Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, round 9.
Team: Wanderers
Position: Chaser 1

Prompt: write a story about a known Quidditch player, using the prompt: Gloves - Write about a witch or wizard protecting someone.
Optional prompts: (word) defeated, (image) chess set, (emotion) disappointment

Beta(s): DinoDina, RawMateriel, Kage Kitsune. Shout out to them and to the Wanderers because they're beyond wonderful!

Warning: AU, some dark thoughts, some violence

Hogsmeade was almost scary at night, as asleep as it was under a blanket of abandonment and darkness. The only sounds that animated the little town were the eerie creaks and groans produced by the wind, the slams of the doors, and the screeches of the owls that seemed to prophesy nothing good.

Ron winced at yet another muffled noise behind him and turned to search for the source of it—a bloody cat, again.

It's not fear, he told himself as he silently took a few steps ahead before hiding in the shadows. It's caution—constant vigilance, Moody would call it.

Ron looked around, his grip on his wand so tight that his hand hurt.

There was no one in sight.

The calm before the storm—as a Muggle poet must have described it if he was not mistaken. And if they weren't a Muggle, well, remembering all of Hermione's wise words was almost impossible.

Hermione. Ron filled with nostalgia. She would be proud of him now.

His gaze wandered in the dark, searching for the nearest entrance to one of Hogwarts secret passages.

Or rather—his heart sank—she would be furious and disappointed. So would Harry. Ron could easily picture their faces when he would get back; the relief and happiness would be hidden behind anger and disapproval as forgiveness battled the begrudgery in their eyes.

When he would get back—he was sure there was a way to, and he'd find it.

But—bloody hell—what else had he been supposed to do in that moment, with the locket crushing his soul and Neville's letter tearing his heart?

Leaving had felt like the right decision back then.

Ξ

It started with a few soft hisses he would not reply to for he had already heard them all: worthless, least loved, sidekick, in Harry and Hermione's way.

He usually hung his head, defeated, and kept putting one foot in front of the other, following in Harry's tracks.

But little by little, the voices had increased, buzzing in his ears to the point he had to force himself not to turn around to see if some little demon was perched on his shoulder.

"Dean said Ginny got in troubles at Hogwarts," the treacherous voices whispered. "And yet, here you are, following Harry, who is supposed to be fighting Voldemort, while he leads you further and further away from your family."

"I chose to follow Harry freely. He and Hermione are my family too," Ron said.

"They don't know what family means—they can't. Harry never knew his parents; he has no family. Hermione shipped hers to a desert island—"

"Don't you dare speak about them like that. We are Harry's family, and we love him. As for Hermione, she did what she did out of love; she sacrificed herself for her parents, I know it," Ron said through gritted teeth, stomping his feet.

"If the Weasleys are Harry's family, as you seem to believe, why doesn't he care about them?"

Suddenly, his throat felt too constricted, his lungs burning, and Ron, exhausted by hunger and sleep deprivation, beyond himself with worry for his friends and family, decided to keep silent and save his energy for later.

Ξ

When a letter mysteriously found its way to him, it froze the very blood in Ron's veins: he couldn't recognize the handwriting.

With trembling hands, he opened it and skimmed through it until he reached the signature: N. L.—Neville.

'I promised to your sister I wouldn't interfere,' Neville had written, 'as we all know Harry's mission is way more important, and our only contribution to the salvation of the wizarding world is gritting our teeth and not giving up. But whatever Dumbledore told you to do can't be more important than your sister.'

"Bloody hell, Neville!" Ron thought.

'She insists she is strong enough, but too many times we've seen her fight during the day and withdraw at night, a shadow of her previous self.

'You three won't be able to say you've saved the wizarding world if there won't be anyone else standing in the end.

Ron crumpled Neville's letter, cursing.

All his fears had just been confirmed; all his doubts—which he had struggled so hard to silence—had just been renewed.

He glanced at Harry and Hermione; they were so close their heads were almost touching each other, her hair clearly tickling Harry's neck as he took a lock of it and brushed it behind her ear. They were both able to smile.

"You're uselessss to them, worthlessss." The voices were back. "Including you in their plans makes it all harder, and you know it."

Ron clenched his fists.

Ginny, Hermione, Harry, You-Know-Who...

He had the suffocating feeling of reliving Ginny's first year all over again. She had almost died because, even then, none of her brothers had cared enough about her.

But now, now, Ron knew and could do something to protect her. If only…

"Never lose time and energy to break every obstacle you meet instead of going around them," his grandfather had warned him a long time ago, soon after Ron had learned how to play chess and still enjoyed seeing the pieces smashing each other more than winning, "or you'll just be making it easier for your enemy. You must focus on your goal and aim at it. In this case, it's the pawns—apparently the weakest pieces—you need to protect, for it's them, and only them, who'll become queens if you play well."

His grandfather's advice was a double-edged sword—would going to Hogwarts to protect Ginny be an obstacle or a pawn?

"The time has come for you to prove your worth, Weasley," the voices hissed again. This time, they seemed to have a point. "Here, you're in your friends' way, but there, at Hogwarts, you could be the bait for You-Know-Who and distract him long enough to let the future Mr. and Mrs. Potter—"

Ron shifted uncomfortably as he glanced at Harry and Hermione again.

"—complete their mission. You'd protect them all. Go and use yourself as the bait; you know the best thing you'll ever be able to do is get yourself killed."

Ron hesitantly took the locket off then, and, knowing he'd regret it, he prepared to leave—he could swear he heard a feeble snap in his heart.

Suddenly, his soul felt lighter, and he hoped it was a good omen.

Ξ

It wasn't.

Hidden among the students that crowded the Great Hall, Ron looked horrified as one of the so-called Professors raised his wand, aiming it at Ginny, a feral grin on his lips.

Her chin was up, her eyes harsh, but Ron knew better; Ginny's left shoulder was almost imperceptibly higher than her right, her head slightly tilted—she was afraid and in pain.

As soon as the tip of the man's wand glowed red, Ron launched himself at him without thinking, causing them both to land on the floor as the red flash exploded against a wall.

Some screamed, some cursed, some ran.

Ron groaned in pained, rubbing his hip, as he quickly got on his feet.

"Ron," Ginny said softly, almost in awe. Then, "NEVILLE! What have you done?"

"Neville, get her—Stupefy!—out of here. Quickly!" Ron said as he dodged the Killing Curse, the green flash passing by his head, so close that his hair stood.

A burning smell filled the air.

A few feet away from him, the Professor who had threatened Ginny fell on the ground, bringing his hands to his throat as his breathing turned labored, almost a rattle. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw McGonagall with her wand still aimed at the man on the ground.

Ron straightened up, bringing the wand into position again as he shot another Stunning Spell; he didn't even need to speak it—he had gotten very good at nonverbal magic by now. He didn't even wait to hear the thud when his opponent's body hit the ground. He probably wouldn't have heard it anyway, muffled as it would be by the sizzling of the spells and screaming.

He turned just in time to throw a Diffindo at the woman—a Professor? a Death Eater?—who was attacking Neville, a reluctant Ginny in his arms, from his rear.

Neville shot him a grateful smile and ran a hand through his now messy hair.

He almost looked like Harry, Ron thought, taken aback.

A flash of light erupted from Ginny's wand then; after a moment, Ron heard a thud behind himself. He smiled at his sister who disentangled herself from Neville's arms and looked at Ron, wearing a smug expression which said, "Admit it, you're lost without me!"

He nodded with a smirk. Protego, he thought, his wand hand drawing a small circle in the air.

A red flash crashed against his shield that bent and flickered before crumbling.

Ron was forced to take a step forward. "Bloody hell!" His Shield Charms worked better than this usually.

He quickly waved his wand as he tried to avoid a curse coming his way.

It didn't work.

Something hot hit his right cheekbone and eye; half of his visual field blackened as pain exploded in his eyes. He screamed. It felt like his eye was melting as the pain dripped down his body, under his skin, reaching his bones. Well, at least now George and Bill would be in good company, he thought.

He struggled to move ahead.

His ears buzzed too much for him to hear anything else but muffled noises. He got near the wall and leaned against it.

Now that he was in a safer place and no one could attack him from rear, he tried to focus on his surroundings.

A stern voice commanded something, he heard some commotion, and he finally glimpsed a shadow getting close to him; he raised his wand, a spell already glowing on the tip of it.

Suddenly, the shadow faded into Professor McGonagall. "Come on, Mr. Weasley," she whispered, pointing her wand at his eyes.

It was still aching, but at least, he could see now.

"All right. Follow me," she said.

Ron looked around; stunned people lay here and there on the floor, many students had clearly been evacuated, and the ones still standing there appeared puzzled, scared, desolate.

"Professor—"

"Not here. My office."

Ξ

"What are you doing here, Mr. Weasley? Is it Mr. Potter who sent you?"

"No, I-I thought—I was wrong—I was worried about my sister, and I thought showing up some miles away from where they are would distract You-Know-Who from going after Harry…" Ron looked at his hands; there was blood on them.

"I see. Well, I'm not sure about your plan to protect your friends, but you definitely saved your sister."

Someone knocked on the door.

"Enter," McGonagall said immediately as if she had been expecting it.

Ron quickly turned, alarmed.

As soon as the door opened, a red blur ran to him and crashed against him. "Ron! Don't you ever dare scare me like that! Do you hear me?" Ginny swatted his arm before hugging him.

Ron wrapped his arms around her, protectively. "Don't worry; you won't get rid of me so easily."

"You—I told Neville—why did you leave Harry, you idiot?"

"Hermione's still with him; I thought—" He stopped, embarrassed, as Ginny looked up at him.

"What? You never leave Harry's side. I'm sure they're missing you so much!"

He shook his head. "Well, there was something I had to take care of. And I'm sure he'll be very grateful to me after he'll discover where I was." Ron smirked.

Ginny's cheeks turned pink and she huffed. "But if something happens to them—"

Ron closed his eyes, ashamed.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Due to the… commotion caused by Mr. Weasley, I believe I retrieved the very same object that brought him here today." She pulled something long and sharp from her robes.

Ron and Ginny gasped. "That's—"

"—Gryffindor's sword, yes," McGonagall said, handing it to Ron. "Make good use of it."

Ron took it reverently and said nothing, fearful his voice would come out a croak.

"Wasn't there anything else, Professor?" Ginny asked.

"No, Dumbledore's portrait was clear about this."

"Now, you two can't tarry here any longer. I've already talked to Severus, and we concocted a story to protect the other students who took part in the skirmish, but we could do nothing for you, Miss Weasley. Mr. Weasley—"

Ron, one of his arms still around Ginny's shoulders, nodded. "It's all right, Professor. I know where we can go. Thank you for your help."

Professor McGonagall nodded wearily and smiled.

"To Bill's?" Ginny whispered to Ron.

He nodded.

Ξ

It ended—or rather, it was fixed—like it had started: multiple voices in Ron's ears.

This time, he didn't wish to ignore them for they were soothing and reassuring, leading him to where his heart ached to be.

"Mum, Dad, and everyone else are all fine, and now, thanks to you, Ginny is too. I'm proud of you, little brother," Bill said, ruffling his hair.

"Thank you, Ron. I know how much it cost to you." Ginny's eyes shone with unshed tears, her understanding far too good for Ron's comfort.

"Nonsense," Fleur scolded him fondly. "Let me tell you what you're good at. 'Ere eez a boy who 'as befriended the most famous kid in the wizarding world, not because he 'oped to gain somezing from eet, but because he liked 'im. 'Ere eez a boy who eez friends wiz a brilliant girl and never once resents 'er, but he admires and encourages 'er. 'Ere eez a boy who stays out of ze spotlight but shares ze same burdens and pains who the most famous endure. 'Ere eez a boy—" She seemed willing to go on and on, and he wondered just how much Bill had told her about him.

"Ron… Ron... " The last voice was but a whisper, a trick of the breeze, but it seemed so real, so close that Ron could swear it came from and went to his heart at the same time. Suddenly, a picture of her, a book on her knees, the wind brushing her hair, popped up in front of his eyes.

Ron sighed and searched for the Deluminator—it felt important. He had stopped believing in Dumbledore for a while now, but it was undeniable the old Headmaster had been at least partly right: love was truly their best and most powerful weapon. Maybe it wouldn't be enough to save them, but it kept them standing, kept them going ahead, despite the horrors they had to endure.

Ron tightened his hold on the Deluminator, a name on his lips: Hermione.

A warm feeling wrapped him up, and he felt that he was finally coming home.

word count: 2460