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“Three sickles” George pronounced, extracting a rather scratched purple potion bottle out of his robe. The bottle thudded on the bench, the stamp reverberating through the wood.
The sudden appearance of the twins just before the quidditch match was a surprise to Ron, whether it was a positive or negative surprise he wasn’t yet sure - with his brothers it was a coin toss on any given day.
Picking up and uncorking the bottle, Ron gave it a dubious sniff: violets with a lingering note of stale coffee. Definitely not their worst concoction.
“and this is..?”
Ron met his brothers in the eye, his voice monotone. From experience Ron found that nonchalant boredom was the best weapon to combat their boundless persuasive enthusiasm.
“Brotherly charity!” Both of his brother’s announced together, their voices a unified chorus of cheer.
Ron corked the bottle and placed it back down on the bench, pushing it back towards his brothers. He locked eyes with the pair, one eyebrow raised. “Charity that I have to pay for….?”
“Well, reasonable travel expenses, cost of ingredients, R&D costs…” chimed Fred, his voice sing-singing along as he ticked off the items.
Ron leaned down to finish tying his bootlace as he replied one singular pointed word: “No.”
“But we travelled ALL this way to support our dear dear brother!” said George gleefully, hunkering down so that he could regain eye contact with Ron. “We’ve heard ickle-ronniekins has been VERY worried about this match and we just wanted to show our love.”
George titled his head to the side, his eyebrows knitted together in mock concern.
His brother wasn’t wrong of course - Ron HAD been worried. His prowess in quidditch lately had been somewhat noticeably questionable.
His fellow Gryffindor teammates had started to scowl at him in corridors and mutter about his ineptitude under their breaths. He suspected that the fanged frisbee that had stalked him yesterday, nipping at his ankles as he went from class to class, wasn't wholly a magical accident.
It was only really Harry that had stood by his side, propping him up and encouraging him. But Ron was worried that even that support would start to waiver due to the sheer social pressure of their house’s goading.
But moreover, he felt so inferior, so pathetic, such a liability. He just wanted to be successful at something for once - well regarded in his own right - not the brother of the notorious pranksters nor the best friend of the boy who lived.
He wished that a certain girl (or maybe just anybody female) would start to notice him as someone desirable and exceptional, not just an inferior alternative.
He had been sitting in the changing rooms alone, the last one there, trying to persuade himself to stride out onto that pitch. Even with the effect of the felix felicis pumping through his veins, he felt terrified. And it was in that frame of mind that his brothers had found him.
Sighing, he looked down again at the little bottle, resting now in Fred’s hand.
“And…what is this?”
The twins, obviously detecting that his interest had been piqued slightly, latched on to it. Fred pressed the bottle back into his hands and started talking exuberantly, preventing Ron from butting in lest he change his mind.
“This my dear, dear, most favourite of our brothers is a little brew of our own creation - surdus agilitas. It will supercharge all your most important senses, give you a heightened awareness of visual and tactile cues, improve your peripheral vision,all in all, make you a better keeper, a STAR”
“No - a GOD!” butted in George.
Fred's tone shifted slightly, becoming a bit quieter and a lot quicker as he raced through his next words, “drinking this position may have unintended consequences including but not limited to complete or partial hearing loss, nausea, diarrhoea and vomiting.”
Ron rolled the small bottle around allowing the light to catch its edges, barely absorbing Fred's warnings. Were the contents glittering? Could this potion make him…a star?!
Shaking his head he reminded himself who his brothers were as he re-inspected the potion once more. On closer examination, those sparkles that had twinkled at him were actually suspicious looking white flecks suspended in a cloudy solution. It looked most unappetising.
“So...you came up to Hogwarts especially to experiment on me? What’s this going to do - give me the eyes of a basilisk to petrify my opponents? Super-taste them into oblivion? Smell their sweat?”
Ron could feel his voice begin to pitch, departing from its deep monotone timbre. He was all too aware of how quick he was to temper nowadays; he was like a burning fire of rage that could be reignited from its embers at any point.
“Why would we ever poison dear ickle ronnikins?”
“You have REPEATEDLY…”
Fred threw up his arms in mock horror as George clapped a hand to his mouth.
He was fairly certain that if the potion did as his brothers claimed that it would very much be cheating. However, Ron could feel the illicit felix felicis coursing through his system, prompting him to down the liquor.
Sensing that his resolution was quick to breaking, George leaned closer. “We’ll waive the cost…just this once…”
Ron uncorked the bottle and threw the contents down my throat. There would surely be minimal compound risk to the consequences of taking two banned substances compared to one?
The liquid burned as it made its way down his gullet, emitting a pulsing heat that coursed through his entire body. The fire seemed to linger at his ears, burning fiercer and fiercer. The pain built and built in a crescendo. Ron clasped his hands to his ears, not sure that he could take it anymore. Maybe his brothers really were trying to harm him this time. His heart began to beat faster, racing in panic.
Until he heard a loud pop.
He gave a small hiccup, the taste of stale coffee and violets repeating in his mouth. However, no accompanying noise burst forth from him.
Confused, he opened his mouth in order to shout at his poisoners.
“WHAT IN GODRIC GRYFFINDOR HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?”
However, no noise came out. He knew he had meant to yell, this was no silent interrogation.
“WHAT IN MERLIN’S BEARD WAS THAT LIQUID?”
Again, no noise emitted from his lips. This time he knew he had shouted, he had felt his tongue move and the vibrations of his voice box deep in his throat. Why on earth would it benefit his brothers to silence him so?
Fred and George laughed, their smiles huge as their eyes twinkled. But once again, Ron heard nothing. It was peculiar though, he felt like he could FEEL their laughter as ripples of vibration through the air.
His brothers spoke to one another, their lips moving. He had no idea what they were saying. George pressed his broomstick into his hand, ignoring his brother’s evident confusion, while Fred guided him to the exit of the changing room, out onto the pitch. Stunned, he felt like a mere puppet to their machinations, all his personal agency removed.
The second that Ron was pushed out of the changing room he was at once greeted with the overwhelming sight of the hundreds of spectators bedecked in green and silver. They would no doubt be taunting him, chanting ‘Weasley is our King’ but all Ron heard of their roars were deep vibrations through the ground.
He held his head up high, pleased that the undoubtedly usual mocking chorus had been reduced to mere tremors - maybe this potion had some good side effects after all. Feeling suddenly invigorated, he kicked off the ground taking up his customary position at the Gryffindor goal posts.
Without much delay, the game started, the quaffle whizzing through the air as it passed back and forth amongst the seekers. It was phenomenal Ron thought, he may not be able to hear, but it was like every other sense had been heightened.
His eyes darted between the players, fully aware of each pass, each duck, dive and swerve. He was always fully cognisant of the position of the quaffle whose every movement seemed to pulse vibrations towards him.
Before long, Ron noticed that Urquhart, the Slytherin Captain, was streaking down the field towards him, the quaffle safely tucked under his arm. Ginny was racing after him, her body tucked down into her broom in an effort to catch up to the errant chaser. He could smell her sweat as she struggled to chase after him. However, her Cleansweep was no match for the Slytherin’s Nimbus and Urquhart was soon within shooting distance from his goal posts.
Ron readied himself, preparing to swing into action. He had to save this. He had the felix, he had whatever the twins had given him - he could do this.
The chaser flung the quaffle towards him, taking a direct shot at his centre goalpost. Ron immediately caught the quaffle without flinching and tossed it back towards his sister; it had felt ridiculously easy.
Ron proceeded to save goal after goal. His reflexes were on point. His awareness was super-charged. His peripheral vision was so good that even when one shot soared well to his left he still managed to spot it and save it in time. Put simply, he was invincible. He started to add little flips and tricks to his saves, revelling in the ease of it.
He could feel the vibrations of the crowds chanting and he could tell that they were singing something. Smiling to himself, he knew it was glorifying him. He gave a little somersault in the air before holding up his arms and starting to conduct them in their worship. Nothing could spoil his mood now.
But then the game was over. Ron shook his head with disappointment, not wishing to return to normality. Nevertheless, he spurred his broom down towards the ground, ready to accept the adoration surely going to be bestowed upon him by the rest of his teammates.
He felt Harry clapping him on the back, congratulating him. Teammate after teammate hugged him, punching the air in celebration and waving at the crowds. Soon, strong arms hoisted him into the ground and he sat on the shoulders of their beaters, perched on his new throne as they carried him back to the changing room.
There, he slowly stripped from his kit and back into clean robes, carefully tucking the little bottle into a side pocket of his kitbag thoughtfully. The exhilarating highs of the last hour's play were beginning to ebb away to be replaced by panic. He had surely cheated, someone would notice sooner or later than he was deaf as a dugbog. He hoped that the longer he took to change and get back to the common room the more chance he had of the potion wearing off.
He nodded and smiled, avoiding direct conversation, hoping that no one would notice that he had no clue what they were saying. Away from the vibrating and pulsing of the crowds of the stadium, the changing room felt eerily quiet despite the exuberance he could see in the body language of his teammates.
Soon, only Harry and Ron remained. Thankfully, his best friend hadn’t seemed to clock his predicament but Ron didn’t know how much longer he could hold him off from any suspicions.
However, he needed not have worried about Harry, because soon someone far worse came to chastise him: Hermione.
She charged into the changing room, her eyes aflame with rage. Her bushy hair billowed around her giving her the appearance of a hurricane coming in to launch destruction on them. She started to mutter something to Harry under her breath.
He panicked, he needed to cut her off before she lascerated him. He turned to her and, attempting to put on what he hoped was a strong and forceful voice, he demanded, “What are you going to do, turn us in?” He topped off his performance with a confident smile.
She then turned her attention back to Harry, without so much as a distrustful glance his way. He should have felt grateful for the shift in her attention, but he couldn’t help but yearn for more interaction, feeling a tiny stab of jealousy as she spoke to his best friend.
Ron looked closely at her mouth, trying to work out the words from their strange movements, but try as he might he couldn’t grasp any comprehension. Despite the seeming pointlessness of the task, he stared transfixed at her lips, hypnotised by them. He had never noticed how soft they looked before…
But then the motion of Harry’s hand dipping into his pocket knocked him out of his trance. Harry withdrew the little bottle of felix felicis. Ron had nearly forgotten about the liquid luck given the profound impact of Fred and George’s potion on his every sense. He sighed in relief, this was clearly what Hermione had come to shout at them about; she had no idea about the second potion.
Harry held up the tiny bottle so that its golden contents glittered in the light. The potion bottle was completely full and its wax seal unbroken. He didn’t need his now superior vision to work that out.
Ron paused for a second, fixing a confused look on his face. He now knew that his superior play was 100% due to Fred and George’s elixir. He needed to ensure that Hermione wouldn’t investigate anymore, he thought carefully about what they would expect him to say in this situation.
He watched as Harry pocketed the tiny little bottle and started to speak his quickly scripted words slowly and carefully, “There really wasn’t anything in my pumpkin juice?” He paused for dramatic effect, allowing his supposed bewilderment to lodge itself in his friend’s minds. “But the weather’s good…and Vaisey couldn’t play…I honestly haven’t been given lucky potion?”
Harry thankfully shook his head. Ron had never felt so grateful for non-verbal communication. Ron added to his performance by gaping, before rounding on Hermione. That witch had been so infuriating recently, she had been snapping at every little single thing he did. It was as if she was constantly watching him, scrutinising and judging him, waiting for any opportunity to lambast him.
He attempted to mock her high pitched tones, the ones that echoed in his brain late at night, “You added Felix Felicis to Ron’s juice this morning, that’s why he saved everything! See! I can save goals without help, Hermione!”
She shrieked something back at him, but Ron quickly lifted up his broomstick and strode out of the room. He had managed to get through that conversation through sheer luck. He also didn’t know how much longer he could tailor his body language to lie to her because the truth was he had needed help to save those goals. He hated that her very presence reminded him of that.
But what Ron loathed most was that spiteful teasing person he had become. She seemed to bring out the worst in him, bring out this vindictive side of his personality that he tried to keep locked down. He sighed, thinking about how he might repair things with her later.
Ron held his head up high trying to regain some of that arrogant swagger he had felt earlier when he had left the pitch. Potion or not: he was the player of the match and no infernal interfering witch was going to change that.
He shook his head aggressively trying to shift the image of her scowling haughtily at him from his brain. But by the time he reached the entrance of the Gryffindor common room, she was still persistently there, as if she had been branded on with a fire iron.
Ron entered through the portrait into the Gryffindor Common room and was met by the welcoming sight of a sea of red and gold. People kept on coming up to him patting him on the back presumably congratulating him for his stellar performance on the pitch. He made non-committal noises back, his incomprehension masked by what he was sure was an extremely loud party.
Ron felt himself bolstered, confidence returning after the disastrous fight with Hermione earlier. Maybe she had deserved to be shouted out after all - he hadn’t asked her to interfere. After all, why should he have to ask her permission before any of his actions…not like she asked for permission before any of hers.
Taking a glug of his drink, he puffed out his chest, determined to have a good evening. He chastised himself for letting his thoughts wander back to that bloody witch. He strode into the crowd determined to have a good time.
He began to relax as he embraced the vibrations of the dancing feet to the beat of an unknown tune. He swayed his body in time to the pulses trying to mirror the energy of the room. A soft pair of hands came up behind him covering his eyes.
He swiveled round instantly, hoping just for a second that it was her. But of course it wasn’t; it was the surprising sight of Lavender Brown. She looked up at him with a flirtatious grin and mouthed something to him. Unsure of what to do, Ron reached out for her and twirled her around.
She visibly giggled and then seemed to sag into his body as her body undulated in dance.
Ron had never had a girl this close to him before. He felt himself blush at the proximity. She felt so soft….so nice.
Lavender looked up at him expectantly, her eyes glittering with unabashed joy. She pushed herself against him a little closer. He was all at once overwhelmed by her feminine scent.
His mind flickered back to an earlier conversation with his friends. Harry had kissed Cho. Ginny had kissed Dean. Hermione had snogged Krum…he lunged down for her.
This felt good…this felt really good. They stood there kissing for what seemed like hours, Ron’s hands exploring areas of the female form that he had never been allowed to touch before. Every inch of her body he caressed felt so soft, so luscious. He noticed the smallest reactions as her body responded to his touch; she felt like putty in his hands to be molded to his whims. But he wanted more.
He pulled her by the hand, dragging her away out of the common room, seeking some privacy.
Suddenly a feeling of ice overtook his body. The peculiar sensation of a mini blizzard swirled around inside of each of his ears, a storm whirling and whirling.
All at once the sounds of the world came back in a sharp clarity while everything else dulled.
“Won-won!”
His head felt woozy, what on earth were those noises?
“We’re going to have so much fun together!”
That high pitched racket was coming from the mouth of the girl he had been kissing all night. That lust filled scent had mellowed, her skin no longer felt like plush velvet under his touch, her hair no longer seemed as glossy…
“We should have a picnic by the lake in summer AND the Solstice is in just a few weeks - we should go up the astronomy tower to look at the stars AND we should book Madam Puddifoot’s for valentine’s now AND I’ll speak to Harry about swapping seats in charms AND…”
Lavender’s shrill voice was relentless, not waiting for Ron to interject before launching into another tirade regarding her extensive plans for their shared future.
Why was her voice so squeaky? Why was it so penetrating? It felt like it was drilling into his brain. Had Lavender always sounded like this?
What in Godric’s name had he gotten himself into?!
He gave an odd laugh hoping to disguise his internal panic as he pulled her into the nearest classroom. Maybe he could get out of this mess now, pass it off as a night’s celebration gone too far.
But right in front of him stood Harry and Hermione, together with a tiny flock of golden birds circling their heads like a mobile. She looked like she had been crying, her bushy hair even more eschewed than normal and her face red and blotchy.
Ron felt something lurch inside of him at the sight.
Lavender gave an annoyingly piercing little “Oooh!” and backed out of the room, leaving Ron standing there awkwardly shuffling from side to side. He should apologise to them, tell Hermione it meant nothing but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Hi, Harry! Wondered where you’d got to!” His voice sounded strained and forced.
Hermione slipped off the desk and moved towards the door. Maybe she wasn’t angry, maybe she was coming over to hug him and apologise for earlier. But she spoke to him in barely a whisper, “You shouldn’t leave Lavender waiting outside, she’ll wonder where you've gone.”
Ron stared after her as she walked in an odd, stiff manner towards the door, her whole posture too controlled to be natural. He should tell her he has no wish to return to Lavender.
He was about to open his mouth to do so when Hermione let out an almighty cry, “Oppugno!”
What felt like hundreds of golden knives started attacking him, the birds’ beaks pecking him drawing blood.
Ron fled back to the safe arms of Lavender. He let her stroke his hair and tell him how amazing he had played and how unfair his friends were being.
But his mind couldn't stop replaying that sound of Hermione's last cry.