Pride

Harry was up to something. 

Normally Ron wouldn’t have thought too much about it, but it was notable in that Harry wasn’t including him. 

Ron had woken up on Saturday morning to find Harry already gone. Harry reappeared at breakfast, acting like nothing had happened. Ron didn’t want to question him in front of the entire school, so he decided to save his questions for later. 

Harry barely touched his food, and after breakfast ran off somewhere. Ron spent a while searching for him. He went to the library, the Astronomy Tower, peered into the dungeons, then ventured onto the grounds and up to the Owlery. Harry was nowhere to be found.

Harry surfaced again at lunch, looking peaky. 

“Where have you been?” Ron asked, a little hurt, not much caring who heard at the moment.

“The Owlery,” Harry said, not looking at him. 

“I checked there,” Ron said, frowning. “I didn’t see you.”

Harry shrugged. “Must have missed me.”

“Right,” Ron said, turning to his own food. He didn’t feel very hungry. 

Ron had thought about finding one of his brothers or his sister, but Percy was busy studying in the library, and Ginny and the twins were down at the quidditch pitch with the Gryffindor team. There was a frenetic atmosphere around Oliver Wood, so Ron hadn’t bothered approaching. 

Someone touched his shoulder. Ron glanced over, and saw Harry had leaned close to him to whisper something. 

“I’ll tell you later,” Harry said softly. “It’s…you’ll understand. I hope.”

Ron shivered, then nodded. He didn’t really like the way that sounded. His mind whirled with possibilities of what, exactly, Harry hoped he understood. It sounded like Harry thought Ron wouldn’t like whatever it was he had been doing.

Maybe Harry had found a new friend. Someone who was…cooler, or smarter, or older. All of the above. They had to be in a different house, otherwise Ron would have noticed. They’d only been in school for a few days. When had Harry found the time to make another friend? Did he think Ron wouldn’t like them? Or maybe they didn’t like Ron, and Harry had to meet them in secret. Ron’s stomach curdled. He wouldn’t be…jealous of Harry having a new friend. That would be absurd.

He could make other friends too. Morag was good for a laugh. She had been talking about becoming a beater for the team next year. Ernie and Terry both liked quidditch and were happy to talk about it. Granger was alright. She’d been friendlier with Ron and Harry since they had Arithmancy and Ancient Runes together. 

Ron pushed his food around his plate, not hungry at all anymore. Harry gave him a worried look, but didn’t ask Ron what was wrong, so Ron didn’t say anything.

On Sunday, as if to make up for his absence the day before, Harry took Ron to an abandoned classroom so they could practice the Patronus Charm. 

“How do you even know that spell?” Ron asked after Harry had explained what it was to him. 

“I don’t know,” Harry said, looking concerned. “I just…reacted. I knew I had to do something to get the dementor away from us. I could hear…” Harry took a breath, his grip tightening on his wand. “I heard my mum screaming. Begging for…to spare me. Someone saying they loved me. Green light. I felt like something was pressing on my chest, crushing me…it…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Ron said quickly, noticing how fast Harry was breathing, the wild look in his eyes. “I understand.”

“I must have read about it somewhere,” Harry said, looking up at Ron. “The spell. I knew I could do it, so I did.”

They didn’t talk about it again. Harry showed Ron the wand movements, and they came easily to Ron as magic often did. The willow wand felt right in his hand, and he moved it through the air as if writing his will into the fabric of the universe. The incantation fell from his lips, and a silver mist flowed out, bringing with it that comforting, peaceful feeling, but slightly off, a dropped note during a legato.

“What memory did you use?” Harry asked as the mist retreated.

“I wasn’t really thinking of anything,” Ron admitted, looking at his wand. Plenty of room to grow, Ollivander had said.

“That’s fine,” Harry said, surprising him. “Having a specific memory works as a sort of focus for the spell. It helps direct your intention. It can be just the general feeling of being happy, or the ability to be happy. I think that’s harder though.”

“Which way do you do it?” Ron asked.

“I didn’t have time to think on the train,” Harry said. “But now…”

Harry took his stance, deep in concentration. “Expecto patronum.”

A silvery shape flowed out of Harry’s wand, coalescing into a rangy dog. Perhaps not a dog, precisely, something far less domesticated. After a moment it dissipated.

“The feeling I had when I learned my mum was alive,” Harry said softly. “I had to focus on only that, and not all the other things I feel about her.”

“A happy memory,” Ron muttered to himself.

“The happiest,” Harry emphasized. “Pure, concentrated happiness.”

Ron knew he’d had a happy life. There were bad days, of course. Fighting with his parents, with his siblings. Money problems, hearing his parents fighting about money. How tired they were. Seeing Harry get hurt. Harry’s whole life, honestly.

It couldn’t be something like getting a good present, or winning at quidditch. It had to be a significant moment.

Ron smiled to himself. He had the perfect memory.

“Expecto patronum!” 

This time the mist took shape. It was a nebulous shape, only a suggestion of the animal it might become, but he felt immense pride for having done so well on only his second try.

“That was amazing!” Harry exclaimed.

“Thanks,” Ron said, smiling at him.

“What did you think of?”

The smile froze on Ron’s face. “Oh, uh…flying.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled. “That’s a good one! I remember the first time I flew. It was really unforgettable.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, clearing his throat. “It was.”

After the events in the pyramid, Harry’s illness, Pettigrew’s escape from Azkaban, and the dementor attack, Ron hadn’t expected the school year to have a smooth start. He had gravely underestimated how rough it would actually be.

The mood when they entered the Defense classroom was light, expectant. Given their previous two teachers, it didn’t take much to impress them. Being able to hold onto his wand already made Lupin their best teacher by far. But he was also kind, knowledgeable, and patient. He had apparently edited the book they were using, and was in the process of writing his own. He had gone to Hogwarts himself, but had moved to France shortly after the war to continue his education. 

The older students had been talking Lupin up all week, and people were already scheming to keep him past one year. There were rumors he actually was brought in to break the alleged curse on the Defense position. 

The only problem Ron had with Lupin was the strange looks he kept giving Harry, which also made Harry uncomfortable. They theorized that perhaps Lyall had talked to his son about them, but neither wanted to bring it up if Lupin didn’t.

So, Ron was in a rather hopeful mood when Lupin told them they’d be having their first class in another room. He and Harry followed their excited classmates downstairs to the staffroom. The last time Ron had seen the room was in first year, when Snape had an injured leg, and he was glad their surly Potions teacher was absent.

Then the wardrobe in the corner rattled.

Nearly everyone jumped. Ron listened with one ear as Lupin explained that the wardrobe contained a boggart, how boggarts liked dark spaces, and that they turned into one’s greatest fear.

Ron already knew all of that. He’d read the book.

He glanced at Harry, who was staring contemptuously at the wardrobe.

“We don’t have to do it,” Ron whispered to him. 

Ron didn’t know what his greatest fear was, but he had a pretty good guess. If someone had asked him before he had started Hogwarts, he would have said spiders. But he had seen Harry’s nearly lifeless body mere weeks prior. The people he loved dying wasn’t an ephemeral possibility in some far off future. The danger was immediate and present, not an illusory boggart he could spell back into its wardrobe.

“Fear can’t hurt me,” Harry said bluntly, eyes never leaving the cupboard.

Ron didn’t respond. He stood next to Harry and waited for his turn.

Their classmates’ fears were simple, predictable. Wailing banshees, shambling mummies, rats, snakes. The class started to go downhill when one student, a Hufflepuff boy named Justin Finch-Fletchley, was confronted with an older woman screaming abuse at him. It was then, Ron suspected, that Lupin realized that perhaps his thirteen-year-old students had more complex fears than he had anticipated. One girl was shown darkness, disturbing noises issuing from the wardrobe. She had to be pulled away, pale and shaking.

The lesson horribly continued. Ron stepped up to the wardrobe, tightly gripping his wand. He was ready.

He wasn’t surprised to see the boggart shift into Harry. A very dead Harry. 

It was strange. This Harry was older, his clothes poorly fitted and ragged. He was covered in blood and scars, especially around his face, though his matted hair hid most of it.

“Riddikulus,” Ron said firmly. 

Harry didn’t move. His eyes were glassy, empty, his skin ashen and streaked with blood. Something thick and black and wrong trickled down his face. 

“Riddikulus,” he repeated tonelessly. Harry wasn’t dead. It didn’t make sense. How could Harry be dead if Ron was still alive?

The spell did nothing. Harry was dead.

Ron’s entire body went cold. His wand slipped out of his fingers and fell to the floor. He couldn’t hear anything other than a ringing in his ears, the fading tones of that cruel, high-pitched laughter. 

Something slammed into Ron, knocking him to the ground. His head cracked against the floor, the pain shaking him out of the numb horror that had engulfed him. Ron blinked his eyes clear and saw Harry, his Harry, the real Harry, alive and watching him with fierce determination.

With a loud crack, the body was gone. Ron looked at what the boggart had become when confronted with Harry, and saw Voldemort pointing a wand at him. There was something off about him too. Instead of the handsome middle-aged man Ron had seen in history books, this Voldemort had a flat, snake-like face, waxy skin, and red eyes that burned with hatred. 

Voldemort started laughing, a deranged cackle that made Ron’s skin crawl. Ron hated him. Ron hated Voldemort more than he ever feared him.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, ignoring the boggart. Professor Lupin had run forward, and with another crack the boggart shifted into a glowing silver orb. A full moon.

“I’m fine,” he said, taking Harry’s hand and standing up.

“Riddikulus!” Professor Lupin cried. The moon became a cockroach scuttling on the floor. “Hannah, finish it off!”

“Accio,” Harry muttered, plucking Ron’s wand out of the air.

“Thanks,” Ron said, taking his wand back. “That was…”

“This was a stupid class,” Harry said, watching as Hannah Abbott turned a looming vampire into a cartoonish bat. People were laughing again. Ron glanced at Professor Lupin, who was looking worriedly at the two of them. 

“Yeah,” Ron said, taking a steadying breath. He wanted to throw his arms around Harry, protect him, keep him safe. No one else ever had. He couldn’t…he wouldn’t let that boggart become reality. 

“Excellent,” Lupin said, leading the class in applause. Ron and Harry didn’t join in. “Five points to everyone who tackled the boggart. For homework, read and summarize the chapter on boggarts…”

The class trickled out of the staff room, chatting happily about their practical lesson. Even Justin Finch-Fletchley had regained his color, appearing more embarrassed than anything as he laughed with Ernie Macmillan.

Ron reckoned it was the best Defense class they’d had since starting Hogwarts, but it hadn’t been very fun. He could only think about how empty the older Harry’s eyes had been. How hurt he had been. How he was still standing while his best friend was gone forever, leaving him and his failure behind.

Their Ravenclaw friends gave them concerned looks, but Ron hardly noticed. He was too focused on Harry being there, being alive. They were all headed up to Ravenclaw Tower to switch out their books before lunch, but Harry took Ron’s wrist and pulled him away. 

“What is it?” Ron asked as they walked down an empty corridor. 

“I don’t really want to be around anyone,” Harry said, not looking at him. “Want to eat lunch in the kitchens?”

“Alright,” Ron said, letting Harry drag him along. Harry was alive, and he would stay that way. No matter what.

Word about what happened in Hagrid’s first Care of Magical Creatures class rapidly spread throughout the school. Morag had spent the breakfast before the Ravenclaws’ first class talking excitedly about meeting a hippogriff. By lunch she was complaining about meeting a flobberworm. 

“They never should have let him out of Azkaban,” she had muttered darkly.

Ron heard it from Luna, who heard it from Ginny, who heard it from Fred and George, who heard it from Neville. No one had seen Draco Malfoy since the start of term. He was in the hospital wing, regrowing his arm.

When Malfoy finally made an appearance at lunch, two weeks into term, excited whispering broke out among the students.

“There he is,” Terry said, nudging Ron. 

Ron glanced at the entrance to the Great Hall. Malfoy was strutting in, flanked by Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle. His arm was still in a sling. A hippogriff had bitten most of it off. 

Hagrid was conspicuously absent. 

“Don’t stare,” Harry said, intensely focused on his plate. “He wants the attention.”

“You don’t feel bad for him?” Terry asked, taken aback. 

“Feel bad?” Harry said, looking at him incredulously. “For the git who was going on about killing muggleborns last year?”

“It’s his own stupid fault,” Morag said harshly. “Grab a hippogriff by the feathers and you get the beak.”

Ron nodded, turning back to his own food. The story went that, during the third-year Gryffindor and Slytherin Care of Magical Creatures class, Neville had got to fly around on one of the hippogriffs. Afterwards, Malfoy had insulted the same hippogriff. 

“It was suicidal,” Ron said, picking up his pumpkin juice. 

“Professor Lupin will sort it,” Padma said confidently. Morag rolled her eyes.

Much like Gilderoy Lockhart had his admirers, Lupin was gaining his own following. He was young, handsome, and was a well-known scholar of dark creatures. Not that the lower years knew that, but enough of the older students recognized his name and spread the word. People even thought his scars were attractive, and Ron had heard a dozen rumors about their origin, everything from fighting dark wizards during the war to fighting a pack of werewolves.

The Ravenclaw table was unfortunately right next to the Slytherin table. Malfoy was loudly regaling the other Slytherins about the hippogriff attack. He made it sound as though the hippogriff had been rampaging, rather than having a typical response to being insulted. Malfoy was lucky his head hadn’t been bitten off.

“I’m finished,” Harry said, pushing his plate away. Ron hid a frown when he saw most of it hadn’t been eaten. “I want to get started on our redcap essay.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, abandoning his own food. “Want to go to the library? We’ve got some time before Runes.”

Harry nodded, and they left the Great Hall together. While they spent most of their time together, Ron had been particularly observant of Harry in recent weeks. He hadn’t forgotten their misadventure in Egypt, and was unwilling to let Harry go anywhere alone. What if he had another attack? Now there were the dementors guarding the castle, and Peter Pettigrew on the run, adding on to everything Harry had to deal with.

Ron could feel the dementors, how they made everything just a little worse. There were others who were more sensitive to the dementors. A few older students, those who had clear memories of the war. A Slytherin boy in their year who had always been quiet was now completely mute. Luna seemed to have wilted.

Neville Longbottom. 

Harry was still hiding something from him. Ron didn’t think it was about dementors, or Peter Pettigrew. Harry seemed to be waiting for something, but Ron didn’t know what it was. 

“You’d tell me if something was going on, right?” Ron asked before they reached the library. 

Harry stopped walking and turned to face him. “What?”

Ron looked to the side, his face growing warm. “I just…I mean…you can talk to me about things. I won’t get upset or anything.”

“What are you on about?” Harry asked, frowning slightly. “Is this about my boggart? I’ve already said I’ve had nightmares—”

“No,” Ron said, though he wasn’t certain. “I thought, if there was another friend you had, or…”

“Wasn’t it you who said we’re best friends?” Harry asked archly. “Don’t be stupid, Ron. I wouldn’t be friends with someone who didn’t get on with you. Is that what you’ve been worrying about?”

Ron knew he had gone completely red. He hated how easily he blushed. “What if it is?”

Harry sighed, then threw his arm around Ron’s shoulders. “I want to surprise you, alright?” He began walking down the corridor again, towing Ron along. “That’s all. I just want one good thing to come out of…” Harry shook his head, then grinned at Ron. “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t think of it first.”

“Think of what?” Ron asked, untangling himself. 

Harry’s smile grew. “It’s a surprise.”

Ron made a grab for him, but Harry darted into the library and was now under the protection of Madam Pince. Grumbling, Ron followed him in.

It was a dreary day in early October, and the Gryffindor quidditch team was having its first practice. Ron and Harry had been sent on their usual reconnaissance, though there wasn’t much about the Gryffindor team they didn’t already know.

Oliver Wood was an excellent keeper. Fred and George had a synchronicity rarely seen in beaters in addition to deadly aim. Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell were brilliant chasers. Neville was mediocre at best, and from what Ron had observed treated being on the team as a duty, one of the things he had to do to live up to being the Boy Who Lived. Alicia Spinnet was wasted as a seeker. She didn’t have the reflexes for it. Ron knew that any seeker looked bad in comparison to Harry, but it was painfully obvious Alicia did not want to play that position.

“Aren’t you two cold?” Ginny asked.

Ron shared a look with Harry, who shrugged. 

“I’ve got Crookshanks,” Ron said, lifting the massive ginger cat up. Crookshanks growled, so Ron settled him back on his lap. “He’s practically a walking heater.”

“Why can’t you be like that?” Ginny demanded, poking her duck Custard in the side. 

“Quack.”

Crookshanks was paying too much attention to Custard, so Ron turned him around, ignoring another growl. “Wood’s starting a bit late, isn’t he?”

“He’s had to get permission from the teachers,” Ginny said, sounding annoyed.

Ron glanced at the stands opposite them, where Professors Lupin and McGonagall were sitting. Madam Hooch was on the pitch, conferring with Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor quidditch captain.

“Samantha’s had us practicing since the first week of school,” Harry said.

“Permission?” Ron asked. 

“Because of Neville,” Ginny said. “Pettigrew’s after him? That’s why we’ve got all these dementors around? Ringing any bells?”

“You think he’d come after him in the middle of quidditch practice?” Harry asked.

“It’s not me,” Ginny said, kicking the bench in front of her. “It’s McGonagall who said they needed supervision.”

“And what?” Ron said. “Sod all for the rest of us? He killed a dozen muggles!”

“If he comes near me I’ll vivisect him,” Harry said evenly. 

“What’s that?” Ginny asked. “A curse?”

“It’s cutting someone open while they’re still alive,” Harry said. 

“Don’t say things like that, mate,” Ron said. “They’ll think you’re mental.”

“He is mental,” Ginny said wryly. “He’s friends with you, after all.”

“Piss off,” Ron muttered. “Why are you up here with us anyway?”

“Wood said he wasn’t holding tryouts this year,” Ginny said, narrowing her eyes. 

“You’re joking,” Harry said, reaching over to scratch Crookshanks’ ears. Ron froze. “Isn’t he graduating this year?”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, propping her head on her hands. “He’s really focused on winning the Cup. He hasn’t got room for anything else in that thick head of his.”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky,” Ron mused. “Maybe Longbottom will fall off his broom again. Ow!” He grabbed his head, glaring at Ginny. “What was that for?”

“Don’t say that!” she snapped, shaking out her hand. “It’s bad luck!”

“It’s bad luck to have him on the team, more like,” Ron muttered. “If he got to be on as a first-year, they should’ve let Harry on.”

“I didn’t have a broom,” Harry said.

“You could’ve nicked one of Filch’s,” Ron said dismissively. “Point is, you’re the best seeker Hogwarts has seen in decades. Centuries.”

“The dawn of time,” Ginny drawled, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, we all know how much you admire Harry.”

Ron felt his ears go red. “Shut up.”

“I’m not fussed about it,” Harry said, rubbing his chest idly. Ron bit his lip, wondering if he should have insisted that Harry dress warmly. They had only worn their school robes, while Ginny was bundled up in a cloak. “I don’t think Malfoy’s arm’s going to be regrown in time for the first match. It might be Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.”

“Gryffindor and Hufflepuff,” Ginny said. “Traditionally, the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw match is the last of the year.” She sighed, then looked back at the pitch, where Oliver Wood was gesticulating wildly. “How is it that Malfoy gets his arm grown back but Dean can’t get his leg back?”

“Could be that he’s a rich pureblood and Thomas is a poor muggleborn,” Harry said heatedly. He shook his head. “It’s because the creature that ate Thomas’ leg was a dark creature. Hippogriffs aren’t dark creatures.”

“How do you know,” Ginny began, looking back at Harry. Her face fell. “Oh, right.”

Harry gave her a thin smile. “Yeah. Personal experience, since my lungs are scarred up. I doubt Malfoy will have any scars, but Thomas will.”

“It’s not that bad,” Ron said. “People lose limbs all the time. Didn’t Percy tell you he got splinched when he went for his apparition license?”

“Is that why he hasn’t got one?” Ginny asked, her eyes lighting up. 

“They reattached it straight away,” Harry said. “It’s a different process from regrowing a limb. One of my ancestors invented the potion for that. Cordelia Potter. It’s called Leme-Gro.”

“Like Skele-Gro?” Ron asked. 

Harry smiled at him. “One of my ancestors invented that too.”

Ron stared at him, transfixed. “I didn’t know that. That’s brilliant.”

Ginny groaned loudly, then stood. “I’m moving closer.”

She stomped off, her duck waddling after her. Ron didn’t pay attention. 

“It’s not really about me,” Harry mumbled. “It’s only what people I’m related to have done, and that was centuries ago.” Harry sighed, then looked at the quidditch pitch again. “They invented things that changed lives. I want to do that too.”

“You will,” Ron said emphatically. “You can do anything you want to. You’re Harry Potter!”

Harry snorted, then smiled at him again. There was a funny lurch in Ron’s chest, which he didn’t entirely understand. For a moment, he thought of the Harry the boggart had turned into. Older, hardened, determined even in death. 

Ron shuddered, then ducked his head. 

“You can too,” Harry said. “I think curse-breaking suits you.”

“Maybe,” Ron hedged, feeling embarrassed. 

“I don’t think you have to work for Gringotts like Bill,” Harry added. “The Ministry needs curse-breakers too. Your dad does some of that. Or you could start your own business.”

“Or St. Mungo’s,” Ron said.

Harry scratched the back of his head. “Some curses can’t be broken.”

Ron scooted closer to Harry and nudged his shoulder. “We’ll prove that wrong. Remember, anything’s possible with magic.”

Harry was quiet for a moment, then he suddenly sat upright. “Shit, they’ve already started their drills! Where’s my quill…”

They fell into taking notes on the Gryffindor team’s practice, and the subject was forgotten. 

Ron’s quill hovered over his parchment. He had been debating whether to write to his brother for weeks. He became incredibly annoyed when he remembered how awkward Harry had got around Bill, but Bill sometimes had that effect on people. He was smart and really cool, and he’d been the one to barge in on the Dursleys and get Harry out of the house. Ron wished he had gone in too. 

Despite his strange annoyance with his older brother, Ron really did want to talk to him. Curse-breaking sounded both challenging and interesting, and Bill had experience. Ron didn’t think he would want to work in Egypt, which even with portkeys and apparition would be far from Harry. And his family. But Gringotts had branches all over the world, and Ron knew from his dad’s stories that there were loads of curses that needed breaking in Britain. 

Harry was preoccupied with a model he had got from Madam Pomfrey. It was about half his height, nude, and had androgynous features. It was anatomically correct, and warm to the touch. Not that Ron fancied touching it, though Harry had no reservations. The thing was eerie and disturbed their dormmates, which was one reason why Harry had brought it to the library instead of keeping it in their dormitory. It was a healer’s dummy, an object Harry could practice various healing spells on.

At the moment Harry was only examining it, muttering Greek and Latin terms for different bones to himself. The model had been constructed so that various layers could be stripped away, exposing muscles and organs, or leaving just the skeleton, or the circulatory system, or the nervous system. The last one was what had Michael Corner begging Harry to close his curtains. Ron agreed that seeing a brain and spine with a bunch of fleshy branches coming out of it was off-putting, but how else was Harry going to learn?

“Remus? What are you doing in here?”

Ron set down his quill, glad for the excuse not to commit anything to parchment. He’d have to ask Harry to borrow Hedwig, which was even more daunting. 

“It’s Professor Lupin now,” said a gentle voice.

Ron glanced at Harry, whose hands stilled on his anatomical model. He had a pensive look on his face as he carefully laid the model on the table.

“That’s Longbottom,” Ron mouthed, looking in the direction the voices were coming from. 

Harry nodded mutely. 

“Sorry,” Neville said, not sounding very sorry at all.

Ron watched Harry mouth what the fuck, and nodded. Together, they got out their wands and crept down the aisle. Ron wanted a better look at whatever was going on. 

“I’m taking advantage of Hogwarts’ expansive collection,” Lupin said. “I prefer field research, but as I recall there are a number of personal accounts recorded here.”

“Isn’t your book coming out soon?” someone else asked. Hermione Granger.

“The first volume,” Lupin said. “My focus has been on dark creatures endemic to the British Isles. Each creature is worthy of its own book, but my goal is to write a comprehensive and accessible Defense text for practical witches and wizards. Not everyone has daily run-ins with dark creatures, and for some it has been years, even decades, since they graduated Hogwarts.”

“That’s amazing,” Hermione said, sounding deeply impressed. Ron glanced at Harry and rolled his eyes. 

“I’ve read it,” Neville said. “Parts of it.”

“Really?” Hermione said excitedly. “Could I? You edited our textbook, right, professor? Did you write any parts of it?”

“A few sections,” Professor Lupin admitted. “And some of the exercises.”

Ron and Harry slunk down another aisle, still eavesdropping on the conversation. Ron pushed a few books aside, just enough to see the table Neville and Hermione were sitting at with Dean and Seamus. Ron squinted and could make out the cover of Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles. Given Hermione and Dean were both muggleborns and had lived the majority of their lives in muggle homes with muggle habits, Ron wondered what use a book like that was. For a laugh at how wrong the author had got it?

“Nev told us on the train he was glad you were coming to teach,” Seamus said, somewhat loudly. 

“Don’t tell him that,” Neville said, sounding cross. 

“Is it true?” Dean asked. “You’ve been training him up?”

Professor Lupin gave Neville a level look, “I suppose the kneazle’s out of the bag.”

Neville shifted uncomfortably. “People ask me all the time if I’ve been training to fight V…Voldemort. What am I supposed to say?”

Professor Lupin said, then looked at the other Gryffindors. “I moved to France after the war, but I have known Neville since he was a baby, and have occasionally tutored him.”

Something squeezed Ron’s arm, and he looked down to see Harry gripping him. Ron looked back at the group, then quietly led Harry away. Once they were back at their own table, Harry packed up his things and quickly left the library. Ron let him go, knowing that Harry needed some time to himself but not knowing why, or what about the conversation they had overheard had made Harry so upset.

Ron picked up his quill again, tapping it thoughtfully. Lupin and Neville knowing each other wasn’t all that surprising. Everyone knew who Neville Longbottom was, and if Neville had been being trained to fight Voldemort his whole life, a Defense expert like Lupin was a good choice.

According to the version of Voldemort that had come out of the diary, Neville was envious of Ron and Harry receiving better marks than him. If Neville had been tutored, that explained why he was so cut up about not performing better than someone poor like Ron and someone orphaned and muggle-raised like Harry. 

It explained a lot of things about Neville, really. 

Shaking his head, Ron dipped his quill and began writing. 

There was a sharp crack, and Ron looked up from his book to see the anatomical model’s wrist was broken. He was tempted to rub his own wrist in sympathy.

Harry had a grim look on his face.

“It’s not real,” Ron said. “It’s not alive.”

“I know that,” Harry said quietly. He tapped his wand on the small, broken wrist. “Episkey.”

Ron winced as the wrist snapped back into place. The model couldn’t tell Harry whether it hurt or not, but Ron knew it hurt. A lot.

They were sitting on Harry’s bed with the curtains drawn so Harry could practice without bothering anyone. Ron didn’t think Harry was ready for that particular spell. It was meant for healing smaller injuries like the cartilage in a broken nose, or a broken toe. It was macabre that Harry had to inflict the injuries to practice healing, but Ron understood why he insisted on this method. Harry didn’t want to use the spells for the first time during an emergency. He had already done that before.

“Ferula,” Harry incanted. A small bandage wrapped around the model’s wrist. Harry set down his wand and slowly breathed out. “That’s one of the first aid spells Madam Pomfrey taught me. She said it’s useful for quidditch players, until they can get a real healer to fix them.”

Harry wrapped his arms around his knees and hid his face. 

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked worriedly, setting his book aside. It was one Bill had recommended, A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions. Bill had sent his own copy.

Harry took a shuddering breath, then looked up again. “I know Remus Lupin.”

Ron frowned. “What do you mean?”

Harry closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. “Reckon it’s more accurate to say he knows me, or should know me. He was friends with my parents. With my mum. That photo album you made for me, there’s pictures of him in it.”

“I thought he looked familiar,” Ron said. “I thought it was because we know his dad.”

“Right,” Harry said, his brow furrowing. “I bet his dad knew Professor Lupin knew my parents. Why didn’t he say anything?”

“Why hasn’t Professor Lupin?” Ron asked, feeling upset himself. “Why does he know Longbottom and not you?”

Harry’s arms tightened around himself. “I don’t know.” He swallowed, then hid his face again. “I don’t know anything.”

Ron’s anger grew and grew. Harry had been left with those people. People whole beat him and starved him and locked him away. He remembered the first time they went to St. Mungo’s, when the healer at the Janus Thickey Ward said no one had ever visited Harry’s mum.

Harry had been abandoned. His mum had been abandoned. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. 

“He said he moved to France,” Ron said, trying to rationalize the situation. 

“Even a muggle can get there in an hour or two,” Harry mumbled. He sniffed. Ron moved closer, putting an arm around his friend. “Why did they leave me there? Why didn’t anyone want me? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Ron said, pulling Harry into a hug. “It’s them who’s wrong.” 

Harry shook his head and said nothing. Ron sat there holding him, not knowing what else to do. He hated what the world had done to Harry, how it kept hurting him. He felt so incredibly helpless, but there was one thing Ron could do.

No matter what, he would never, ever leave Harry.

Now that they knew who Remus Lupin was, Defense classes were awful. Lupin was still a fantastic teacher, and each lesson was both exciting and informative. He was still kind and helpful, patient with every student, and an excellent wizard. He was already the most popular teacher, and people kept talking about how brilliant and charming and generally wonderful Lupin was.

How Lupin could be all of those things while also leaving Harry and his mum for dead baffled Ron. 

Ron had suggested they skive off Defense, but Harry was adamant they continue going and pretend nothing was different. Ron didn’t know how he could stand it when Lupin called on him, or smiled, or returned another paper with top marks. Harry was far and away the best in Defense. Ron almost wished they had been sorted into Gryffindor to better rub it in Neville and Hermione’s faces.

Samantha Fawcett was a devious captain. Though Ravenclaw’s first match wasn’t until the end of November, they were still training every other afternoon. She booked the pitch for just after classes ended, forcing the other teams to either practice in the morning before breakfast, or at night after dinner. Ron knew for a fact that the Gryffindors were training in the evenings as he had seen it himself, and seen the players, including his brothers, staggering through the castle covered in mud.

As the weather turned colder and wetter, the more vindicated Ron felt knowing that Lupin had to sit out there too, watching his precious Boy Who Lived lurch around on a broom he couldn’t handle. 

One evening before dinner, after a practice in which Harry had spent his time flying backwards like the lunatic he was, Ron saw that a notice had gone up in the Ravenclaw common room.

“It’s the first Hogsmeade weekend,” Harry said, adjusting his glasses. Bill had charmed them impervious while they were in Egypt, and the spell was still holding strong. Ron wanted it to wear off soon so he could cast it for Harry instead. 

“On Halloween,” Harry added drily. “Brilliant.”

“Did you hear?” Anthony asked, he and Sue joining them at the notice board.

“Hear what?” Ron asked. 

“They’re doing the Spectacle in Hogsmeade this year!” Sue said excitedly. 

“They’re what?” Ron said, turning around to smile at Harry. Harry gave him a blank look. Ron wanted to shake him around. “Mum and dad never took us because, well… That’s not important. It’s going to be—”

“Spectacular?” Harry guessed, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Is it a Halloween thing?”

“A Halloween thing he says,” Anthony said, shaking his head. “I’ve seen what muggles do for Halloween, and it doesn’t hold a candle.”

Ron nodded along, excited beyond words. True, it was Halloween, a historically awful day, but even Harry would be impressed by the Sorcerous Spectacle. 

“You seem eager,” Harry said, smiling at him. Ron liked making Harry smile. “This year, I wanted to…” Harry closed his eyes. “Not that Flitwick would let me. Speaking of, we should give him our permission forms.”

Ron grabbed his arm and dragged a laughing Harry to their dormitory. He couldn’t wait for Halloween.