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Water splashed into Ron’s face, going straight up his nose and interrupting his pleasant daydream.
“Listen”, hissed Arya, frowning at him.
“I was! Don’t splash me”, Ron sputtered.
“Arya Stark and Ron Weasley!” Coach Stannis’ voice cut through the humid atmosphere of the pool, “you each get to do another 100m butterfly.”
The class stared at their coach dumbly.
“NOW”, he roared.
Ron hurriedly pushed off the wall and began his laps. They’d already done soooo much butterfly. Before the end of the pool, he began to feel as though there was a piano on his back. He needed to breathe, but it was increasingly hard to get his mouth clear of the water. Something touched his foot, so he put his back against the lane rope, glad for the reprieve. Arya flowed past him smooth as summer silk, looking as if she wasn’t even trying. It was going to be a long summer.
* * *
“If you would just listen to the Coach instead of staring out the window the whole time, we’d have been done with Butterfly after the first ten minutes”, stormed Arya.
“You don’t know that,” Ron almost had to jog to keep up with her.
“I do so, you STUPID! You did the wrong drill twice, then he explained it all again as though we were THREE year-olds”, for someone so small she could walk really quickly.
“I still don’t see why that meant we all had to do the whole set again,” Ron grumbled.
She stopped so abruptly that he bumped into her, she whirled round and shoved him, still in a rage. Being off balance already, he stumbled backward and fell humiliatingly on to his butt.
“That’s because you never listen! He warned us that would happen, and this is you,” she put on an extremely vacant face and imitated Ron’s voice: “wait - what are we doing?”
“Hey, I don’t sound like that,” he shouted after her as she jogged off up the hill toward Winterfell.
How was she still so perky? Ron thought miserably as he continued his weary way home. The Burrow was still another mile or so, his legs felt like lead and he was starving.
It wasn’t his fault anyway, their new coach was clearly a tyrant. What’s more, he suffered worse than Arya from all those extra laps. She swam all year round at her expensive private school. Not to mention she did fencing. Ron admitted to himself that today’s fallout was not so bad as yesterday, when Arya had threatened to come after him with her sword. He believed it too, she seemed fierce and remarkably capable for an eleven year old girl. Maybe her whole family was like that, after all her father was the town’s Lord Mayor. Sometimes he dearly wished to be able to use his magic just once to impress certain muggles.
* * *
Next day he slept late, and was woken by bright sunlight slanting in between his blinds. The summer stretched interminably before him, full of swimming camp and annoying girls with pretty grey eyes. He rolled out of bed and promptly bashed his shin on...what exactly? He turned a circle, trying to see what he’d just walked into.
“Ow”, he yelped, this time stubbing a toe. He bent down, gingerly rubbing his foot. Strangely, he could feel - fabric? On the floor by his feet, though he could see nothing there. He grabbed blindly - Harry’s invisibility cloak! It must have been packed into his trunk accidentally.
“Ron, breakfast” his mother’s voice drifted up.
Ron guiltily scrunched up the invisibility cloak as small as he could make it. Without the cloak, he now realised he’d been tripping over his half-unpacked trunk.
“Ron!”, yelled his mother. Realising he had about a minute to get downstairs, Ron stuffed things into a backpack and hurried downstairs.
Later in the changing room, he realised he’d brought Harry’s cloak with him to swimming. His eyes widened, what if he lost it! What if it fell out of his bag and he didn’t even see! He looked around wildly but everyone else was just getting changed, no-one was looking his way. He shoved the cloak into the side pocket of his backpack, which zipped up.
After class he dressed swiftly, still wet, hair dripping down his back, then furtively shoved his hand in the zipper pocket, thankfully, it seemed the cloak was still in there.
“You look like a drowned rat!” Arya’s voice sounded amused, though she looked slightly concerned.
“What?” he muttered zipping up the pocket furtively
“Did you forget to bring a towel or something? You’re almost as wet as you were in the pool!” Arya giggled as they set off.
“Why are you so cheery?” Ron asked, having never heard Arya giggle before.
“You looked so guilty just now, plus your clothes are see through when they’re wet. But really I’m in a good mood ‘cos my cousin Jon is coming to visit and my Dad has promised to take a few days off work so we can all hang out.”
Ron decided he liked this relaxed, happy version of Arya. He wondered if she saw much of her father: “does your Dad not have many days off?”
“No,” she scowled, “even when he’s home he’s mostly on the phone or whatever for work. Anyway, Jon will practice with me,” she grinned. “Stupid Robb always thinks he’s gonna hurt me, and Sansa doesn’t fence, she does Ballet,” Arya made an absurd face when she said the word ballet.
“Couldn’t be as obnoxious as my older brother Percy,” answered Ron
They both laughed, then said “Laters,” at the same time before Arya turned off toward Winterfell.
It took all Ron’s self control to keep walking towards The Burrow, trying to seem unhurried. As soon as he rounded a bend in the road, he pelted down the pavement, flimsy flip flops smacking the concrete. Into a park, across the grass to the public toilets and finally locked behind a stall door. He tugged out Harry’s cloak and held it carefully whilst he strapped on his backpack, then draped the cloak over himself. Thankfully no-one else came in, so he let himself out and walked in front of the mirror several times, checking for telltale glimpses of hair, elbows or feet.
Finally satisfied, he set off back towards Winterfell. Trying to avoid others and stay out of direct sunlight, it seemed to take longer than it should. At the perimeter, he paused. What now? he thought. Ron had thought that the cloak and his proximity to Winterfell would inspire him. He didn’t even know if he wanted to play a practical joke, or to scare Arya or what? Essentially he really wanted to - well, impress her somehow. A low growl erupted right next to his ear, Ron yelped then tripped, stumbling into the hedge. A loud chorus of barking and snarling began on the other side of the hedge. Horrified, Ron squirmed about trying to extricate himself from the hedge without losing or ripping the precious cloak.
“Shit, they’ve got dogs”, a low voice could be heard behind him somewhere.
“That puts a spanner in the works,” came the reply.
Ron stilled, what the hell. His mind raced, who on earth is that??
“Lucky we’re finding out about the dogs now, that’s all I can say. At least this way we can plan for it. Dogs are worse than the most high tech security system. Unpredictable, see?” the first voice, almost whispered.
“So how do we deal with them? Throw ‘em a steak?” this one sounded nervous.
They were still speaking in low tones, Ron could barely hear them over the continued barking of the dogs, who seemed to be getting louder.
“Yeah something like that. There are these whistles and other types of … things which can, um - incapacitate guard dogs,” the first voice sounded thoughtful and doubtful at the same time.
“How are we gonna buy more gear, we maxed out that card getting those fancy masks and silencers,” dodgy character number two was starting to sound a little whiny, even to Ron.
“We’ll get another card. You know what they say: ‘the Lannisters always pay their debts’. Come on mate, we gotta make ourselves scarce before those beasts jump the hedge.”
The Lannisters. What the - what! Ron began freeing himself from the hedge again as he tried to make sense of the snippet he had just heard.
“Nymeria; Ghost; Shaggy! Shut the hell up and come get your food,” a male voice yelled from the yard beyond the hedge. The dogs could be heard no more. Ron’s mind was still whirring. Silencers went on guns. What kind of things would be used to incapacitate guard dogs? Why would the Lannisters be paying debts for those guys?
* * *
“Well of course even I know who the Lannisters are,” Ron was saying, “since you can’t go anywhere or do anything without seeing Cersei Lannister’s campaign posters and ads. She wants to be Lord Mayor. That’s probably why she wants your father dead!”
“I wouldn’t put it past her, but I just don’t think you...” Arya screwed up her face as her words faltered. What did she think? It seemed impossibly unlikely that Ron would uncover a plot to kill her father. However, their family huskies had been very unsettled yesterday. For just a moment, it had seemed to Arya that she was out there with her own dog, Nymeria, seeing through her eyes. She could smell something familiar - chlorine. Though at the time, she was eating lunch inside. Whatever, she pushed the uncomfortable thoughts away.
“We have to hurry or we’ll be late for class and we both know what Stannis will do if that happens,” Arya began to run and Ron was forced to jog to keep up.
After class however, Ron resumed his argument: “Arya this could be serious, they might hurt your dogs.” Ron was genuinely quite concerned about this possibility.
“Have you seen our dogs?” Arya couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.
“Seriously, come over for lunch right now you can meet them.”
“Oookay,” Ron was caught completely off guard. He was wearing a t-shirt so faded it was almost transparent and a pair of boardshorts which had belonged to one of his older brothers and slightly mismatched (one being black, the other dark grey) flip-flops. His look was that of a person who rolled out of bed and left the house in whatever they happened to be wearing and Arya Stark had just invited him for lunch.
“Come on, you can meet my cousin Jon,” Arya grabbed his arm and tugged him none too gently. Only then did Ron realise he had stopped dead and was staring quite intently at his odd thongs. He stumbled after Arya up the hill towards Winterfell’s magnificent hedges and imposing gates.
Arya let them in an inconspicuous side gate, they hadn’t gone three steps before a huge grey wolf-like dog bowled her over. Arya hugged the dog which was eagerly trying to lick her face, “Nymeria, Stop!” she said, not sounding annoyed at all. In fact she sounded delighted, and was grinning all over her face as she wrestled the dog off. Nymeria then planted herself squarely in Ron’s path. Another two dogs (were they huskies?) appeared on either side of him: the mostly black one with green eyes gave a low menacing growl. The white one bared its teeth and fixed blood red eyes on him. Ron squeaked, drawing Arya’s attention and she laughed as she came back for him, shooing off the huge dogs.
Ron mumbled his way through Arya’s introductions. Her mother seemed very polite, though she couldn’t keep her distaste for his shabby appearance from her eyes. Her brothers and cousin were thoroughly disinterested and continued a loud conversation with each other. Sansa was very pretty and kindly welcomed Ron to lunch (though it did occur to him that he felt relaxed with her as she could easily pass for his cousin). It was Mr Stark who made a real impression. He was tall and wore a grave expression on his long face, but as he leaned down to shake Ron’s hand there was a little twinkle in his grey eyes.
“Welcome to Winterfell Ron,” he lowered his voice and added conspiratorially, “Don’t worry about this lot, their bark is worse than their bite,” he winked. It wasn’t clear whether he meant Arya’s brothers or the dogs, but Ron instantly felt at ease.
Ron kept his head down during lunch, hoping to go unnoticed. Unfortunately Arya’s cousin Jon kept staring at him and looking puzzled.
“So Arya tells me you have Stannis coaching you guys this summer,” Jon suddenly brings the whole family’s attention to Ron.
“Mmhm,’ Ron mumbles through his mouthful.
“He’s the WORST!” exclaims Arya, “yesterday Seamus asked ‘how much more laps’ and Stannis doubled it since apparently he should have asked ‘how many more laps.”
Robb and Jon laughed, but Sansa looked sympathetic.
“Do you live close by?” asked Jon.
“Aah yep, pretty close,” answered Ron feeling increasingly uncomfortable. It definitely seems like Jon is scrutinising him.
“How close? What do you normally do after swimming? Do you always walk Arya home?” Jon’s questions came in rapid fire.
“Jon! We do not interrogate our guests,” admonished Arya’s mother Catelyn.
Jon abruptly pushed back his chair and stalked outside, Mr Stark gave Mrs Stark a look and followed after him.
“Umm where’s the bathroom,” Ron could feel himself blushing with pure discomfort and desperately wanted to escape the tense atmosphere at the table.
In the bathroom he splashed his face with cold water and tried to tidy his hair which looked so messy most birds would be ashamed to call it a nest. What the hell was he doing here, and how was he supposed to bring up the fact that he thought there were assassins after Arya’s father. Cousin Jon seemed to think Ron might be one of the assassins. What was going on there? Realising he was taking far too long Ron headed back out there before someone sent in a search party.
As he wandered down the hall towards the big family room where they’d been eating, Ron could hear tense voices speaking. Ned and Jon were in the kitchen, Ron slowed not wanting to walk past and have them see him.
“Jon this isn’t like you. Normally everyone gets a fair go here, you know this. In any case, Arya does not need us giving her friends the second degree. This is the first time she’s invited anyone around since Mycah. That was two and-a-half years ago now,” Ned Stark's voice was steady and quiet. The sounds of running water and dishes being stacked could be heard beneath his words.
“I'm as sure as I can be that kid was lurking around Winterfell yesterday afternoon. Remember? When the dogs were making all that racket?” Jon’s quiet tones matched Mr Stark’s.
“Why does that make you think Arya’s friend was lurking around?” Ned sounded confused.
“Ghost could smell him.” At this Jon sounded both stubborn and defeated. As though he’d had this particular argument before.
“Jon really?,” Mr Stark was incredulous, “I thought you were over this ridiculous fantasy years ago. Were you actually rude to a guest because you think you can - uh I don’t even know what. Read your dog’s mind or something. I'm disappointed.” Ned Stark sounded it too. Ron had cause to hear that particular tone of voice from his own parents. It was not a great feeling.
Unfortunately, Jon slunk out of the kitchen whilst he was still loitering in the hall.
“Oh great, now you’re eavesdropping inside the house too! What’s the deal, Ron. Who are you really?” Jon was standing far too close, and with his back to the wall Ron couldn't really back away.
“I’m no-one,” Ron squeaked, “I just swim with Arya that’s all.”
“That's not all! There’s more to you I can smell it,” Jon’s dark eyes burned into him, his voice reminded Ron of the low growls the dogs had given him earlier.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Ron tried not to whimper. He was feeling truly intimidated and could not stop thinking about the invisibility cloak in his backpack. Also what did magic smell like…
“Arya what the hell, you can’t get your sword out any time you’re feeling mildly frustrated,” Jon stepped slowly away revealing the point of a slim sword pressed lightly to his jaw.
Arya was holding the sword and looking furious.
“Back off Jon. Go get your own sword and we can - practice,” Arya managed to make it obvious she was quite sure she’d best him.
“Arya!” Ned Stark’s voice cracked like a whip, “Sheathe. Your. Sword.” Each word was carefully enunciated and seethed anger. Arya carefully lowered the blade and slid it into a plain looking scabbard with an audible click. Mr Stark held out his hand looking furious, Arya reluctantly handed him the sword in its scabbard.
“Come on Ron,” Arya stomped down the hall. Ron followed closely, staring hard at the ground and hoping Jon didn’t follow them.
They went back to the foyer for Ron to retrieve his bag and finally escape the disastrous lunch. Ron’s bad luck however, was not yet done with him. As they approached the coat rack, they found that Arya’s brother Bran had beaten them to it. He was holding Ron’s backpack in one hand, the other he held out toward Ron. It was partially obscured by the invisibility cloak. A large grey wolf-like dog sat quietly next to Bran, both it and Bran stared unnervingly.
“What is that,” Arya was wide eyed with curiosity, her earlier fit of temper seemingly forgotten. Ron had some explaining to do.
* * *
When he finally made it home Ron was exhausted and went directly to his bedroom to fling himself down on his bed. He had no idea what to do. Arya and Bran had both seen the invisibility cloak. He hadn’t warned Mr Stark about the attempt on his life. It also seemed that the Stark children were shapeshifters? Animagi? Something like that...he hadn’t fully grasped what was said. How had Bran explained it again - he could ‘wear his wolf’s skin’. There was something very eerie about the way Bran and his wolf looked at Ron.
“Mum says you have to unpack properly and take your school clothes to the laundry,” Ginny burst in without bothering to knock. Ron groaned into his bedclothes, draping his arms over the back of his head.
“What? Did you have to stay late to swim extra laps? You still haven’t had lunch either…” Ginny sounded a little concerned.
“I had lunch at Arya’s,” Ron mumbled into his bedspread.
“Who’s Arya?” Ginny was beginning to gather up the obvious dirty laundry, tossing it into the basket she’d brought up for him.
“Ron. What is this!” she exclaimed suddenly. Ron sat up at the tone of her voice. Ginny was holding the Invisibility Cloak.
“Oh for crying out loud, why do people keep finding that,” Ron said, wincing at the whine in his voice. “It’s Harry’s invisibility cloak, it must have been packed with my things by mistake.”
“Ron! Who else has seen this? Does Harry know you have it?” Ginny was shocked, she lowered her voice “does mum know?”
“No, Harry doesn’t know yet. Mum doesn’t either. The only other people who know I have it are Arya Stark and her brother Bran,” the words poured out of him and honestly, it felt pretty good to be telling it to someone. Ginny sat down on the bed next to Ron as though her legs had just collapsed from under her.
“I still don’t know who this Arya Stark is Ron,” was all she said.
Ron went on to explain all that had happened since he found the cloak. Ginny was a good listener and waited until he was done to ask him questions.
“I still don’t really understand why you were loitering around the Stark’s place in the cloak Ron,” her voice was confused, she didn’t poke fun like Fred and George would have.
“Yeah, I thought I could play some kind of harmless prank. Like swiping her bathers or goggles so she’d be late for class next day,” explained Ron. Ginny looked unconvinced but moved on.
“So you’ve told Arya about those dodgy guys loitering outside her place, but you haven’t told either of her parents?” Ginny’s brow was furrowed, she was thinking hard.
“AND she knows about Harry’s cloak. So does her brother, even though they’re muggles,” it was sounding increasingly as though she was heading towards a ‘telling their mother’ type of solution to this.
“I don’t think they’re actually muggles Arya, there’s something very odd about Bran. I get the impression he and Jon can transfigure or something.” Ron thought he could still convince her to keep their parents out of this.
“But they don’t go to Hogwarts,” Ginny said, “I don’t see how they could have magic of some kind and remain unknown to the magical world.”
“Well I don’t understand it either Ginny but since you’re eleven and I’m twelve, there’s probably a lot we don’t understand,” this was good, she was looking less sure of herself.
“I really think you need to go back and talk to the Starks,” Ginny answered in a tone which reminded Ron of Hermione, “today Ron.”
“I cannot go back there Ginny, if the wolf-dog things don’t get me, Arya’s cousin Jon will,” Ron was adamant.
“Come on Ron, I’ll go with you,” Ginny soothed.
“Nah I can't, I have um - laundry to do,” he began piling clothes into the laundry basket haphazardly. Then realising he didn’t know the current whereabouts of Harry’s cloak, he stopped and looked about wildly.
“It’s here Ron,” Ginny was still holding it. She folded it carefully then grabbed a pencil case. After emptying the case into a jar on Ron’s desk, she placed the cloak in the pencil case.
“I’ll start your laundry, you take a shower and please put on some clothes which are both clean and not relics worn by every other Weasley brother. Then we’ll go to Winterfell and speak to the Starks.” Her tone brooked no argument, plus she was offering to do his laundry.
* * *
It turned out their mother had several chores for Ron and Ginny, which took up the rest of the afternoon. Then there was dinner. By the time they were able to head towards Winterfell, it was late and dark. Ron had grabbed his pack and put the pencil case containing Harry’s cloak in there almost without thinking.
“I still think you should talk to Mr Stark. I’ve seen him on TV and stuff before, he seems like a reasonable guy,” Ginny was saying.
“Yeah but he was also having a go at Jon for his, um peculiar abilities. I don’t think he’s going to believe me about a magic cloak. I also don’t feel like he should know about it,” Ron answered.
“Why not, Bran and Arya know, how do you know they haven’t told him?” asked Ginny.
“Bran said they wouldn’t. He said this was ‘not part of his father's story’, whatever that means. I think he can do divination of some sort,” mused Ron. Ginny rudely shoved him off the path into the bushes of someone’s front garden.
“Ginny what-”
“Sshh,” she hissed urgently. Then Ron heard it too. A sort of rustling and vague whispering.
“Look,” breathed Ginny, indicating the hedge beyond them which formed part of Winterfell’s perimeter. Two shadows could be made out, they were fiddling with something and whispering to each other.
One of them stepped away from the hedge briefly, it was a man dressed all in black, including black beanie. It looked as if he even had a gun in a shoulder holster. He ducked back into the hedge.
“Geez, he’s straight out of bloody Mission Impossible,” whispered Ron.
“Shut up, we cannot let them hear us. Back down to the last street corner, now,” Ginny began to move.
Once they had backed off safely. Ginny snatched Ron’s pack and handed him the cloak.
“Put this on,” she ordered.
“Um why? What do you think we’re gonna do Ginny, this is way out of our league,” Ron was desperately trying to think of what they actually should do.
“You put the cloak on and sneak close enough to grab one of their guns. I’ll take your wand, use it to open the front gate and go warn the Starks.” Ginny sounded totally calm and decisive, but Ron could see her hands shaking.
“Why do you have my wand? And can you actually open the gate with it?” he asked, getting stuck on the least worrying thing she had said.
“Your wand was in your room and I took it. Yes I know ‘alohomora’ it’s pretty basic. Come on let’s go,” Ginny started back up the hill and Ron had no choice but to follow.
“Now I’ll wait here, and get through the gate when I can see you have them distracted,” Ginny crouched by a conveniently located shrub. Ron swallowed and put the cloak on, then headed straight for the place where they’d last seen the two black clad figures.
“No sign of the dogs - still,” he could hear their whispering as he approached.
“They might be locked inside at night,” mused one.
“Nah, why have guard dogs if you’re gonna lock ‘em away by night,” the first again.
“Well whatever. We can’t gas ‘em if they don’t show. Maybe we should just make a move”
“No way, the minute we-” he stopped abruptly, Ron had his hand on the guy’s gun. Although he knew he couldn’t be seen, it was still nerve racking. Holding his breath, he eased the gun out of its holster and tossed it away. Then backed off shakily, whilst the black clad figures erupted into disarray. Swearing under his breath, one went to retrieve his gun, the other looked about wildly for the source of this strange phenomenon. They would still see if Ginny approached the gate, he had to do something else. He moved along the hedge away from the gate, then began to whistle a merry tune. Both black clad figures headed straight for the noise while Ron desperately flattened himself under the hedge. Boots thudded past him and he crawled out, sneaking back toward the gate, he was just in time to see Ginny sneak through.
Minutes later Mr Stark appeared with two large wolf-like dogs. They took off in Ron’s direction. He flattened himself against the hedge and held his breath. Thankfully they ignored him in favour of heading toward the would-be assailants. Ginny emerged next, looking about anxiously.
“Ron,” she called softly, “Ron where are you? Do you still have the cloak on?”
Ron shed the cloak, shoving it into his pack. Ginny hugged him hard, catching him by surprise. He patted her back awkwardly.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yup, I’m so glad to see you are too. Mrs Stark is calling the cops. I think we could just leave right now. Everyone is too busy and worried to notice,” Ginny said keeping her voice low.
“Great idea,” Ron was more than happy to hightail it home - they would avoid several awkward conversations.