In the Eye of Loyalty
Nine years old, Ronald Weasley sat in front of him. The ginger’s blue eyes flickered to his unflinching gaze every now and again, drawing up courage before losing it again. Another Weasley, he'd be destined for Gryffindor, and, well — with Gryffindor —
“Headmaster Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump, sir,” the young boy stammered out nervously. He was sitting hunched. His hands were clutched together almost painfully. When Albus peered over, he could see the knuckles were white. “I don't, I don't think… um… I don't think Mum would appreciate me here?”
As a special gift to the Order, Albus decided to let the children have a special view of Hogwarts before their arrival in a few years’ time, seeing and getting acquainted with the grounds earlier than their future peers. He hid the Sorting Hat, of course (the surprise was tradition!), and he forbade the Weasley Twins from planning any of their mischief while they chaperoned their younger siblings.
It was a shame that the Boy-Who-Lived, Charles Potter, wasn't here. His parents decided they didn't want the Savior to be caught up in the rabble and chaos of Hogwarts so early — and so, it was only Ronald Weasley that Albus got to bring into his office, only he who would learn about destiny.
“You must understand, my boy, that we all have responsibilities we must take care of.” Albus chose his words carefully, edging along the point. The child was only nine, never knowing a challenge beyond the chess board, and this was a delicate, mature matter. “I have brought you here to discuss a matter of great importance.”
Ronald looked confused. “It's just a tour of Hogwarts, isn't it?”
“No, no,” Albus said, trying to ease his frets. “It is, for the other children, but for you, it is for a much bigger event. I wish to ask something rather mammoth of you.”
“Headmaster Dumbledore…”
The old man laughed gently when he heard the hitch of the boy’s breath. He turned over the golden hourglass, watching the glittering sand pour to the other side. “Worry not, Mr. Weasley,” he said. “It is not a punishment but a duty only you can do.”
A bit of cautious surprise entered Ronald’s face. Excitement soon followed it. “Me?” He echoed eagerly.
“You,” the old man confirmed kindly.
Ronald fumbled in his seat.
“What can I do?”
Albus Dumbledore let him dream for a couple of seconds, before asking, “What is Charles Potter to you?”
“My friend,” Ronald answered without hesitation. His posture straightened. “My best mate.”
Albus smiled at the friendship of the youth. “And you must care about him,” he went on, patient.
“Yes,” Ronald mumbled, honest to the point of rawness. “More than anything. More than anyone.”
“And he… he considers you also to be his friend?”
“Charles cares about me,” Ronald said, quietly. It was mumbled off like an unfinished sentence. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and when he opened them, the blue was so, so bright, almost like staring directly into a clear ocean. He had the exact same mannerisms as Molly whenever she was cherishing a memory. “He trusts me.”
Albus nodded indulgently. “And that, my boy, is exactly why you are so valuable,” he explained. He wasn't annoyed at all. Children needed directions, needed patience, needed love and support and kindness, to nurture the goodness inside of them. True to that, Ronald looked up suddenly, bashful but proud. Albus continued, “You will be able to look after him—make sure he's not meeting any unsavory people—”
“I already do that,” Ronald interrupted, piping up importantly.
“And you will report back to the proper adults.”
Ron looked stunned.
“Sir… I, um…”
“Yes, Ronald?”
“I can't.”
Albus did not expect this.
“We will, of course, be offering your family proper pay for your hard work against the Dark, and I'm sure, when the Dark is defeated, you'll be awarded handsomely.”
Ronald’s apparent horror did not cease, but he continued. “I can't. I'm—please don't get mad at me, or my family, or–or Charles for this, but I can't.”
“Even if it's to defeat Voldemort?”
A glint of fear entered Ron’s baby blues. “He's dead,” Ronald whispered. His feet, like a bunny’s nervous kick, hit against the floor, frightened to the point of erraticness. “He's dead. Charlie killed him.”
Albus shook his head sadly. “His influence is not. At Hogwarts, there will be many children who are… indoctrinated by their parents’ choices. They will be cruel because of it—and we must—must!—make sure your friend is safe. He is the Boy-Who-Lived. He is the Savior of all of us. You're a smart boy. You know that, and you know they will hate him for a plethora of reasons. He is a child of a Pureblood and a Muggleborn. He is a prominent member of the Light. He protected the people they call inferior… people like your family, who they call Blood Traitors. They will want to hurt Charles, for defeating their parents’ Lord, and they may succeed if we do not…”
“No,” Ronald said, hoarse. “No. I won't—I won't do what you want me to do. I won't do that to him.”
Albus’ eyes twinkled. “Even if it's to protect him?”
“I can protect him,” Ronald said with a stiff upper lip. He stared ahead but did not seem to be seeing Albus’ point. “We don't need you. I've got Charlie, and he's got me. I'll protect him no matter what. I'll do it better than you ever could.”
“I—”
Every word tumbling after the last, Ron began to speak furiously. “I'm tough, you know. Got five older brothers. I can handle anything, and I will, for Charlie. I'll do it alone. I'm not gonna spy on him—because that's betraying him—and there's nothing you can do to make me—”
“My boy, there are many dire matters at hand,” Albus said with growing urgency. This was not going the way he planned it to. “You are much too young to claim… you just—you cannot…!”
“I'll tell Mum,” Ronald said, his mouth turning into a strict, defiant line. He stood up from the chair.
“I—your mother—Molly, she's so busy with your sister, you shall not bother her with such—”
“I'll tell Mum!” Ronald threatened, this time stronger and more confident. As all children could, he knew weakness when he sensed it and, because of that, his sheepish bravery whirled into a great big thing of foolishness. “Mum will get you! She'll put soap in your mouth like she did Fred and George!”
…Albus knew Molly Weasley would do much, much worse than bubbles of soap, if she found out he'd scouted out Ronald on his own.
So much for a spy, he thought somewhat sarcastically.
“...I… uh…” Albus drew his hands over his face. “Go, child. I… forget I said anything. Go.”
With one last defiant glare in his blue eyes, he turned, and then, the youngest Weasley boy scrambled out of the room like a ghoul was chasing him. In his absence, Albus let out a long, low sigh.