate of sandwiches she shoved in their chests. "Take these up to Ginny and Fred and George."

Harry and Ron nodded, and then walked upstairs and into Ginny's room, where she was sitting on her bed, cross-legged and reading her massive Potions book.

"Hey," said Ron, handing her a sandwich. "Bon appetite."

"Why're you reading Potions?" asked Harry, peering down at the book.

"I want to finish my homework before the holiday is over," she said smartly, grinning at her brother. "You know, so I can avoid getting detention this year."

"Right," said Ron, grinning. "You have O.W.L's this year."

Ginny nodded.

"Good luck." Ron grinned even harder. "Going through the O.W.L's is like going to hell and coming back."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks, Ron. That really makes me feel better."

Ron smiled. "Anytime."

~*~

After a very short dinner that night, Harry, Ron and Ginny gathered in the sitting room and begrudgingly did their homework. Ron found attempting to his homework without Hermione hovering over his shoulder oddly unsettling. He kept looking over his shoulder, hoping she would suddenly appear and help him write a foot long essay on the difference between Trolls and Giants.

Ginny looked equally perplexed. She seemed to drown in her parchment as she continually scratched out things in her homework, shaking her head along the way. The scratching of her quill pierced through the silence, making Ron silently scowl every time. He was already distracted, he didn't need her loudness distracting him even more. Ron silently prayed for a reason to go somewhere else. Half an hour later, his prayer was answered when Mr. Weasley walked into the room followed closely by Mrs. Weasley and Fred and George.

"Er--Harry, Ron, Ginny," he said loudly. "I have something I need to tell you."

Mrs. Weasley nodded, urging him on.

"Well, as you know, Cornelius Fudge denied rumors that You--Know--Who is back last year, and he is now in a great deal of trouble for it," said Mr. Weasley nervously. "That being said, he resigned from his position of Minister of Magic and I was appointed the new Minister of Magic by the Wizengamot."

Ginny's eyes bulged and Ron, Harry, Fred and George tried to look surprised at this news, but Mrs. Weasley saw right through them.

"How did you know?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"Mother!" said Fred with mock indignation. "We didn't know our dear father--"

"Shush!" she said shrilly.

Fred stopped talking instantly.

"How did you know?" she repeated firmly.

"We heard you and Dad talking about it that night," said Ron nervously, avoiding his mother's intense gaze.

"Oh," said Mrs. Weasley, suddenly turning pink. "I guess I talk a little loud."

"Just a little," said Ron quietly. He exchanged knowing glances with Harry, and both of them knew not to speak of the vent; they knew Mrs. Weasley would make them change rooms, and they didn't want to. That vent would be very useful to them.

"So, Dad," said Ginny slowly, "you're Minister of Magic?"

Mr. Weasley nodded.

"Wow," said Ginny quietly. "That's...wow."

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley, nodding. "Which means your father will not be home very often now. And whenever he is working, we must always keep quiet. The Minister's job is very tiring and time-consuming."

Harry, Ron, and Ginny nodded.

Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to speak again, but she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Ron jumped up, strode to the entryway, and opened the door.

He gasped a little, but smiled. "Hey Hermione."