Pride

Ron’s stomach lurched as he examined a picture of the Entrail-Expelling Curse in action. It was in A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions, a book Bill had sent him, presumably without consulting their mum. Their mum would never have let Ron read a book that contained graphic depictions of curses. The Entrail-Expelling Curse was anything but common, and it was a rather bold claim to make about many of the curses within the book. 

He and Harry initially had a good laugh about what entrail-expelling meant. Ron had joked that it made someone shit themselves. What he had not considered was that the curse caused someone’s intestines to violently explode from their gut. The truly horrible thing was that this curse did not cause instantaneous death, as one might expect if one’s organs fancied a look outside. 

The woman in the picture—it was a drawing and not a photograph, small mercies—silently screamed as she gathered her intestines in her arms and tried to cram them back in. Ron clamped his hands over his mouth. He was going to taste his dinner a second time, and he wished he hadn’t pigged out. 

“Counter-action,” he mumbled, hunching over the book as his stomach gave a horrible pang. His own intestines were writhing inside him. They would stay inside where they were meant to be. 

There was a counter-curse, that was the entire point of including it in the book. Ron tore his eyes away from the suffering woman. He needed to have a stronger stomach. There were people in the world who would not hesitate to use such a vile curse, who enjoyed watching people tango with their own intestines, and Ron wanted to know what to do. He needed to know what to do. True, someone could stitch him up again, but that was years down the line for Harry.

The distance between where Ron was and where he wanted to be seemed vast and insurmountable. Half the curses in the book were things he hadn’t heard of before. More than half. Common curses. 

Why didn’t he know them? Why hadn’t he studied more? Why hadn’t he paid attention in class? There was a war coming, and everyone knew Harry—

Crookshanks hissed angrily as Ron scrambled out of his bed. He raced to the bathroom. The door flew open before he reached it and slammed shut once he was inside. Ron slid to his knees in front of a toilet and vomited. It tasted worse coming up than going in, but he didn’t dwell on it. Ron was only thirteen. It was a book Bill used as reference. Bill was ten years older, and had a job. He was an adult, and Ron was just a third-year.

He was still learning. He was learning. It was impossible to know everything. How many times had Ron overheard that, when the prefects were comforting the Ravenclaws truly obsessed, unhealthily obsessed, with marks? The ones who cried over getting one point taken off? Who were afraid of what their parents would think if they weren’t perfect?

Ron’s parents weren’t like that. His mum and dad wanted all of them to do well in school, get their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, but they didn’t threaten them or punish them or beat them for not performing as expected. Bill had got twelve N.E.W.T.s, and everyone knew Percy was gunning for that, but they were happy with Charlie’s five N.E.W.T.s. Ron knew his mum would be thrilled if Fred and George got three. 

The bathroom door opened. Ron groaned. Harry had gone to see Flitwick after dinner. He had impeccable timing.

“Ron?”

Ron wiped his mouth and reached up to flush the toilet, his face burning bright red. He didn’t want Harry to see. He couldn’t keep his food down when looking at a drawing of a curse. It was embarrassing. 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked gently, kneeling down next to him. 

Ron tried to push him away. He didn’t want Harry to think he was weak. 

“I’ve just been to see Flitwick,” Harry said, totally ignoring him. 

Harry was stronger than he looked, stronger than anyone knew. He put Ron’s arm over his shoulders and helped him stand. 

“Yeah?” Ron mumbled as they left the bathroom. He was torn between wanting to walk on his own and enjoying the feeling of Harry’s arm around him. It was absolutely mortifying, and he was certain he would die if Harry ever found out. 

Ron tried to think of something else. The bathroom. It was a nice bathroom. Dark blue tiles, pristine white porcelain, gleaming bronze fixtures, gauzy curtains, windows that showed the endless expanse of night sky. It wasn’t as cozy as the Gryffindor bathrooms, but Ron liked how airy it felt. It was soothing.

Harry eased Ron onto his bed and sat down next to him. He didn’t let go. 

Ron felt gross. His mouth was sour and his stomach was a confused mess. His heart began pounding when Harry picked up the book. It was still opened to the Entrail-Expelling Curse.  Harry frowned at the picture in which the woman still screamed and writhed, then firmly shut the book. 

“There’d have to be something wrong with you to look at that and not be sick,” Harry said, giving Ron a friendly nudge. 

“You’re fine,” Ron mumbled, giving Harry a sidelong glance. 

The other boy’s hair was messier than usual, and he was slightly flushed. There was hardness in Harry’s eyes, and Ron realized with a start that Harry was positively fuming. 

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked, turning to face his friend. He forgot about the curse, throwing up, the foul taste in his mouth. “Did something happen with Flitwick?”

Harry went completely still. It was a reaction alien to the Harry he knew, and it scared Ron more than the curses he had been reading about. 

If Ron had to choose one word to describe Harry Potter it would be passionate. Harry felt everything so strongly Ron didn’t know how his body could contain it. 

Carefully, Ron touched Harry’s hand. Harry flinched, blinked a few times, and took a slow breath. 

“You know how we gave him our permission forms for Hogsmeade?” Harry said.

Ron nodded. He had been looking forward to visiting Hogsmeade with Harry. The Sorcerous Spectacle was a once-in-a-lifetime event for someone like Ron Weasley. That it was in Hogsmeade, on Halloween, the year when he and Harry finally had permission to go there, was incredible. It was fate. Ron had thought, just once, Harry might be able to fully enjoy the holiday like everyone else. 

“Flitwick says,” Harry began. He closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. “He says I can’t go. That your parents aren’t properly my guardians, so your mum’s signature doesn’t count.”

“No way,” Ron said, aghast. Harry’s hand tightened in his, and he could practically hear Harry grinding his teeth together. “Who cares about that?”

“Flitwick,” Harry said bitterly, his eyes flinty with anger. “Dumbledore.”

“That’s bullshit!” Ron exclaimed. “Are your rela…are the Dursleys properly your guardians? Mum’ll get them to sign it! At wandpoint if she has to!”

Harry shook his head. “Flitwick says it’s too late for that.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Ron said, standing up. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to punch something. “He’s got to be joking! What’s he expect, you to get your mum to…”

Ron trailed off. He wasn’t going to go there. It was sick. 

Did Flitwick—did that jumped-up git Dumbledore—expect Harry to get his mum to sign for it? Harry’s mum couldn’t even feed herself most days! It was outrageous, callous, cruel, awful to deprive Harry of going to the bloody village down the road!

Ron began pacing back and forth. Wasn’t it enough that Harry’s dad was dead? That his mum was a permanent resident of the Janus Thickey Ward? The scars on his lungs, the scars from the Dursleys, the scar on his—

“It’s fine, Ron,” Harry muttered. 

“It’s not,” Ron said, spinning to face him. “You know it’s not, I know it’s not. We’ll get mum on the case. She’ll set them straight.” Ron cracked his knuckles. He’d love to see his mum lay into Dumbledore.

Harry sighed and leaned back on his hands. Ron was suddenly glad they were the only ones in their dormitory. “Halloween’s tomorrow.”

Ron’s face lit up, a brilliant idea forming. What was that Fred and George were always saying?

“Don’t ask for permission,” Ron sagely intoned, “beg for forgiveness.”

Harry’s lips quirked. “I think it’s ask for forgiveness, mate.”

“Same idea,” Ron said with a shrug. “We’re going to Hogsmeade one way or another.”

Harry’s smile faltered. He ran a hand through his hair, then looked up at Ron. “You think it’s because of Pettigrew?”

Ron gave him a skeptical look. “I thought he was after Longbottom.”

A strange look crossed Harry’s face. “He’s too much of a coward. Something’s not right…” 

Ron wiped his mouth. He really needed something to drink. Hoping he wasn’t crossing a line, he asked, “Why do you say that? Do you… do you remember him?”

Harry was silent for a long time. Crookshanks crawled out from under the bed and jumped up, settling next to Harry. Ron sat on his other side and waited

“Yeah,” Harry eventually said, wrapping his arms around himself. “Yeah, I remember Peter Pettigrew.”

There were reservations, and a brief argument, but Ron talked Harry into making another attempt with Flitwick. 

“He has to make an exception,” Ron said, marching towards Flitwick’s office.

Harry sighed. “I just want to see if Hedwig’s back. It’s too early for this, Ron.”

Ron ignored Harry’s complaining. It wasn’t too early. Harry was always up before dawn. The Dursleys had beat that into him, just as they had beat in the idea that adults would never be on his side.

Once he got into a certain way of thinking, it was hard to get Harry out of it. Ron would just have to prove it to him, over and over again, that he was on Harry’s side. That his mum and dad were on Harry’s side. Even if it took the rest of his life.

They reached Flitwick’s office on the seventh-floor—it wasn’t far from the Owlery, they could check on Hedwig after—and Ron knocked firmly on the door. There was a crash, and hurried footsteps approached the door. It creaked open, and Flitwick blinked up at them. He was in a fluffy dressing gown and looked like he had just woken up. Maybe Flitwick could have a leisurely lie-in on a Sunday morning, but Ron and Harry were busy kids.

“What is it, boys?” Flitwick asked, looking between them. 

“Harry’s got his permission form signed by my mum,” Ron said. “So he can go to Hogsmeade today.”

Flitwick closed his eyes and sighed. “As I’ve already told Mr. Potter, the headmaster requires the signature of either a parent or guardian. I’m afraid your mother serves neither role.”

“That’s not true,” Ron argued. “Mum’s a guardian. She’s a great guardian! She guards all the time!”

“Mr. Weasley, I’m sorry, but—”

“What do you want me to do?” Harry asked suddenly. “Do you want me to go to St. Mungo’s and have my mum scribble on something?”

“No,” Flitwick said hastily. “Lily…your mother cannot consent in her condition. We would never—”

“So the Dursleys, then?” Harry demanded. “What, professor? What do you want from me?”

Flitwick pulled back. “Mr. Potter, be mindful of your tone. Your aunt and uncle—”

“Those people are not his family,” Ron interjected. “They’re monsters!”

“Mr. Weasley!” Flitwick exclaimed. “Behave yourself!”

“So you’re saying there’s no situation in which I could go to Hogsmeade, sir?” Harry asked. “Ron’s mum doesn’t count, my mum is too mentally disturbed, and the Dursleys would sooner sign my death warrant than a permission form.”

“My hands are tied,” Flitwick said tiredly. “I have asked both the headmaster and deputy headmistress if an exception could be made in your case, but in light of recent events—”

“So it is because of Pettigrew,” Ron said, jostling Harry. “I knew it. That means Longbottom is staying back too, yeah?”

Flitwick hesitated. “That is not my place to say.”

“Why let anyone go at all, if it’s so dangerous?” Harry asked. “What’s the logic in that? And why would Pettigrew be a threat to me? I’m no one special.”

“Do not say that about yourself,” Flitwick said firmly. “You are a remarkable young wizard, among the brightest in your generation!” He beamed at them, regaining some of his typical cheer. “Now, I suggest you two boys go down to breakfast and find something to occupy yourselves. The decision is final.”

Flitwick quietly shut his door, leaving Harry and Ron standing in the corridor. 

“Bollocks,” Ron said.

Harry snorted derisively. “Come on, let’s see Hedwig.”

Ron aimed a half-hearted kick at Flitwick’s door—he was smart enough to understand it really was out of Flitwick’s hands, and their head of house had at least tried—then followed Harry to the Owlery. 

He paid little attention to the bats flying overhead, the suits of armor shambling around, or Peeves popping out of the floor and screaming, “Boo!” As intense as Harry could be, sometimes he could come off as so…so resigned to everything. Ron couldn’t shake the memory of Harry locked in a cupboard, of him standing in the harsh light of the Dursley’s porch, torn clothes, broken glasses, bruised face, the emptiness in his eyes.

They walked up the narrow, spiraling staircase of the West Tower, stopping at the top so Harry could catch his breath. Ron was determined to get them to Hogsmeade, permission forms be damned. He was, however, not at all prepared to find Ginny playing with her duck Custard. 

Ron blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes. 

“What are you two doing up here?” Ginny asked, looking up from Custard’s pool. Flitwick had made it for her, he really was an alright bloke. Ron shook his head. This was no time to be distracted. 

“What are you doing up here?” Ron asked. “It’s not even breakfast!”

“Are those rubber ducks?” Harry asked, walking towards the pool.

Ginny was indeed holding a bright yellow rubber duck. The rubber duck was looking over its shoulder with a cheeky little expression. A half dozen more were floating around Custard. 

“Yeah,” Ginny said, splashing the water. “Dad sent them.”

“Makes sense,” Ron said, nodding to himself. It also explained the plugs affixed to several ducks. 

“Does it?” Harry asked. 

“We came up to visit Hedwig,” Ron said, looking around the lofty Owlery. With the exception of Custard, most of the birds were asleep on their perches. A few owls opened their eyes to check out the disturbance, but promptly disregarded the three students without letters.

“She’s not back yet,” Ginny said, dunking the rubber duck she held. She released it, and the toy popped back up. 

Harry sighed. “Thanks.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked back towards the stairs. 

“See you, Gin,” Ron said hastily. 

Ginny rolled her eyes and went back to playing with Custard. “Have fun at Hogsmeade.”

Ron winced, then hurried after Harry. He hoped Harry hadn’t heard. He could just imagine explaining to everyone that Harry couldn’t go. Did the professors think of that at all? Your dad’s dead, your mum’s in the loony bin. Oh, and by the way, you can’t do this fun thing everyone else gets to!  

Taking the stairs two at a time, Ron quickly caught up to Harry. “Are you waiting for something?”

Harry didn’t look at him. “Hm?”

“From Hedwig,” Ron clarified. “Normally she’d just visit you in the Great Hall, or the dormitory, or—”

“Oh, that,” Harry said. “Yeah, she’s the only owl I trust with this.”

“With what?” Ron asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs. 

Harry turned and gave him a teasing smile. “It’s a surprise.”

Ron groaned. “Not this again!”

“Not what again?” two voices chorused.

Ron spun around. Harry already had his wand pointed at George’s face. He looked stunned by the turn of events, as was Fred when he noticed Ron was close to stabbing him in the eye with his own wand.

“Jumpy,” Fred said, carefully pushing Ron’s wand away. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” George said, putting his hands up. 

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” Harry muttered, lowering his wand without prompting. 

“What do you two want?” Ron asked. “Why is everyone awake before breakfast on a holiday?”

Fred and George smiled impishly at them.

“A little bird told us that someone’s not allowed to go to Hogsmeade,” Fred said. 

“What bird?” Ron asked. 

“Whose bird?” Harry asked. 

“Neville,” Fred and George said. 

“We heard him talking about it in the common room last night,” George explained. “McGonagall told him.”

“Great,” Harry said sarcastically. “Reckon she was trying to make him feel better about staying behind.”

“What are you on about?” Fred asked. “Neville’s going to Hogsmeade with Hermione and them.”

Ron gaped at his brothers. Harry seemed too stunned for words.

“You what?” Ron managed to say. “It’s him Pettigrew wants, so why is it that Harry’s the one who can’t go?”

“Don’t ask us,” George said unhappily. “That’s just what we heard.”

“What everyone heard,” Fred added. 

“Never mind that,” George said, motioning towards a tapestry depicting a pumpkin patch. Fred walked over and pulled it up, revealing a dark, cramped passageway. “We’ve got something for you.”

“It’s not even breakfast,” Ron said faintly, ducking under the tapestry. 

Harry’s wand lit with a cool blue light, turning Fred and George’s smiles eerie. George pulled a yellowed piece of parchment from his robes and presented it to them.

“Is that a map?” Ron asked. 

Fred and George gave him confused looks.

“It’s not,” Fred said. “We should have thought of that, Georgie.”

“We’ve been working on one on and off since first year,” Harry said. “We haven’t found a way to track everyone yet, but we’ve got down all the secret passages we’ve found.”

“Are you sure you’ve got all of them?” George asked, his smile returning. 

“We could help out,” Fred said. “We’ve picked up a thing or two over the years. For example…”

George cleared his throat and held up the paper. “We fliched this from Filch. He’s got this drawer in his office, Confiscated and Highly Dangerous—”

“And you opened it?” Harry asked. 

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yeah…”

“It’s been dead useful,” Fred said. “We’ve got it all memorized.”

“How’s that then?” Ron asked, examining the parchment. “It hasn’t got anything on it!”

“Keep your hair on,” Fred said, taking out his wand and touching the parchment. “Lead me astray.”

Ink oozed across the old parchment, bleeding into words. It was a bulleted list, written in a dozen different hands. 

“We think it’s been passed down for ages,” George said. “Student to student.”

“Miscreant to miscreant,” Harry muttered, leaning closer to read the words. 

“Right you are, Harry,” Fred said. 

“They’ve got that one behind the one-eyed witch,” Ron said, glancing at Harry. They had discovered a few passages that lead out of Hogwarts, some which led right into Hogsmeade. If Pettigrew did try to get into Hogwarts, he had his pick.

“Everyone finds that one,” George said. “Filch knows about it, and so do the people at Honeydukes, so don’t bother.”

“It’s this one you want,” Fred said, pointing at the name of another statue. “Gregory the Smarmy.”

“Takes you right into Madam Puddifoot’s boudoir,” George said with a wink. He pressed his wand to the parchment again and said, “I’ve found my way.” The ink faded, and George handed the parchment to Ron. 

Fred clapped his hand on Ron’s shoulder. “We truly believe that you will misuse this power.”

“Thanks,” Ron said, overwhelmed. He could tell it was really important to his brothers, and couldn't quite believe they were just…giving it to him. “Uh, what’s a boudoir?”

Harry was still laughing about boudoirs after breakfast. Ron’s ears were permanently red from having it explained to him, not because he was nervy about a lady’s dressing room, but because he thought it was a word he should have already known. Try explaining that to Harry bloody Potter. 

They walked through the entrance hall, where Filch was diligently checking people off his list. The third-year Ravenclaws were in a group together, chatting excitedly about the fair they had seen being erected all week. There was a huge Ferris wheel that Ron was dying to take Harry on. Harry had never ridden one before, he had always been made to wait while his cousin went on fair rides, the rare times he had been allowed to go at all.

“We’ll bring you back loads of sweets!” Anthony called out, adjusting the cat ear headband he wore. Everyone else had animal parts too. Paws, beaks, tails, claws. Morag had gone whole hog and charmed herself with rabbit ears and antlers, a jackalope. Ron glanced at Harry, and had the strangest thought that antlers would suit him better.

“Scared of the dementors, Potter?” 

Ron was annoyed to see Draco Malfoy sticking his greasy head out of the queue. His arm had fully grown back weeks ago, but the Slytherin team had successfully switched their first game around. Instead of the last game of the year being Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, it would be Slytherin and Gryffindor. 

Harry took out his wand. 

“Harry,” Ron said urgently, “what are you—”

“Expecto patronum!”

A rangy dog burst out of Harry’s wand. People screamed and leapt out of the way as it charged at Malfoy. Malfoy shrieked and fell to the ground, while his lackeys Crabbe and Goyle shoved people out of their way. 

Harry’s patronus braced itself over Malfoy, lips peeled back in a snarl, silver-blue and blinding in the dim entrance hall. Warmth washed over Ron, and a weight he had not realized he had been carrying was lifted. It was Harry, the comforting familiarity of his magic.

Ron watched in awe as Harry advanced on Malfoy. 

“No,” Harry said menacingly, placing his hand on his silently growling patronus. “But you should be. They’ve been feeding off your Auntie Bella for years. Reckon they—”

“No magic in the corridors!” Filch bellowed. He was pale and spitting mad. Ron struggled not to smile at Harry having scared Filch too.  

Harry jerked back, and suddenly looked chagrined. His patronus dissipated, leaving Malfoy heaving on the floor. It was a glorious sight to behold. Less pleasant was Harry losing points and getting detention, but that was largely overridden by the people whispering about Harry, a third-year student, being able to conjure a corporeal patronus. 

“That was beautiful!”

Ron looked around and saw Luna had drifted down for breakfast. She had a wide smile on her face, yet it was a wistful expression.

“Harry’s brilliant,” Ron agreed. “Did you want us to get you anything from Hogsmeade?”

Luna tilted her head. Filch finally got the queue back in order, and Harry was making his way back to Ron, rubbing his ear and wrinkling his nose.

“An acid pop,” Luna decided. 

“Are we picking our favorite things to shove up Malfoy’s left nostril?” Harry asked when he joined them. “Twenty points, can you believe it?”

“You’ll earn it back when you beat him to the snitch,” Ron said, nudging him. Harry smiled and looked down, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“And cockroach clusters!” Luna finished, throwing her arms up. Ron and Harry were showered in glitter. 

Ron spat out a few pieces. “Why have you got glitter in your robes?” he asked, but Luna was already skipping off, leaving a haze of glitter in her wake. “Strange kid.”

Harry bumped into him. “Want to go to the library first?” He glanced around the entrance hall and frowned when he noticed people were still watching him. 

“Why?” Ron asked as they headed up the grand marble staircase. They passed a few more stragglers coming downstairs, hurrying to join the queue for Hogsmeade. 

“I was thinking we should break into the Restricted Section one of these days,” Harry said idly. 

Ron thought it over. “You should’ve asked Flitwick for a pass. Guilted him into it, you know, since you can’t go to Hogsmeade.”

“Maybe next time,” Harry said as they walked down a corridor. “Think charming our hair different colors will work?”

“No one’s going to be looking for us,” Ron said. They both agreed they didn’t want to go around under the invisibility cloak, and they would stand out for wearing costumes when no one else was.

Harry coughed a few times and leaned against a wall. Ron joined him, gently rubbing his back. 

“You shouldn’t do magic like that to get one over on Malfoy,” Ron said. “He’s not worth it.”

“You’re right,” Harry said, coughing a few more times. “Next time I’ll just punch him.” 

Harry’s eyes went wide, and he grabbed Ron’s arm and pulled him into an alcove.

“What is it?” Ron whispered.

“Snape,” Harry said. “He just crossed the corridor, carrying a goblet.” He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead. “What floor are we on?”

“Third,” Ron answered straight away. 

Harry coughed again, then said, “Lupin’s office is on this floor.”

“Reckon Snape’s taking Lupin a cuppa and bikkie?” 

Harry snorted, then reached into his robes. Unsurprisingly, he had his invisibility cloak stuffed in there, and he threw it over himself and Ron. Ron got his wand out and murmured a silencing charm, then shared a grin with Harry. 

Leaving the alcove, Ron and Harry hurried down the third-floor corridor. They rounded a corner and just caught the swish of Snape’s black robes as he entered Lupin’s office. For a wild moment, Ron imagined Snape and Lupin having tea together, then Harry grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward. 

The door of Lupin’s office had been left wide open, so Ron and Harry were treated to a full view of the bizarre scene unfolding within. 

Neville, Hermione, Dean, and Seamus were all clustered around a large tank of water. Neville had a book open, and had apparently been lecturing his friends on the various aquatic plants in the tank. Lupin was leaned against his desk, wearing fine black robes over a tailored grey muggle suit, his hair brushed back from his face and revealing the thin scars that cut across it.

On Lupin’s desk were a teapot, several cups, and a tray of biscuits were laid out. He’d been having tea with the Boy Who Lived. 

Snape slowly approached Lupin, a steaming goblet held aloft in one hand. 

Watching him face down Snape, Ron could understand why Lupin was so popular. The young, handsome professor pitted against the hated, hideous Potions Master. 

Ron, of course, was royally pissed off at both. Snape was an arsehole who had been trying to find ways to harass Harry from the off. Lupin was an arsehole who had never visited Harry’s mum, or Harry, or made any effort with Harry at all and was having tea with the bloody Boy Who Lived instead. 

“Severus,” Lupin said warmly. “I was just showing Neville and his friends my latest acquisition. A breeding pair of grindylow, very difficult to keep in captivity.”

Snape looked at Neville, scoffed, then set the goblet on Lupin’s desk. 

“Thank you, as always,” Lupin continued. 

“Drink,” Snape said darkly.

“Oh, I will,” Lupin said, smiling faintly. “I wouldn’t go into Hogsmeade without it.”

Snape looked at the group of Gryffindors again, then back to Lupin. “Babysitting, Lupin?”

Lupin’s smile grew. “Why break the habit of a lifetime?”

Harry stiffened, and it clicked for Ron what was happening. Neville and the rest weren’t at Hogsmeade yet because they were going with Lupin. Neville was getting a special escort while Harry was forgotten. No wonder Flitwick had been cagey. 

Ron reached down, took Harry’s wrist, and pulled him away. They made it all the way to the fifth floor, to the indolent statue of Gregory the Smarmy, before the silencing charm broke. 

“We don’t have to go,” Ron said quietly. This was… He didn’t have the words for it. How much worse could Halloween possibly get? He didn’t want to find out. He just wanted for Harry to be happy. Why was that so hard?

“I want to,” Harry said firmly. “I’m not… We already knew, Ron.” He sniffed, and pushed up his glasses. “I’m fine.”

Harry started coughing again, and Ron was ready to insist they stay. But Harry got his breathing under control, and he had a determined set to his jaw that told Ron that trying to talk him out of it would be as useful as reasoning with a brick wall. Besides that, he also wanted to go to Hogsmeade. He wanted to go with Harry. 

“We need to get Luna’s acid pops,” Harry said, smiling at him, his green eyes sparkling with a mischievous light.

Ron caved immediately. 

“Yeah,” he said weakly. “Yeah, definitely. Let’s do that.”

Something web-like was touching Ron’s face, and he felt a scream building in his throat.

“Lumos,” Harry whispered, and to his horror Ron saw exactly where the passage behind Gregory the Smarmy had led them. 

They were in a lady’s closet. 

Ron made a face and slapped the pair of stockings away from himself. Hangers rattled, he tripped into Harry, and they inelegantly tumbled out of the closet and into a nauseatingly pink sitting room. The scents of rose and musk bombarded him.

There was something on his head. Ron was scared to touch it. He looked desperately at Harry, who was obviously struggling not to burst out laughing. Harry had a large brassiere draped over his head, and Ron blushed fantastically at it. 

“Why are you so,” Ron stammered. He reached up and plucked something delicate and light from his head. 

It was a pair of lacy pants.

Ron cringed and flung it away from himself.

Harry snorted, then doubled over with silent laughter. Ron hated his life sometimes.. 

When Harry finally stopped laughing he explained. 

“I’ve done Aunt Petunia’s laundry before,” he said lightly, though there was a distant look in his eyes that Ron didn’t like. He was glad Harry didn’t elaborate, and felt bad for asking even though he had no way of predicting Harry’s response. 

“Meow.”

Ron spun around and was greeted by the sight of Crookshanks digging himself out of a pile of hosiery. 

“What the hell?” Ron said, lifting the cat up. “I didn’t even notice him following us!”

Crookshanks wriggled out of his hold and stalked towards the door, then sat down and gave Ron a significant look.

“Maybe he wants to see the spectacle too?” Harry suggested, getting to his feet. He reached out for Ron and pulled him up. 

“Maybe,” Ron said doubtfully, giving Crookshanks a hard look. Crookshanks began cleaning his back. Ron didn’t buy his little innocent cat act, not for a second. “He’s up to something.”

They got all the clothes back into the closet, then made their way out of the dark sitting room. Getting out of the café was trickier. It was a small space, and Madam Puddifoot had crammed as many tables in as she could. Every seat was filled, and only a few Hogwarts students were present. Ron had to cover his eyes when he spotted Percy canoodling with the Head Girl, Penelope Clearwater. The magical funfair, the Sorcerous Spectacle, had attracted a number of visitors to Hogsmeade. Not even an Azkaban escapee could put a stop to the Halloween festivities. 

With some difficulty, Ron and Harry squeezed their way to the door and made their own escape. Ron took a moment to breathe in the fresh air, relieved to be away from the cloying perfume that haunted Madam Puddifoot’s. 

“Maybe we should have gone with Polyjuice,” Ron said, looking his friend over. Someone in red robes walked by them—an auror—and Ron forced himself not to look, not to act suspicious.

The trickiest part was Harry’s glasses. Not many students wore glasses. They could have transfigured them into another shape, but that meant the lenses too and they didn’t know how to account for that. Harry had the idea to disillusion the frames, so it looked like he wasn’t wearing glasses at all. All they had to do was charm his hair a different color—red, like his mum—and Harry was unrecognizable. Ron had gone for black for no particular reason, and doubted his own mum would be able to tell it was him.

A group of fourth-year girls ran down the street, giggling. Ron looked up and saw the immense, glittering Ferris wheel rising above the town. It was early in the day, and the wheel was still and silent. They had time to explore Hogsmeade before dusk.

“Where do you want to go first?” Harry asked, striking out towards the high street. Ron had no idea how Harry knew which direction it was in, but was happy to follow along. 

“Zonko’s,” Ron said. “I want to see what Fred and George buy. Forewarned is forearmed.”

Crookshanks trotted ahead of them, then disappeared down an alley. Ron knew he would show up again when he felt like it, perhaps after killing a beloved family pet or otherwise terrorizing the townspeople.

“You’d think they’d save the galleons and make their own prank devices,” Harry said, crossing his arms.

“Don’t give them any ideas,” Ron warned. “You’ve heard the sort of noises coming out of their room.”

“It’s the noises coming out of Percy’s room I’m worried about,” Harry said blithely.

“Harry!”

Harry laughed and put his hands over Ron’s mouth. “Don’t go announcing we’re here! Sorry, didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

Ron pulled Harry’s hands down. “I’m not delicate.”

Harry shook his head, still smiling with amusement at Ron’s expense, and continued down the street. Ron stomped after him, muttering, “I’m not.”

Hogsmeade went by in a blur. No one recognized them. No one even gave them a second look. Ron was patting himself on the back; the simplest plans really were the best. Harry got a good laugh out of following Fred, George, and Lee around as they purchased various supplies for their antics, and another when Ron accidentally bit into a cockroach cluster. Ron washed it down with a sample of Honeydukes’ new fire seed fudge. It kept him warm throughout the chill morning. 

Everywhere they turned there were posters of Peter Pettigrew and aurors on patrol. Ron spotted one who had been at Hogsmeade Station, the one who had spoken to Lupin and had given Harry a strange look. Harry noticed him too, and was silent for some time after. 

They went to the Three Broomsticks for lunch, sharing foamy mugs of butterbeer that put a smile on Harry’s face. They kept their heads down when Lupin came in with Neville and the rest, and again when they passed the group near the post office and its hundreds of color-coded owls. 

The Shrieking Shack was a shack, and both Ron and Harry were skeptical it was haunted at all. There was more spectral activity during breakfast in the Great Hall. Dervish and Banges was more interesting, packed with an eccentric assortment of ostensibly magical devices neither Ron nor Harry could divine the purpose of. They agreed to visit again and search for any cursed objects for Ron to practice on.

By the time dusk fell, Ron had not bought as much as he might have. Shops in Hogsmeade were closing up, and throngs of people began making their way to the outskirts of town. 

With a ground shaking boom, the Ferris wheel exploded into motion. Fireworks shot out from it, painting the sky in dazzling sparks. Harry gazed up at the display, captivated. 

“Come on,” Ron said, grabbing Harry’s hand. “If we hurry, we can get on that first!”

Ron pitied anyone who stayed at Hogwarts for the feast. It couldn’t compare. He was briefly worried someone would notice him and Harry were missing, but his worry was quickly forgotten as soon as they were in the fair proper. 

Having been to the carefully orchestrated, if overwhelming, Flamel wedding anniversary had somewhat prepared Ron for the onslaught. Somewhat. 

The Ferris wheel was a monolith, shining and bright, carrying buckets of shrieking people hundreds of feet high. It was far from the only carnival ride. They stuck themselves to a devil’s wheel arcing with lightning, rode a merry-go-round staffed by hippogriffs, went down slides that took them on a dizzying route above and through and under everything. Hawkers wove through the crowd, waving about kebabs and fairy floss. 

They found Hagrid roaring drunk and shooting a crossbow at moving targets, cheered on by the Astronomy teacher, Professor Sinistra. Ron got lured into playing a game of hook-a-duck, and chased Custard off when she snuck into the pond. They teamed up with Fred and George to drag Percy away from a game of tombola, actually dragged as the lid of the drum had snapped closed on his hand. Percy scurried off to find Penelope, not even noticing his youngest brother had been the one cursing the damn thing. Fred and George winked at them and vanished back into the crowd. 

“What’s that?” Harry asked some time later, grabbing Ron’s arm. 

They were resting on a bench, peoplewatching. Ron had no idea how late it was, but knew Filch would be checking people back in, and the heads of houses checking dormitories. 

“Hm?” Ron mumbled. He was eating something called a hot dog, which Harry repeatedly assured him did not contain any dog. He swallowed, then looked at the sign Harry was pointing at. 

Execrable Exhibition

“A zoo,” Ron said, not knowing how else to explain it.

They were near the edge of the funfair, away from all the main events, but plenty of people were heading through the gate Harry had noticed. This area had less lighting, felt more foreboding. 

“What kind of zoo?” Harry asked, nibbling on his Scotch egg. 

“Well, it’s Halloween,” Ron said, taking another bite, “so dark creatures.”

“A dark creature zoo,” Harry said flatly. “You know werewolves are considered dark creatures, yeah?”

A bell tolled in the distance, and yet it sounded like it was right next to Ron. 

“Must be the signal to go back,” Ron said, looking sadly at the end of his hot dog. He didn’t know what it was about foods in stick form, but they always tasted better.

“I want to go in there,” Harry said.

“Flitwick will lose his shit if he finds us missing,” Ron pointed out. 

“Professor,” Harry said in a tone reminiscent of Hermione Granger, “that’s not what Entrail-Expelling means!”

“Sod off,” Ron said, playfully kicking Harry for emphasis. 

“I’ll make it quick,” Harry said, handing Ron the rest of his Scotch egg. “I just want to see what’s in there.”

Sighing, Ron followed his best friend into possibly the creepiest zoo in the world. His opinion was immediately validated when, as soon as they were over the threshold, a gigantic acromantula leapt at them. 

He fainted. 

Ron regained consciousness moments later to the sound of Harry giving the acromantula a piece of his mind. The acromantula was chittering angrily back, its pincers closing uselessly around a bar of its cage. It could still stick its horrible hairy legs through the bars, and Ron quickly pulled Harry away. 

“Sorry about that,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think, you know, since there as so many at Hogwarts, and—”

“It’s fine,” Ron said shakily. Spiders were not his worst fear anymore. 

The acromantula was not the most dangerous thing there. Harry, thankfully, moved at a clip. He seemed less interested in gawking at the caged creatures and more in documenting what was there. An aviary filled with swooping evils; gargoyles standing guard, still as stone; a harpy with clipped wings; a banshee screaming silently, her throat ringed with runes; a pitched battle between red caps; a defanged vampire, miserably sucking on a blood pop; a woman who claimed to be a werewolf, and a part-timer, with the silver scars to prove it. 

“These are people,” Harry whispered harshly, watching a selkie don her spotted skin and turn into a seal. She balanced a striped ball on her nose to mild applause. “Muggles have these things called freak shows. Dudley used to… It doesn’t matter. Bearded ladies, little people, fat people, conjoined twins. People from different countries.” 

Dudley used to. 

Harry’s words followed Ron as they left the dreadful zoo. They passed the werewolf lady on her break, smoking a cigarette with someone who looked like a mix between a human and a house-elf. 

It was a sour note on which to end their evening, but Ron found it illuminating. He had never thought about what sort of jobs were out there for people who weren’t witches and wizards. He imagined Harry in a cage, kids throwing food at him, adults demanding he perform a trick. 

What kind of life would that be?

Hogsmeade was quiet, save for the noise still emanating from the funfair. They made their way back to Madam Puddifoot’s. Ron wasn’t looking forward to breaking in, but it was either that or the dementors. They walked under Harry’s invisibility cloak, evading the few aurors still on patrol. Ron tried a few silencing charms on the material, then settled for a muffling charm on him and Harry.

“Did you have fun?” Ron asked tentatively. 

“Up until the end, yeah,” Harry said. “I just… I want to know what’s going on behind the scenes. Like with Hogwarts. If no one told me, I would have no idea there were a hundred house-elves cooking and cleaning around the clock.”

Ron nodded. It was something he hadn’t thought much about until he had met Dobby. 

They were nearing the Hog’s Head, a pub that, as Hermione would put it, was a bit dodgy. The weathered sign had a picture of a severed boar’s head dripping blood—bold given Hogwarts was just down the road. Two men and an auror were having an argument out front. Ron and Harry moved to the edge of the street to walk around them. 

“This is my job,” one man said mockingly, swaying on his feet, waving a bottle around. He belched, and started giggling. He was very clearly drunk. 

“Did you take his wand?” the auror asked in a bored tone. 

“You know I did,” the third man said. 

Ron’s eyebrows shot up. He recognized that voice. He could just make Lupin’s face out in the auror’s dim wandlight.

Harry came to a dead stop.

The drunk man took a messy swig from his bottle, spilling liquor down his rumpled robes. It joined a large curry stain. 

“He’s here,” the drunk man said, stumbling forward. “I know he’s here! I’ll kill him!”

“Why is he even staying in the village?” the auror asked.

“We need to go,” Ron whispered, trying to urge Harry along. Harry shook him off, instead moving closer to the three men. 

The auror was the same one they had seen earlier, a young man with short black hair and striking grey eyes. The drunk man, who was clutching the auror’s robes now, looked like an older, scruffier version. 

Harry gave a choked sob, and Ron had to grab him before he collapsed to the ground. The auror’s head twitched, but the drunkard was shouting about traitors and rats and all sorts of nonsense while Lupin tried to placate him. 

“He’s alive,” Harry said, tears running down his face. “He’s alive. I can’t believe it. He’s alive.”

“Who’s alive?” Ron asked frantically. He needed to get Harry away from…whatever the hell this was. Back to the castle. They had classes in the morning. They needed to go. 

Harry was shaking though, in the middle of the street, under his invisibility cloak, staring wide eyed as the auror reached the limit of his patience and hit the drunk with a stunner. Red light struck the man in the chest, and he fell to the ground in a heap.

“No!” Harry cried out, lunging forward. “Sirius!”

Ron stared at the drunk man collapsed on the street, at Lupin hovering over him, at the auror shaking his head and walking away. He knew that face. There was only one person it could be. 

“It’s just a Stunning Spell,” Ron said numbly, using all of his strength to hold Harry back.

Friends with Harry’s dad. The best man at his parents’ wedding. A man who, for some reason, both Ron and Harry thought was dead. 

Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black.