Ron's Kiddies

Ron's Kiddies

By Tweak McFreak

~Chapter One: Fired!~

"Oi, Weasley! You've got a new assignment and I think your gonna like it!" a female voice yelled though Ron's closed office door.

"Hold on Roberta!" Ron replied and finished scrawling out the remainder of his owl to the manager of the Appleby Arrows. He threw his crooked quill onto his desk and then got out of his swiveling chair to open the door.

Roberta O'Bryan, his boss in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, stood beaming in front of his office, holding up a small piece of parchment in her hands. "What is it?" Ron asked, reaching for the parchment. Roberta held it playfully out of his reach.

"It's a letter from the coordinator of the Quidditch playoffs, you know, Bernie? Well, he sent me a letter and it says...." she started, and then trailed off purposely.

"Come on, Roberta! Tell me!" Ron insisted impatiently, jumping up to get the parchment, but, because Roberta was half a foot taller, Ron couldn't get it (Which got rather irritating at times; Ron was taller than most people.).

"That depends on what you have to give me in return," Roberta joked.

Ron thought for a moment, then said, grinning wickedly, "I'll get you a date with Percy! I know how much you like him...."

Roberta made a disgusted face and punched Ron lightly in the arm. "Gross! You can have this!" she said and threw the paper at Ron, who caught it and unfurled it eagerly. It said:

Dear Mr. Ronald B. Weasley:

I am pleased to be the one to ask you to referee for the upcoming Quidditch playoff game, the Montrose Magpies versus the Kenmare Kestrels on July the twenty-seventh at five o'clock. Please send an owl to the International Quidditch Headquarters by July the twenty-first informing us of your decision. Hope you have a pleasant day!

Sincerely,

Bernard Smyth-Llewellyn Jr.

Ron stared incredulously at the letter, dumbfounded into utter speechlessness. Roberta giggled.

"I told you that you'd like it," she pointed out, chuckling heartily.

Ron opened his mouth and closed it, making him look like a fish at an aquarium. Finally, he managed to spit out, "Is this... some kind of joke? A playoff game?"

Roberta shook her head. "Well, the seal looked authentic, and we all know how hard it is to duplicate an IQH seal. Are you going to accept?"

Ron nodded. "You think I'm stupid enough to refuse this? This may be my only chance! I'd be crazy not to accept!"

"I thought so," Roberta said matter-of-factly as Ron grinned like an idiot. "Well, you'd better reply now; in two days you won't be able to. I've got a meeting and Bagman's attending, so I can't be late. Bye," she waved and headed down the corridor, dodging a flying paper aeroplane that would have hit her square in the forehead had she not seen it.

Ron watched her leave, then reread his letter. "I can't believe it.... I get to do the commentary!" he muttered excitedly to himself and backed into his office, shutting the door behind him. He tossed it on his desk and then plopped into the swiveling chair.

He spun around happily a couple of times, then reached into his drawer for a scrap of parchment. Picking up the crooked quill, he dipped it clumsily in his chipped inkpot and then wrote out a reply to the IQH. After five minutes, he finished and fished out an envelope, putting the letter in it. He scrawled the address quickly, stamped the Department of Magical Games and Sports seal, and walked over to his three foot tall window, where his owl, Taber, waited patiently for him to tie the letter to his leg. Taber hooted softly as Ron carried him to the window and opened it. He held out his arm and Taber took flight with another hoot. Ron watched the owl fly into the sun before shutting the window and then returned to his desk in order to finish his earlier letter to the captain of the Appleby Arrows.

The rest of the day seemed to go by really fast, whether it was people who had heard about his wonderful news congratulating him, or daydreaming about giving a Montrose Magpie player a foul and such in the upcoming playoff game.

Just as he was packing up his stuff to leave, a gentle knock sounded from the door.

"Yeah?" he answered as he shoved a schedule for a Gobstones tournament in Scotland into his black bag.

The door opened and Roberta stepped over the threshold. Ron spun around. "Oh, hi Roberta. You here for inspection?"

Roberta shook her head. "Naw, you're tomorrow, remember? I just thought I'd congratulate you one more time. It really is a high honor to be referee for a playoff game."

Ron grinned. "Well, I've always enjoyed Quidditch, and it's been a while since I've been on a broom, so it'll be a nice break. Finally three years of playing for Gryffindor at Hogwarts is paying off."

"Oh, you played in school? What position?"

"Keeper in my fifth and sixth year, then Beater in my seventh."

"Oh. I played Chaser for my school in Ireland. I wasn't the greatest though. My captain, Enid Callaghan, got so furious with me after I screwed up a pass one day. It was really pathetic," Roberta confessed, laughing.

Ron nodded understandingly. "Oh, I feel your pain. When I first made the team, I was so bad at Keeping. Once I even got Harry and George into a fight with a Slytherin player because he was making fun of me--"

"Harry? I didn't know he played Quidditch!" Roberta said.

"Oh, he was great! He could've played professionally if it wasn't for... well, you know...." Ron trailed off uncomfortably. Several months after he graduated from Hogwarts, Harry had been attacked by a gang of surviving Death Eaters after the fall of the Dark Lord. In result, he had been sent into St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, his memory completely scrambled. Ron always went to visit him once a week, but his condition hadn't changed much in the seven years that had passed. Still, Ron continued to have hope for his best friend.

Roberta was quiet for a moment, then her face lit up. "Hey, I've got a good idea! Why don't you take Harry along? I'm sure he'd love it and you never know; maybe he'll recover some of his memory, being a Quidditch fan and all."

Ron considered it for a moment. "That's a good idea.... Thanks Roberta! Plus, his birthday is only a couple of days later! I think I'll go to St. Mungo's right now and tell him!" he said and hurried to put on his cloak.

"Glad to be of--" Roberta began, but was cut off and Ron hurried out, slamming the door excitedly behind him. "--help."

Ron jogged down the corridor, narrowly skirting around a group of heatedly arguing wizards, whom had just entered the hallway, as he slipped into the golden, crowded lift. Seconds later the metal doors screeched to a close, and then the lift went down. It stopped in almost no time at all at the Atrium and there he departed, along with a surly, dark-haired man and a short, blonde girl with two long plaits hanging down her back. He approached one of the blazing fireplaces and, after tucking his cluttered briefcase under his arm, grasped a handful of green Floo Powder and threw it into the tall flames. The flames immediately flashed to brilliant emerald green, reflecting off Ron's face, making him look like he was going to throw up. He stepped in and, holding his arms close to his body as he shouted, "St. Mungo's Hospital of Magical Maladies and Injury!"

Even after years of traveling through the Floo Network, Ron still despised the sickening spinning that took place during the transportation from one place to the other. He was thankful that the whole experience lasted only a few seconds before he stepped dizzily out of the fireplace at St. Mungo's. Several yards away, the welcoming witch at the front desk, a pleasant woman called Margot Spink, was kindly directing a man with a square-shaped head to go to the fourth floor. As the man nodded and left, Margot spotted Ron approach and waved.

"Hi Ron! You're early," Margot observed as she thumbed a file in an open drawer and slipped a packet of papers inside.

"Damn, am I that predictable?" Ron joked, leaning on the desk.

Margot laughed. "Hmmm, do you really want me to answer that question?" she asked playfully, shutting the drawer. "Oh, by the way, Harry was moved out of the Janus Thickey Ward this morning. I believe he's in the... Nansen Stewart Ward now."

"Oh, does that mean he's getting better?" Ron asked hopefully.

Margot shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry, but no. It was a new closed ward, built for people like Harry during the war. So many attacks had occurred that we ran out of space for treatment. But I heard that he remembered his owl's name this morning!" she added brightly. Ron nodded, smiling wanly.

"Thanks Margot. See you later," Ron said, and left.

He's never going to get better, is he? he asked himself dolefully as he made his way up the stairs. His thoughts remained respectively gloomy the entire way to the Nansen Stewart Ward, and his mood didn't improve when he found, at the end of the room, the once prideful Harry Potter squeaking a rubber duck as if it were the most entertaining thing in the world.

Kovit Lamont, one of the Healers on the closed wards, saw Ron come in and bustled over to him as Harry threw the duck joyfully at the wall.

"Good afternoon Mr. Weasley," Kovit greeted formally, extending his hand, which Ron shook.

"Any improvement?" Ron asked dully, the same question he had been asking for seven years straight.

As usual, Kovit shook his head. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Weasley. Though he seems to have a gained a bit of common sense, his brain still remains that of a perpetual child. There is a very slim chance of recovery," he answered, reading off of a clipboard, then added, "But there is a chance."

Ron nodded dumbly and went over to his best friend. "'Lo Harry," he said, sitting on the edge of Harry's bed.

Harry looked away from the rubber duck and at Ron. His face broke into a delighted grin and he said cheerfully, "Hiya Ron! I was hopin' you would come today!"

Ron smiled sadly. Harry's lisp proved that his mind remained the age of five, even though in reality he was actually twenty-five. "Why wouldn't I come?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno."

"Hey, guess what Harry?" Ron asked suddenly, after a minute of awkward silence.

"What?" Harry asked eagerly, his innocent green eyes shining brightly.

"I'm going to referee a Quidditch game in about a week. It's a playoff game too, so some of the greatest international Quidditch players will be there!"

Harry's face twisted into an expression of mild confusion. "What a 'quidditch'? Is it a kind of biscuit?"

Ron laughed. "No way! Quidditch is one of the greatest games known to wizard kind!" he said, and was off, explaining every single rule, penalty, and strategy for, Ron remembered dejectedly, the second time since their first meeting on the Hogwarts Express almost fifteen years ago. The man, or rather, the boy, lapped up every bit of information like a dehydrated dog. Ron knew Harry would forget most of the information relayed to him, but he pushed the thought forcefully back into his mind, not wanting to dwell on the inevitable.

"Wow, that's amazing!" Harry said, fascinated, once Ron had finished almost an hour later.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, it's the best! And the best part is that you get to come along--if it's alright with the Healers," he said, glancing amusedly at Kovit, who was attending a patient two beds down. Kovit froze, nearly dropping the spoon he was using to baby-feed an elderly woman.

"I dunno... will you be with him?" Kovit asked uncertainly.

Ron shook his head. "Well, no, I'll be refereeing. But I can ask my sister, Ginny. I know she'll take excellent care of him."

Kovit was still unsure. "Don't you think that might even be a little dangerous? There are still people out there who would still fancy having his head on a silver platter, you know."

"I swear on my life he'll be just fine," Ron promised, raising his right hand. "But come on, it's almost his birthday for Merlin's sake! He deserves a little break from sitting around in a smelly old hospital."

"Eh... you know I'm not too thrilled with this," Kovit hesitated. "But, alright, go on."

"Yes!" Ron cheered, pumping his fist in the air. Harry imitated him, even thought he obviously didn't know what it meant.

"I can go?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Yeah!" Ron answered, grinning happily. Harry started cheering happily and Ron joined in; even the witch in the bed next to them started celebrating along with them weakly, a blank grin stretching her smooth face.

A sudden loud beeping stopped Ron. He looked down to his watch, a high-tech Muggle watch that beeped at every hour. It was 4 o'clock.

"I'm sorry to be a party pooper--" Harry giggled at the idiom--"but I've got to go."

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, frowning.

"I've got to go to my home. But I promise I'll be back next week!"

"Ohhhhhhhhh-kay...." Harry sighed, fidgeting with the hem of his blanket. It still stung Ron how childlike he sounded.

Ron smiled, waved, and left the room with a departing nod in Kovit's direction. He made his way quickly down the stairs to the ground floor, waving at Margot before leaving through the Visitor's Entrance.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next week passed by in a blur to Ron. Between working regular office hours at the Department of Magical Games and Sports, going to nightly referee training classes, and asking Ginny, who was on her way back from a short holiday with her boyfriend, Danny Billings, to watch Harry during the game, he barely got to sleep more than five hours before hauling himself out of bed at 7:30 AM, where another similar hectic day would begin again.

Finally, the big day came. Ron woke up to the sound of his alarm clock ringing in his ears and immediately leapt out of bed, slamming his hand down on the button, turning it off. He dashed for his wardrobe and snatched a pair of Muggle blue jeans and a red T-shirt; he would get his referee robes at the stadium. Then, he made his way down the stairs and ate a quick breakfast of leftover biscuits he had made several days before.

Once he had finished eating, he pocketed his wand, locked the door, and Apparated to the designated wooded area nearby the Quiddtich stadium.

"Good morning Ron," Roberta's voice greeted from behind him. He spun around to find her clutching his referee robes under her left arm.

"Thanks Roberta," he said, taking his robes and throwing them on over his clothes. "Where's Gin and Harry? Have the arrived yet?"

Roberta shook her head. "No, not yet, but they are expected to be here any minute. You're a trifle early as well, so don't worry about it."

"What time is it?" Ron asked as he straightened his robes.

Roberta checked her watch. "It's about 7:30," she replied, then jerked her head towards the path on her left. "Come on, I think we best get back to the campgrounds; that's where you said they'd be waiting, right?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, let's go."

Ron followed Roberta onto the dry, rocky path, fixing the sleeves of his referee robes. He had just finished buttoning the hem of the black-and-white striped sleeve when the trees thinned enough for sunlight to break through, forcing him to shield his eyes from the blinding white that hung directly above him. Roberta led him out of the woods and down left side of a forked path and in about five minutes they reached a very large campsite area. They stopped at a green, circular tent, where several important-looking wizards were walking out of the open doorway, discussing the entertainment that the Montrose Magpies had brought.

"After you," Roberta said, gesturing into the tent mock-formally before. Ron grinned, nodded, and walked into the lavish tent, only to get tackled by Harry.

"Ron! You're here!" Harry said, grinning toothily as he hugged him tightly. Ron laughed and fought to detach himself from his ecstatic friend. Ginny's face was red with laughter and she had to fumble to take her leather purse off of her shoulder.

"Harry nearly went crazy when he found you weren't here!" Ginny exclaimed once she managed to catch her breath. "It's good to see you Ron. How are you doing?"

"At the moment? I feel like I've just lost a wrestling match!" Ron joked, getting to his feet and brushing himself off. Harry followed the suit, a delighted grin plastered on his face. "And you? Where's Danny?"

Ginny shrugged. "He's gone back to him mum and dad's house. Apparently he caught me using a Summoning Charm in the bathroom a few days ago and we haven't spoken since. But we had fun in Spain. An organ grinder's monkey came and stole Dad's hat the day before we left, which was pretty entertaining."

"When's the Quidditch game going to start?" Harry asked, tugging on Ron's robes.

"I dunno... when does it start Roberta?" Ron asked his boss.

Roberta thought for a moment, then said, "Noon. But you've got to get to the stadium at about 11:30. They're going to prep you before you start because this is your first time in a professional match. I promise you, refereeing here will be nothing compared to the Minor Leagues. Good luck. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must speak with Bartholomew Jensen about finding an extra Bludger," she grinned and bustled out of the tent.

Ron nodded, then grinned at Harry. "You ready to see a Quidditch game? It's not the first one you've ever seen, you know."

"It isn't?" Harry asked in a voice of childlike curiosity.

"No. You, me, Ginny, and Hermione all went to see the Quidditch Cup back in our fourth year. Remember?" Ron replied, conscious of the fact that he wouldn't.

Harry shook his head (I'm a goddamn psychic, he thought to himself. I bet old Trelawney would be too thrilled if she were here!) and was about to speak, but was interrupted by Roberta, who had returned.

"Ron, you're wanted at the stadium. They want to you to practice with the team to get a feel for them."

Ron nodded and waved goodbye to Harry and Ginny before following his boss to the stadium, which was identical to the one he had been to when he was fourteen save for red carpeting the stairs and red plush covering each seat. He was led to the middle of the gigantic field, where both the Montrose Magpies and the Kenmare Kestrels stood in separate huddles. The broom Ron was to borrow, the brand new, ever-so-prestigious Firebolt 1500, lay in the very center next to a shaking box that Ron knew held the Quaffle, Bludgers, and the Snitch.

"I don't think I've ever even touched a Firebolt 1500 before," Ron commented to Roberta. Roberta laughed.

Ron practiced with the team members, particularly the Kestrels (The Magpies had beaten the Cannons too many times for his fancy.) for a good hour or two. Surprisingly, he got the hang of it quite easily, and was able to generally keep up with the professionals, only lagging a bit behind. Both members of the Quidditch teams were kind to him, and though he vaguely suspected their nice behavior to be nothing more that sucking up to him, he didn't mind; he was just glad that he was someone worth sucking up to.

At about 11:25 AM, Roberta returned to the Quidditch field and called Ron over.

"I need you to come with me," Roberta told Ron, leading him to a medical tent at the end of the field. Inside, men and women in uniforms similar to the ones at St. Mungo's bustled about in a room the size of the Gryffindor common room at Hogwarts. He followed his boss to a table near the door, where a wizard walked immediately to Ron.

"I assume you are the referee?" he asked, his voice snooty.

Ron nodded. "Well, sit down then. We've got to get your Slowtacts in. The sooner you get 'em, the more time you have to get accustomed to them!" he beckoned him to a fold-up chair.

"Slowtacts?"

"Yes. They are similar to contact lenses, but instead of bettering you vision, they slow things down a tiny fraction, so you can keep better track of the match. However, they don't slow things down too much, so you won't miss anything," the man explained, lifting up Ron's eyelid. Carefully, yet swiftly, he slid the transparent lens into one eye, and then the other.

Ron began blinking profusely. Once his eyes cleared, he looked around. With the lenses, the bustling of the medical wizards seemed to go a mite slower, as well as objects appeared sharper than before, just as the man had said.

"Are they functional?" the man asked. Ron nodded again. "Alright then, you're free to go. At least until the match starts, that is."

Ron fought the urge to rub his eye and left the tent. He picked up the broom he was using and went back to practicing with the team members. Indeed, the Slowtacts greatly improved his refereeing, and he easily caught on to the tiniest of mistakes displayed by both teams.

He continued to practice until the gatekeepers began to let the audience in. Roberta led him to a small, private locker room built for the referees and he changed into his robes. Then, he went to a small archway, where the teams waited patiently to be called out.

"Ladies and gentlemen, lads and lasses, welcome to the Quidditch Playoffs!" Ludo Bagman's magnified voice announced exuberantly. The crowd slowly quieted down, eagerly watching the field. "Today's match: the Montrose Magpies versus the Kenmare Kestrels!"

The crowd broke into frenzied applause. About one half of the crowd, most of which were all decked out in green and yellow, waved bright green flags with two Ks blinking in luminous yellow and plucked at harps cradled in their forearms. The other half, clad mostly in black, shook life-size rubber magpies high into the air, the fictitious magpies squawking feebly in protest.

"And now, without further ado, please welcome the Kenmare Kestrels! I give you--Sheridan!"

Ross Sheridan, one of the players that he had been hanging around with during practice, grinned at Ron and zoomed out.

"Kirby! Fitzgerald! Cocoran! Kavanagh! Hanlon! Aaaaaaaaaaand-- Grady!" One by one, the Montrose players zoomed out of the archway.

"Why didn't they do the mascots?" Ron whispered to Roberta, who had just appeared behind her.

"They only have mascots at the World Cup," Roberta replied as Bagman began to name off the Kenmare players.

"Now, esteemed ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Montrose Magpies! Preeeeesenting--Caddell! Mackendric! Wallace! Stewart! Ramsay! Macaskill! Aaaaaaaaand-- Lennox!"

Ron gripped the handle of the wooden crate and slipped the brass whistle between his teeth to keep them from chattering.

"And, last but most definitely not least, from our very own Department of Games and Sports, I present to you Ronald Weasley!"

Ron sighed and, ignoring the jelly-like feeling his legs had begun to take up, walked out into the middle of the field. Supporters for both sides clapped politely as he made his way to the center. After waving at the top box, where Harry and Ginny sat watching, he let the crate drop with a plop on the ground. He kicked it open and out soared the Snitch, and the two Bludgers, one of which zoomed closely for his head, then turned away upon hitting the Bludger-Repelling Charm that had been cast on him during practice. Gripping the Quaffle, he waited for both teams to settle into their respective spots, then, with a blast from his whistle, he threw up the red ball and zipped up after it as Mackendric of the Magpies snatched the Quaffle away from Kirby's outstretched fingers and sped off alongside Caddell towards Kenmare territory.

Though refereeing had its various difficulties, Ron found that it was not as hard a he expected it to be, especially with the Slowtacts aiding him. Twice, he caught Caddell, Montrose's star Chaser, cobbing and suspected it of happening more that the two times he had seen it.

In the first half hour or so, Montrose was leading Kenmare sixty-forty, and the Kestrels were beginning to get frustrated. Soon after, Ron had to separate the Montrose and Kenmare Beaters, Macaskill and Kavanagh, after a "swordfight" with their clubs, causing there to be a short delay of game while the mediwizards revived Macaskill, who had gone into a concussion after Kavanagh bashed him hard over the skull.

All in all, the game had lasted a good two to three hours long before things went horribly wrong for Ron.

Long after the Beater incident, things had been going rather smoothly, with Montrose still leading eighty-seventy, when Kirby scored another goal, throwing the ball dangerously close to the middle hoop of the goal posts. Though it was half an inch off of haversacking, the Montrose supporters were convinced it was a foul, and began jeering at him. He ignored them and tried to continue the game when Lennox approached him, an angry frown plastered on his face.

"Excuse me, Ron, but I believe that was haversacking," Lennox told him, hovering back and forth in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Keith," Ron replied indifferently. "but I believe it wasn't haversacking. Please get back to the game, or else I will be forced to give the other team a penalty."

Keith Lennox shook his head vigorously and gripped Ron by the collar of his robes. "Well I don't care what you believe, you biased son of a bitch!"

Ron should have blown his whistle. He should have given a penalty to Kenmare. He should have done a lot of things in that few seconds that Lennox glared into his eyes from fifty feet into the air. But he didn't.

Instead, he balled his fists furiously and, with all the strength he could muster, punched the conceited Seeker square in the jaw. Lennox, obviously not expecting the sudden attack, let go of both his broom and Ron's collar and pitched downward to the ground. His twitched and shot right by Ron's head, over the walls of the Quidditch field, crashed into the spell containing all things related to the game, and promptly fell on a group of Kenmare supporters. The remainder of the crowd gasped in shock as Ron froze, realizing, with an unpleasant lurch in the pit of his stomach, what he had just done.

Fortunately for Lennox, the mediwizards managed to catch him in time. Unfortunately for Lennox, they didn't get the chance to slow him down, and he broke his neck due to the sudden inertia of the oversized sponge that had been hurriedly conjured underneath his falling body.

Once they had caught the Seeker and had him safely removed from the Quidditch pitch, three mediwizards flew up to Ron and escorted him down. Roberta stomped wrathfully to meet him.

"Ron, what in the hell were you thinking?" Roberta snarled through her teeth. She snatched the Firebolt 1500 out of his hands and gave it to a Ministry wizard who had followed her.

Ron, still in a mild shock at his sudden lapse of self-control, stuttered incoherently. Roberta rolled her eyes, grabbed his sleeve , and dragged him away from the field and through the archway he had walked out of at the beginning of the game.

"Ron!" a female voice called out behind them. Ron turned around momentarily to see Ginny walking briskly out of the stairway that led to the stands, dragging Harry, who was protesting childishly, before Roberta jerked him forward again and into an empty office. Roberta shut the door in Ginny's face then turned to Ron.

"Damn it Ron, what in the hell were you thinking?" she asked again.

"I... I dunno... I just couldn't really--help it. I didn't mean to!" Ron said impishly, knowing that Roberta wasn't going to take such stupid excuses.

"Oh, don't give me that 'I couldn't help it' crap! You knocked out a famous Seeker, for Merlin's sake! I can't believe you!" Roberta exclaimed.

Ron sighed, and didn't even bother to make any more excuses. He knew what was going to happen.

"Ron, I'm sorry to do this, but I really have no choice...." Roberta trailed off hesitantly.

"Go ahead."

"Ron, you're fired."