Work Text:
Forever the Sidekick
“Ron! Are you okay? Ron!”
“I’m here!” he called back. Then he regretted it immediately as the dust in the air coated his lungs. Ron coughed violently. Rubbing grime from his eyes, he looked around to better assess the situation. Harry’s voice came muffled from the other side of a wall of broken rock. He reached out a hand and pushed futilely. Predictably, it didn’t budge. Large cracks marred the ceiling above and a few small pebbles tumbled down the side of the rock pile.
A groan drew his attention to a spot on the floor to his right. Lockhart was lying on his back, one hand weakly rubbing at his head as he blinked dazedly at the ceiling. The dust clung to his hair and early wrinkles, making him look as though he’d aged a hundred years. Not so pretty now.
“I’m okay,” Ron called to Harry. He allowed himself one moment of relief that they were all alive before fear and anger flooded in. Ginny. He turned to glare in Lockhart’s direction, teeth grinding audibly. Ron’s wand was lying on the floor beside him, and he snatched it up and pocketed it. “This git’s not, though—he got blasted by the wand—” He told himself he was only trying to nudge Lockhart with his foot to test his responsiveness. In truth, he took quite a lot of pleasure in kicking him.
“Ow,” Lockhart groaned, rolling on his side to rub the spot on his shin. But Ron didn’t want to waste another thought for the useless lump. He turned back to the fallen rock and the direction of Harry’s voice, and again pushed desperately against it with his palms.
“What now?” Ron called. “We can’t get through—it’ll take ages…” Ginny. Damn it all to hell! How am I going to get to Ginny? She’s already been in the Chamber of Secrets for hours. If she dies… all because Lockhart… By Merlin’s bollocks, I swear I’ll— Ron felt a very strong compulsion to kick Lockhart again. And he had no energy to waste on resisting such impulses.
“Ow!” Lockhart yelped as Ron’s foot again landed a blow.
“Wait there,” came Harry’s muffled instruction. “Wait with Lockhart. I’ll go on… If I’m not back in an hour…”
There was a very pregnant pause.
If Harry didn’t come back in an hour, they both knew what that meant. Ron would have lost, not only his little sister, but also his best friend.
Ron screwed his eyes shut as he felt a familiar churning in his stomach. He drew in repeated deep calming breaths through his nose. This is Harry, Ron reminded himself. Harry, who faced You-Know-Who three times already and lived. Harry who always managed the impossible. Ron trusted Harry with his life.
But this was different. This was trusting him with Ginny’s.
He opened his eyes to face the impenetrable boundary before him, knowing there was no choice. “I’ll try and shift some of this rock,” said Ron. His voice came out weaker and shakier than he cared to acknowledge. “So you can— can get back through. And, Harry—” His voice broke. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to beg him to bring his little sister back safely. To come back safely himself. To not leave him here alone.
“See you in a bit,” Harry said when no words came. He sounded so sure. So confident. So unrattled. This is Harry.
Ron’s breath echoed in the confines of the tunnel as he stood motionless, staring at the rockfall. Ron wished he hadn’t thrown Lockhart’s wand away back in the office; then he’d at least be able to have a little light. Ron didn’t dare light his own; what if it acted up again and gobbled up what little oxygen there was left in this poorly ventilated tunnel? So he stood there in near blackness with just the faintest ghostly light filtering down from the way they’d come. Harry’s muffled footsteps retreated further and further away until there was no sound beyond Ron’s breathing and the occasional tinkling of a fallen pebble.
Ron craned his head to look up at the cracks in the ceiling. Even if he’d had a wand that worked properly, it would have been too risky to use magic. The whole ceiling could collapse right on top of him. He glanced back the way they’d come. Even on the off chance he managed to climb back into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom and run to find help, he didn’t speak Parseltongue, so there was no way they’d be able to get back down to Harry and Ginny.
He didn’t realise the tears had fallen down his cheeks until he felt them drying, turning the dust that coated his face to a clay that pulled at his skin. Ron sniffed angrily and rubbed at his face—a rather pointless endeavour as his hands were just as dirty as his face. You’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know? Hermione would’ve known what to do. She would have had some brilliant solution to all their problems.
Eyes screwed shut as he thought, Ron breathed deep and slow through his nose. Maybe Ron was not so clever as Hermione. Maybe he was not so fearless as Harry. But he wasn’t useless. He refused to be useless. Ginny was his little sister and it was his job to look out for her. And if he couldn’t use his brain, and he couldn’t use his wand, he would just have to use his hands.
Drawing in one final deep bracing breath, Ron opened his eyes, straightened his back, and reached out to dig his fingers in a crevice and pry out the first rock.
“GO TO YOUR ROOM! NOW! YOU’RE GROUNDED UNTIL NEXT YEAR, YOUNG MAN!”
“BUT IT WASN’T MY FAULT!”
“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT! YOU WAIT UNTIL YOUR FATHER GETS HOME!”
Ron let out a bellow of frustration as he stormed up the stairs. He slammed his bedroom door as loudly as he could. Even from the top floor of the Burrow with the door closed, though, he could still hear Ginny’s cries of pain and fear. He covered his ears with his palms and screwed his eyes shut as his stomach churned.
Leaning against his closed door, he drew in repeated deep calming breaths through his nose. Continuous rumbling thunder filled his ears beneath his hands. “It wasn’t my fault,” he whispered into his self-imposed void.
By the time Ron lowered his hands and opened his eyes, the house had gone quiet. Mum had taken Ginny to Saint Mungo’s then. She’d have instructed Bill to make sure he didn’t leave his room. Not that he wanted to.
Ron went and flopped onto his bed and set about glaring at the ceiling. It was so unfair! Why was he the one in trouble? He hadn’t told her to do it.
Sulking eventually got boring, however. Ron reached onto his dresser to rifle through his stack of Martin Miggs comics. He pulled down a copy of Volume #37—a particular favourite where Martin and his best friend, Eugene Anorak, go to the arcade to try to win a teddy bear from the claw machine for Martin’s little sister’s birthday. Ron lost himself in the comic, marvelling at Martin and hoping that’s what he was like when he was older. Martin was tall and handsome and popular and the captain of the football team. And he was brave and heroic and always stood up for Eugene who was small and wore horn-rimmed glasses and got picked on by the bullies.
It was a couple hours before his reading was interrupted. Ron had just gotten to the point where big brutish Clyde Bog, the bully, had showed up and pushed Eugene out of the way and broken his glasses. Martin had dived into a Muggle duel to defend his friend. “Pow! Wham!” Ron muttered under his breath, punching the air in imitation of Martin—he was so fearless, diving into battle without so much as a wand. Then Ron heard the movement and conversation downstairs.
He set aside his comic book—he’d read it so many times, he knew how it would end anyway—and tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack. He could make out Mum and Dad’s voices, but he couldn’t hear the words. A moment later, he heard the creak of footsteps climbing the stairs.
Ron hastily shut the door as silently as he could manage, and tossed himself back on the bed. He’d just managed to shove his comic book under the pillow and turn on his side to resume a sulking position when a soft knock landed on his bedroom door. He didn’t answer it. Instead, he determinedly kept his back turned, eyes fixed on the wall in a glower. A moment later, he heard the door open and close, a pause, then footsteps crossed the room. Ron felt the bed sag as Dad settled himself on the edge.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Ron said when Dad didn’t immediately speak. He kept his glower fixed at a creased corner of his Chudley Cannons poster. When Dad still said nothing, Ron finally rolled over to look at him. Dad was merely gazing at him, seeming to quietly invite Ron to go on. It was the great thing about Dad; he, at least, would let Ron tell his side. Ron dragged himself up enough to lean against the headboard and crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn’t tell her to follow me. And it was Charlie who left his broomstick lying around.”
Ron didn’t like the silence. Suddenly, he wished Dad would yell at him like Mum had done. Instead, he just gazed at Ron with a look of disappointment.
“Charlie and Fred and George went out to play Quidditch and they refused to let us come! They said we were too little. All I did was say to Ginny that it would serve them right if we stole their brooms afterwards and went to play without them and see how they liked it! I never told her to do it! I never told her she should go flying without a grown up!”
Dad sighed, pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, and removed his glasses to clean them. “She was following your example. And you saw her doing it. You saw her take Charlie’s broom, and you didn’t stop her. She’s only six, Ron. There’s a reason she’s not allowed anything but the training broom. And a reason neither of you are allowed to go flying without Bill or Charlie with you.”
“The training broom sucks, Dad! It barely works anymore. It’s all jerky and bouncy, and it’s slower than a flobberworm.”
There was silence. Dad seemed to be waiting for something. Ron swallowed and looked away.
“Is Ginny alright?” Ron mumbled at last. Not able to look Dad in the eye, he picked at an orange thread on his quilt.
“She broke her collarbone and was in a lot of pain.” Ron winced as the thread he was tugging pulled loose and left a small hole behind. “But the Healers patched her up alright. Your mum’s letting her have pudding before dinner, so she seems quite content at the moment,” he added with a smile. But then he sobered. “It could have been a lot worse.” Dad’s tone was now sterner than Ron ever remembered hearing it. “From what Bill saw from out his window, he thinks she must have performed accidental magic and been saved by a Cushioning Charm. If that hadn’t happened, she could have been really seriously injured.”
“I think that was me, actually,” Ron mumbled. He chanced a glance up, and Dad cocked his head to the side. “I saw her falling, and I just… reacted…”
A soft smile crossed Dad’s lips. “Well, then, I’m very proud of you, Ron.”
“It’s not like I meant to do it!” Ron defended. Precisely what he was defending, he wasn’t sure. “I didn’t do underage magic on purpose or anything.”
Dad’s smile quirked and Ron got the impression that for some reason, he was trying not to laugh. “No. Heaven forbid you saved your sister on purpose.”
After a moment, his expression turned serious again. “Listen, Ron. Ginny’s your little sister. You have a responsibility to look out for her.”
“Ugh. She has other brothers who can look out for her! Why does it have to be me? She’s so annoying! Always following me around. She’s clingier than a bowtruckle!”
“Because you’re not just her brother,” explained Dad patiently. “You’re also her best friend.”
“Why would I want a bratty little sister for a best friend? That’s pathetic.”
Dad half smiled, but cut Ron off before he could go on. “She trusts you,” he insisted. “She looks up to you. She’s going to come to you for advice sometimes, and I need to trust that you’ll be there to help her. Fred and George are starting at Hogwarts this year with Percy and Charlie. It will be just the two of you at home soon. It’s your turn to be the big brother.
“And even on the holidays… Bill and Charlie are growing up. Bill’s going off to Egypt at the end of the summer, and knowing Charlie, I’m sure he’ll be off on some mad adventure the minute he finishes school too. Ginny doesn’t feel as close to Percy as she does to you. And… well… between you and me, I don’t know that any of us trust whatever advice Fred and George might give her.”
Dad cupped Ron’s jaw and lowered his head to force Ron to meet his eye. “You are the most important person in her life,” he said seriously. “You should be proud of that. But with that also comes a lot of responsibility.”
Ron licked his lips, drew in a deep breath, and let it out. “Fine. I guess I can look out for her or whatever.”
Dad smiled. His hand moved to the back of Ron’s neck, and he pulled Ron close to kiss the top of his head. “Good man,” was all he said. “Now, I’ll talk to your mother. You’re no longer grounded. You can come down for dinner if you like. But if you’d rather stay up here and sulk some more, that’s okay too.”
After Dad left, Ron stayed where he was for a bit. He continued to pick at the hole in the quilt. Then he sighed, got to his feet, and moved toward the door.
He did want to check that Ginny was alright, after all.
Besides. It was toad in the hole for dinner, and Ron was starving.
His nails were broken and stinging, but Ron kept digging. Sweat and tears irritated his eyes and made the dust cake to his face, but Ron kept digging. His muscles ached, his trousers were torn, blood oozed from a scrape on his knee. Ron kept digging.
How was this happening again? It was just like last year. Harry going on to save the day while Ron was left behind. Was this his fate? To be forever the sidekick and never the hero? But it was Ginny who needed saving this time. Ron’s little sister! It was Ron’s job to look out for her.
Ginny.
Ron kept digging.
She’d tried to talk to them at breakfast. Tried to tell them something important. He should have gone after her. Should have checked in on her. This was all his fault.
Ron heard motion to his right, and from his peripheral, he saw Lockhart sidle up. The man merely stood there, hands in his pockets, looking the wall of rock quizzically up and down.
“Are you going to help, or what?” snapped Ron when Lockhart made no move.
“What are we looking for?” Lockhart asked with the casual air of one inquiring if he might have dropped his quill.
Ron let the rock he’d just pulled from the wall fall and straightened, dusting off his hands as he glared at Lockhart. “Harry? Ginny?” he allowed the contempt to drip into every word, couldn’t help but add “idiot,” under his breath. He knew Hermione would have been lecturing him on proper respect for a teacher if she could hear. “On the other side of this rockfall, remember?”
“Oh dear! So sorry to hear you lost your little friend. Cute little buggers, aren’t they? But I’m afraid I don’t like them much. Make me itch. So perhaps I shouldn’t help you search.”
Ron stared at him, face frozen in slack-jawed incredulity. “Huh?” he managed after a moment.
Lockhart looked back at him. He blinked at Ron as though just as confused. “Guinea pigs. They make me itch. Did… did you not just say you lost your hairy guinea pig?”
Ron gaped at him. “Ginny,” he enunciated very clearly, anger rising. “Ginny. My sister! Not guinea pig! Ginny! What the blazes is the matter with you!”
“Your sister? Goodness! What’s she doing in a place like this? In fact,” Lockhart paused to look around the tunnel as though he’d only just thought of something. “What are any of us doing in a place like this? Awfully cold and damp, isn’t it. A body could catch his death down here.”
There was silence for a moment as Ron stared at Lockhart and Lockhart stared at something moist dripping down one wall. “Are you taking the piss?”
Lockhart turned back. He opened his mouth, then closed it as he stared at Ron in confusion. He looked down at the front of his trousers, then back to Ron. “Er… No. I don’t seem to be. But, now you mention it, I could rather use the loo. Is there a toilet down here?”
“…Oh, you have got to be kidding me…”
Ron buried his face in his hands rather than have to look at that daft fool for even another second.
“I am rather particular about a clean toilet, mind,” Lockhart continued sceptically as he continued to take in their surroundings. “I’d rather hold it than go somewhere… unsanitary. But if you know of a toilet that’s clean and private. I’m rather partial to brass fittings and lilac wallpaper, but I suppose we can’t be so very picky.”
Ron felt something inside him snap. “Don’t you get it?” He dropped his hands from his face to glare at Lockhart. Patience was, let’s be honest, never his greatest virtue anyway. “My sister and my best mate are trapped down here unless I move this rock. And so are we! Don’t you get that? We’re trapped. And while you’re standing there, planning your next remodel, they might already be… already be… It’s my job to look out for her! She’s my little sister. And I let her be taken. And for all I know she’s already…” He couldn’t choke out the words. Saying it aloud was to acknowledge the very real likelihood that it was true.
“Well, there’s no need to be so upset. If you wanted help, you could have just said something, after all. I suppose I can hold it, though they do say it can increase your risk of bladder infection and maybe even damage your kidneys or prostate, I’m just saying. Now wait a minute, who said that again? I can’t recall where I leaned that, let me think… Was it in school? Strange, I can’t seem to remember where I went to school. Or perhaps I work in the medical profession? No, that doesn’t seem right. What do I do for a living? How odd. Can’t remember. Hang on now, what was my name again?”
Ron squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a deep breath through his nose. He summoned his void as best he could, but Lockhart’s infuriating voice continued to pierce through. “Look,” Ron growled through clenched teeth over the other man’s ramblings. He opened his eyes and looked at Lockhart with an internal prayer for patience. “Your name is Gilderoy Lockhart—” Lockhart laughed at his own name (“Gilderoy. That would be hilarious,”), but Ron talked over him. “Your Memory Charm backfired—that’s why you can’t remember anything. But if we get out of here, we can get you to a Healer, and they’ll help you get your memories back. In the meantime, can you just shut up and help me move this rock?” He turned back to the gap he’d managed to make in the rock and continued his work to widen it. It was almost big enough for him to squeeze through. When it was, he would ditch Lockhart and go on ahead to find Harry and Ginny. Because he wasn’t sure he could stand another five minutes with the dolt.
“Alright, alright,” sighed Lockhart dramatically. “I do hope I don’t break a nail. There’s nothing worse is there? Pangs every time you use that finger for the rest of the week!” Ron bit his tongue as he left a smear of blood across the next rock he pried out of the wall. “So what do I do?” Lockhart continued. Just pull them out like this?”
Ron was just turning around to snap at Lockhart to just figure it out and quit stalling when he felt his eyes widen in horror. But it was too late. Lockhart had grasped a clearly weight-bearing rock right under one of the cracks in the ceiling and tugged.
“LOOK OUT!” Ron dove and tackled Lockhart out of the way as a huge slab of rock cashed down exactly where they had been standing.
Arms covering his head where he lay on top of Lockhart, he listened to the sounds of falling rubble in terror as small pebbles bounced off him. When they seemed to be in the clear he lowered his arms and looked round. Then he groaned. Half the progress he had made had just been buried in rock again.
“I say!” said Lockhart behind him. “This place doesn’t seem to be structurally sound! Not at all. We really ought to get out of here before— OUCH!”
Ron winced slightly at the pain in his foot, but it was worth any amount of pain to have shut Lockhart up for a moment. Lockhart rubbed at his shin and bit his lip. It wouldn’t last. But it was nice for a moment.
“Alright. New plan,” said Ron through gritted teeth. “Sit here. Stay there. Be quiet.” Yes. He liked that plan better. Ron returned to the gap in the rockfall, sighed, and got back to work.
Lockhart’s voice continued to float across to him, but Ron ignored it, and Lockhart didn’t seem to require an answer to his babble anyway. “Should really have a contractor down to look at this. Doesn’t seem to be a job for children. Should probably leave it to the professionals…”
The hour has to be up, Ron thought. He grunted in exertion as he managed to drag a particularly large rock out of the way. Harry, where are you? What am I supposed to do if you don’t come back?
“Probably could use some support beams or something. And I can’t help but feel we should be wearing helmets. But maybe it’s better this way. Helmets do tend to make the hair terribly flat, don’t they…”
The gap in the wall was getting there. It was almost as wide as he’d had it before. A few more rocks and he’d be able to squeeze through. But it was wide enough for Harry and Ginny, he thought. If they managed to… If they weren’t already…
Then he paused because he heard something over Lockhart’s chatter.
“Ron!” The hail echoed softly from down the tunnel. Had he imagined it?
“Shhh!” Ron hushed Lockhart, listening hard. To his relief, Lockhart complied. There were footsteps moving fast in their direction. More than one set?
“Ron! Ginny’s okay! I’ve got her!”
A sound escaped Ron’s lips without him planning it: something somewhere between a whoop and a sob. He craned his neck to look through the gap he’d managed to make in the rockfall, and there they were, rounding a bend and running in his direction.
“Ginny!” Ron croaked. He thrust his hand through to help pull her through the hole, and she came tumbling directly into his arms. He looked her over, eyes raking over every inch of her desperately to see if she was hurt. Then he pulled her into a hug. “You’re alive! I don’t believe it! What happened? How—what—where did that bird come from?” he asked distractedly as a large fiery red bird swooped through the gap in the wall.
“He’s Dumbledore’s,” said Harry as he clambered through himself.
Ron turned to assess his best friend and be sure he was alright too, but then there were even more distractions. Harry was smiling with evident exhilaration, but he was completely covered in muck and slime and was that blood? And in his hand— “How come you’ve got a sword?” Ron blurted.
Ron gaped. Harry looked every bit the hero, standing there covered in blood and holding a sword. And Ron had just sat here moving rocks for an hour.
“I’ll explain when we get out of here,” replied Harry.
“But—”
“Later,” Harry insisted, and Ron noticed him looking worriedly toward Ginny.
Ron followed his gaze down. His arm still rested around her shoulders. She was looking down at her feet with tears streaming down her cheeks. She was so pale and looked weak and tired, and Ron had no idea what was going on, what had happened to her, what might still happen to her. But it didn’t matter. Ron pulled her into a hug, screwing his eyes shut and drew in his deep calming breaths through his nose. Ginny wiped her tear-streaked face against his shoulder.
For some reason, Ron found himself thinking of Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle. No. He wasn’t thinking of Martin. He was thinking of Eugene. He remembered how in Volume #37, while Martin had been Muggle duelling with the bullies, it had been Eugene who, having fallen to the floor, had noticed the trap door to the claw machine had been left open. It had been Eugene who had retrieved the teddy bear for Martin’s sister’s birthday gift. And in Volume #22, while maybe it was Martin who climbed down the well to save the lost kitten, it had been Eugene who had gone to fetch a rope to help him get back out. And in Volume #41, when Martin had been trying to convince Stella Strout to go to the dance with him, it had been Eugene who had given him the bouquet of roses from his mother’s garden after Martin had lost his on the bus. And in Volume #11…
Ginny sniffed, and Ron tightened the arm around her shoulders. It doesn’t matter what happened. Not right this second. It’s all okay. I’ll look out for you, he thought into his void. I'm your big brother. It’s my job to look out for you.
A vague mumble floated down the dark passageway and penetrated his void. “Glad you found your guinea pig.”
Ron groaned.