The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter One: The Day Ron Weasley Died

Ron Weasley was a sidekick. He knew that much, despite many believing him to be stupid. He was Harry Potter's best mate, a part of the supposed 'Golden Trio'. So nothing would happen to him, right, being a sidekick and all?

Wrong, he thought miserably as he trudged home in the dark, blood dripping down his sleeve and clothes torn.

All he had done was go for a run. A bloody jog around some bloody fields, and he had still managed to get into trouble. Well, that was one excuse never to do it again. He had decided to try and keep in shape for the upcoming quidditch season, heading out of the house a few hours ago and slowly making his way around the fields that surrounded his house. There were some tracks set up for eager hikers, muggle and magic alike, so he jogged along them, not meeting a single soul along the way.

He had just finished trekking up a large hill, panting and out of breath, when he heard it. It was like a whisper; a disturbance in the wind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Ron had looked around warily, hand moving to clench the wand sticking out of the waistband of his shorts. His eyes had scanned the horizon, gaze locking on the setting sun for a few moments before shaking his head.

Get a grip, Ron, he told himself tersely. You're not back at Hogwarts yet. It had become a sort of inside-joke that nothing ever seemed to happen during the summer holidays, (excluding fourth year, of course) and only during term. It was facing that danger at school, where he was supposed to be safe that had given him an instinct to always stick close to his wand. He even slept with it under his pillow, warnings from Mad-Eye be damned.

He swallowed hard and carried on, running past towering trees and prickly shrubs. Each one was the same as the last: sprawling weeds and various other plants creeping up their trunks and infesting their leaves and roots. It had the same sort of jumbled feel as his home, which he rather liked.

Running through the forest where the only thing that bothered you were the insistently chirping birds was quite calming. There were no Death Eaters here, no Voldemort, simply the forest with its trees and leaves and creatures.

Suddenly, there was another noise, a sort of whooshing that sat sped up his pulse. He edged closer to where it came from, craning his neck round a tree trunk to see someone- no, something, scrabbling around in the dirt. Ron moved closer to get a better look, trainers crunching on some of the undergrowth. The thing heard it, pausing in its hurried movements and seeming to turn. Ron released a shaky breath and blinked a few times, the last time he reopened his eyes revealing an empty space save for a splatter of blood on a rock.

Whoever they were, they had vanished. Ron shook his head, wondering if there was ever anything there in the first place. Maybe he should start getting to bed sooner. Yeah - it was probably just lack of sleep and his imagination turning the sounds of nature into something else.

Ron continued on, and for a while, there was nothing. No weird noises or odd feelings. But he sped up, wanting to get home as soon as he could. The light was fading fast, sun sinking lower and lower in the sky and its warmth retracting to be replaced by a cold summer breeze.

There were only a few more weeks before the term began, so Harry should be arriving at the Burrow soon. Ron was glad he could see his best mate again. Although things outside were only escalating with the war, he wanted to make the most of the summer while they had no homework to do and warm afternoons to be spent playing quidditch and lazing about.

All of the attention Harry got would be twice as bad, though, what with proof coming out he wasn't a liar. Fudge had been sacked and a fierce man named Rufus Scrimgeour took over. Hopefully he wouldn't be as thick as his predecessor. Also, Sirius' name had been cleared, so he had died a free man, according to a small notice in the Prophet. They wouldn't have put one at all unless Dumbledore hadn't insisted.

Most of the space was being taken up by warnings about Death Eater activity, and how to protect your home and family from the darkness outside. Ron had seen his father's face darken when he read the warnings, and he had nudged Molly. They had both exchanged knowing looks, his mother murmuring, "It's just like last time."

Never mind all that - he was almost home. Just this stretch of field to go, then a small clump of forest and a hill. Ron found himself becoming more and more eager to get home, the sneaking suspicion that there was something behind him growing by the second. He turned his head round, only to see nothing but softly-swaying dry grass moving in the wind. he sighed and continued on, trying to convince himself that there was nothing wrong. But it did nothing to settle the rapidly-mounting feeling that something was wrong in his stomach.

He ran even faster, paranoia creeping into his brain. Calm the fuck down, Ron, there's nothing-

A large snap drew him out of his thoughts. Ron whipped round, wand outstretched and adrenaline spiking. Again, there was nothing. But what had made that noise? His sweeping gaze dropped down to the floor where it caught on a broken twing.

A stick. That was what had scared the hell out of him? He had faced Death Eaters, (albeit untalented ones) and it was a fucking twig that had him afraid he would be attacked again? He shook his head irritably and marched on.

But one thought stopped him in his tracks. What had broken the twig? He had been too far ahead to have been the one that stepped on it, which meant...

He wasn't alone. He may be making a big deal out of a few unexplained noises, but there was just this feeling that something wasn't right. And at times like these you couldn't just ignore a feeling like that.

Ron turned again, wand held steady and this time checking in all directions rather than the one behind him. He had just reached the edge of a small forest, trees and shrubs dominating the ground and leaving little room for the path that trickled through it. He backed up against a thick tree trunk, figuring he would be able to see his surroundings better.

There was a good minute when it was just the wind swirling past him, nipping at his face and only being balanced out by the aftertaste of a warm August evening. And then he heard them - footsteps, again behind him, but much clearer, much louder, and obviously heading for him. Ron was frozen, pinned against that tree like he had been glued to it. But the truth was he was too afraid to move.

Snap out of it, you need to get moving! A voice in his head told him urgently, and he made a break for it; tearing off down a side path unknown to those who hadn't spent their childhood wandering round these meadows. His gut told him whatever thing was following him wasn't friendly, and that he really, really needed to get home.

He didn't know how long he ran for, only that he was so unbelievably thankful to glimpse the faded lights of the Burrow he almost felt like crying. He just had to get up that hill, across a small field and he was home safe. His legs were moving faster than they ever had done before and there was a roaring in his ears. Ron sped through the fields, feeling like nothing could stop him... until he tripped.

His body had barely hit the ground before he felt something dragging him, grabbing his arm and twisting it ruthlessly so he roared out in pain. He was pulled impatiently across the ground, back into the shade of the trees. Ron felt the strong grip on his arm releasing, and he twisted round to get a look at his assailant.

They were lean and muscular, with inky-black locks hanging around their face, masking their eyes so they looked practically faceless. Their clothes were ripped, faded and encrusted with grime, a long trenchcoat hanging over some trousers and cuffs of the coat going right down to their filthy fingernails.

They stepped closer, and Ron scrabbled at the ground to try and push himself away. "Get away from me, you fucking freak! I don't know what you want with me, but I swear, I haven't done anything, I don't know you-" Ron's snarls were cut off by the stranger bending down and pressing a finger to his lips, hair parting to reveal a pair of blood-red eyes.

"Shhh," they said, eyes twinkling with hunger when Ron's widened in fear. He made vibrant noises of protest that were smothered by his hand as the stranger bent in closer, and Ron tried to prepare himself for what was coming.

But they missed his lips, and went straight for his neck instead. They widened their jaws, a gleaming pair of elongated canines coming into view before they clamped down onto his skin and latched on. The skin broke almost immediately, and Ron could feel blood being drained from above his shoulder and being eagerly swallowed by the stranger. A scream tore through him, shaking him to his very core as he could feel the life-force being sucked out of him.

Ron tried to escape, he did; but the vice-like, freezing cold grip on his side and throat grew to be excruciatingly painful, and coupled with the bite on his neck made him wish for a second that he would die so the pain would end. But the stranger unclenched their mouth from his neck and turned to face him, eyes still glittering madly like rubies and droplets of blood leaking from their mouth.

That was his blood. Ron's blood, that was no doubt oozing from the wound on his neck. His vision was beginning to fade, the forest and the mad stranger swimming before him. He closed them, barely registering when they mumbled, "Now, it's your turn," before he could process what it meant.

They snatched up a jagged rock from the forest floor and drew it across their wrist, rivulets of scarlet slipping out and collecting on his palm. Ron was now mumbling incoherent phrases, which ceased when the stranger grabbed his face roughly and forced his mouth open. They dangled their palm over his mouth, watching as their blood dripped into Ron's mouth and disappeared down his throat. Just a little more... and then he was done.

The stranger stood up drunkenly, wiping the blood from his lips and devouring it from his fingertips, humming contentedly. He disappeared, and whether he had apparated or run Ron wasn't sure. He lay there weakly in the dirt, feeling the blood working its way down his throat and into his system. There was a dull thudding in his head that made it impossible for him to move, and he felt like his insides had vanished. He was doomed.

Ron's fate had sealed before the madman had even levered himself off the ground and away from the weak form of the boy on the floor, his blood polluting Ron's mouth.

He didn't know how long he had been laying there, the words 'too late, too late, too late,' blundering through his brain.

He knew what that thing was. But- but they were suposed to be monitored by the Ministry, or locked up. Not prowling around Ottery St Catchpole looking for their next meal. Ron had been bitten by a vampire. And then had drank its blood. By... by law, he was now technically a-

No. He wasn't. It didn't matter what the stupid law said, Ron was no vampire. He was a human, a wizard, set to go back for his sixth-year at Hogwarts in just a few weeks. He couldn't be a vampire. Ron laughed, the feeble sound echoing around the darkened forest. Yeah, whatever that weirdo had done to him, he was going to be alright.

Ron heaved himself off the ground, wiping the tears from his cheeks and retrieving his wand from where it had rolled away from him. Maybe if he'd had it on hand things would have gone differently. His head swam, making Ron groan and clutch his forehead. Blimey, that hurt.

He tried to sort out his feet, tell them to go one after the other in a straight line, but they just didn't want to. All he wanted to do was curl up on the floor and sleep, but then it might come back.

Actually, why would it? That thing thought it had succeeded in turning him into whatever bloody beast they were, so would stay away. It had to, or Ron would kill it. And what else was there that could do worse than literally suck the blood out of him? Maybe a werewolf would turn up and take a chunk out of him, or a hungarian horntail fly over and tear his head off. That would just make his night.

Ron stumbled home, neck still twinging painfully which he countered by pressing his hand to the inury and shirt torn and blood-soaked. His pulse was painfully slow, every space between each beat dragging on for eternity. But he couldn't think of that - he had to somehow get to his room (with an adjoining bathroom, to clean himself up) without anyone seeing him. It was too early for anyone to be asleep yet, but maybe they would have gone to their rooms already?

He was bloody well hoping so, because he was quite frankly screwed. He had been attacked by a vampire, had its blood poured down his throat and then left to make his way home. or maybe they had left him to die. He couldn't tell anyone. Not even his family. Ron knew he would never speak of this encounter again, because just a rumour that he was... whatever that stranger was was fuel enough to have him locked up and the key thrown away.

Ron thought since he wasn't in the spotlight so much, that stuff like this might not happen to him. But looking at the past few years that fact proved to be very unrealistic, so he wondered why he ever thought he had a chance.

His head was absolutely killing him, the pain making him squeeze his eyes shut again and hope that sleep came to take him away again. But he was offered no such luxury. The burning went from his brain to his neck to his stomach and then to his toes, chasing away the dregs of sleep.

Somehow he had gotten up to his bedroom without seeing another soul. Ron had heard voices in the living room, but ignored them and continued up the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister and pulling himself up, up, up to the level that his room was on and crashed onto his bed, slamming the door shut behind him. He fell into a state somewhere between asleep and awake, lethargic but in too much pain (and too freaked out) to sleep all night. Every time he closed his eyes he was back under the night sky, that vampire tearing open his neck and drinking from it.

He pushed himself up onto his pillows and found that some of the pain had subsided, allowing him to open his eyes and look around his room properly. Oh wow, he could see what people meant when they said his bright orange room was a little too much to look at sometimes. He had probably gotten used to it over the years, though.

Ron yawned, reaching up a hand to scratch the back of his neck. His hand touched something wet... and warm. Oh God - for the millionth time that night the forest, the stranger and what they did came rushing at him again. He got up, ignoring the dizziness and strode over to the mirror, pulling off his shirt to examine the mark.

Two puncture wounds on his neck, still fresh and bleeding. He grabbed a towel to staunch the bleeding, hissing when the rough fibres bristled over the wound. He glanced into the mirror to see himself pale and drawn out, blue eyes wide and fearful. Would they soon turn red? He leaned against the sink, hips resting against the cool porcelain and gazed out of the window and the pale blue early-morning sky, lazy rays of cold sun thrown across the lawn. Would he not be able to go out in the sunlight soon?

Ron could feel his vision blurring, and so turned on the tap to wash away the onslaught of sudden cold sweat. Would he be able to eat food anymore? What about getting a girlfriend? No girl would want to date him now. He growled. Getting a girlfriend should be the least of his worries right now - all he should care about was whether or not that thing had succeeded in what it stalked him out to do. Ron knew that was no accident; hell, they had even mumbled, "It's your turn now," before forcing its blood down his throat.

He shook his head angrily, stomping back into his room to tug on a t-shirt. There was probably nothing wrong with him, so he didn't even know why he was letting those possibilites cross his mind. He wasn't a vampire. He just had a bad experience with one, and although he was admittedly pretty shaken, nothing was going to come of it.

Ron sighed and slumped back onto his bed, rubbing his face tiredly. He was still absolutely exhausted, his muscles aching and eyes closing shut of their own accord. Maybe this was just a cold. Maybe he could sleep it off and be fine, and then nobody would ever have to know how close he had come to dying and coming back as a beast.

He lay back, thoughts buzzing. But- but if he was one of them... what the hell was he going to do? He couldn't spend his entire life in the shadows, sleeping during the day and feasting on humans at night. He had heard all sorts of stories from dad about how they dealt with them at the Ministry. And what about school? Would he have to disappear, quit Hogwarts early and... well, then what would he do? Muck about on the streets? He had no cash to do that with, apart from a measly few galleons he had saved up over the summer.

And what about his family? What would they think if he was one of them? To add to that, vampires were known to be supporters of You-Know-Who. Would anyone trust him?

No, no, he was thinking too far ahead. This wasn't definite. He couldn't be a vampire. He just couldn't. It would destroy his entire life. Ron huffed and turned to stare at the open bathroom door where his bloody t-shirt lay on the floor in tatters. He would have to get rid of that. But later, after he'd slept some more. This could just be some crazy dream that Ron was overreacting to. He needed to stop thinking about all the what if's. He just needed to stop thinking and thinking for two bloody seconds, so he could keep his composure and not do anything rash, like jumping to the conclusion that he was vampire. Because he wasn't, he just wasn't.

Ron Weasley was not a vampire. Not yet, at least.

I don't own anything, all rights to J.K. Rowling. Now, I will say that my representation of vampires may differ (as all of them do) but will probably be some mess of random wikipedia threads cobbled together to make some kind of vampire, as well as pinched ideas from popular shows/books. But since vampires don't exist it doesn't matter too much. Also, I'm sorry if this felt kind of rushed, but I didn't want to drag it out too much.

Thanks for reading! And RIP Ron. Bye, Tea33.