Bonus chapter 2

Bonus 2

***

Ronald Weasley stood on the balcony of some rich man's European residence with a dejected expression on his face, nervously smoking Muggle cigarettes as he watched the sunset rays and feeling a strange emptiness inside. At a reception dedicated to achievements in the magical sciences or contributions to the magical population of the Confederation countries, he was clearly an extra. His head was pounding, the dark spots in his eyes from the sorcerer's flashes wouldn't go away: he was getting a migraine. But Ron hadn't brought his headache potions with him, as usual. He'd forgotten. He had been so eager to be among the elite, to have his picture taken with celebrities, to get his picture in the papers, to break out of his brothers' shadow and rub Malfoy's nose in it, but more importantly, Potter and company's, that when he got what he wanted he realized just how silly he had been. The magical elite were not for him. He realized this after only a few abstruse conversations with the other invitees, when he couldn't support any of the suggested topics of conversation. What did he know but magic chess? Nothing. Even Hogwarts was a bit of a flop, almost dropping out of the sixth year.

On the balcony, he was practically hiding. The celebrities didn't care about him, but the journalists, of which there were also many, were invited to the party... Well, the three-time World Champion in Magic Chess! What had he forgotten among scientists and botanists? Magical Chess was quoted by wizards as a sport, and sportsmen, moreover, famous ones, were a rarity at such events where boring researchers gathered... They were bored. Journalists. All those flashes of sorcery cameras, the endless questions, the bouncing pens that recorded correctly, well, if half of his answers. He had to be smiling all the time, maintaining his reputation. One had to be constantly watching oneself to make sure - Merlin forbid - one didn't do or say something stupid. Journalists were scavengers, waiting for a celebrity to relax so that they could swoop in like crows and tear someone's career or even life apart with their articles. At first, Ronald didn't care what anyone thought of him. But after several scathing and humiliating articles in European newspapers after his first European victory, he had to get his head screwed on. The constant nervous tension gave him a migraine. He had begun to smoke for the same reason: nerves.

Ronald sighed, remembering again the one school foe he'd been remembering more and more in recent days. Potter. How he, the fool, had been jealous of his fame then! Hadn't realized that being a celebrity was really hard. Didn't realize that all their happiness was just an act for the public. Ironic that he was jealous of Boy Who Survived to this day. But not of fame now, no. Ron was afraid of the crowd's opinion of himself, afraid of what they would think of him. And Potter had never been afraid of that. He always said what he thought and acted the way he wanted to... I wish I could take some lessons from him! But he wondered what had become of him, of Potter?

He knew he hadn't made it on his own. And still felt indebted to his brothers, who had amicably sponsored him to go to France, and specifically to Fred and George, who had put him on the list of qualifiers. It was thanks to them that he became a celebrity. And all because England only played at the amateur level. No one played professionally at home. If it wasn't for his brothers, he wouldn't have achieved what he did. And if Potter hadn't given him the idea... Why had he accepted an invitation to a bloody reception? He knew nothing good would come of it... Ronald extinguished the rest of his cigarette on the metal railing and vaporized it with a wave of his wand, immediately going in search of the host of the party to apologize to him for leaving prematurely, citing something, like a migraine. It wasn't that he wanted to go home to the little mansion that had recently begun to seem so empty and big. It was just that he felt superfluous at the reception. Better loneliness than feeling unwanted, he thought. And he was about to leave, when suddenly he noticed a face in the crowd of guests, painfully familiar, but almost forgotten now...

***

- Dursle?! - Dudley heard a surprised, vaguely familiar, but smokily husky voice. Apologetically, to the familiar, he turned around, only to immediately exclaim in surprise: - Ron? - He couldn't believe his eyes at once, but it was really him! - Hello! I didn't expect to see you here, among the scientists..." exclaimed Dudley, biting his tongue in frustration. He knew that Ronald had always been hurt by doubts about his abilities. And that was exactly what his words sounded like, though of course he was just surprised. But the youngest Weasley son didn't seem to pay any attention to his words, or pretend to: - What are you doing here? - he asked bluntly.

Dudley, smiling wearily and sighing, shrugged his shoulders: "I'm taking care of all the rat-catchers and Harold. I was the freest one this time, so they sent me here." He scratched the top of his head, eyeing his companion. He'd grown a lot over the years since they'd seen each other, making him look skinny. He had obviously never exercised or even been outdoors much, judging by his pale, freckled face. Looking at his former classmate, Dudley grimaced with hatred at his recent appearance of a small belly. It was either genetics or worries, family or otherwise, that had caused him to temporarily neglect himself. But his belly had appeared, and Dursle could not find the time to take care of himself and get back in shape. His cousin, in spite of his squabbling wife, his problematic sister, his noisy children, and the concerns of the head of the community, had managed to stay in shape. But Dudley never had the time. He blamed it on genes...

So you do research in the magical sciences? - Ron interrupted him.

Now, that was a question Dudley had not been expecting! The image of the silly boy he had held since Hogwarts, who had no ability to analyze information and draw conclusions about anything but chess, did not sit well with the image of the man he saw before him. This, a complete stranger, a new, heavily matured Ronald Weasley was thinking before he did anything. What had happened to him that he had changed so much and stopped being a mama's boy!

- We've been hanging out at events like this since we formed a small magical community in Barbados. Many of the scientific developments and innovations of recent years are a credit to us. They feed us," Dudley shrugged again, answering a question and intercepting a glass of fruit punch from a tray floating among the guests. - But we don't like that sort of thing, so we usually send someone here who's the last man standing, the one who couldn't find a good reason to get out of it in time.

- Ronald grinned, as if he hadn't expected anything different from their company. But he seemed surprised that they were still together. - he marveled. - So this is where you all disappeared to after that mess at the Ministry? Barbados.

- Dudley nodded, feeling embarrassed that he just didn't know how to keep the conversation going with this man. They had parted practically as enemies. He, Dudley, had actually betrayed Ron, and had cheated before that. But in spite of the past, Weasley spoke to him normally. Though he seemed to be feeling a little awkward about the conversation, too, because he was rubbing the cuff of his expensive shirt with his fingers.

- I heard you became a three-time world chess champion? - Dudley finally found the subject. - Well, congratulations! I think you've really earned it.

- Are you surprised how I got here? - Ronald smirked shrewdly, catching some sense of his own in Dursle's words.

Dudley was about to nod cautiously, but his classmate beat him to it, explaining, "I organized a professional chess tournament in England. Given all the bureaucracy, it was complicated, required a lot of investment, patience, and the ability to negotiate with officials. I must have been invited as a reward for my public service," Ron shrugged, as if to say he didn't know what he was doing at the reception.

- Good job," Dudley approved of the organization of the tournament in their shared homeland, wondering even more to himself that he would never have thought Ron capable of such exploits. And yet. - How are the brothers, how is good old England? - he asked again, politely, for some reason not wanting to miss his interlocutor from a loud and unforgettable past.

- I don't know," Ronald exhaled. He didn't seem happy about the question. - I don't have much contact with my family. And I've been living in France for a long time. I even learned the language. - He uttered a few phrases in French, causing Dudley to chuckle: he had learned the language, but his accent was awful. - And organizing the tournament, I had no time to find out how people live there now... One word at a time, and they suddenly got to talking, and some time later Dudley invited the former enemy to visit the community...

***

Stacks of papers and files filled all the empty corners, making visitors to the theoretically spacious office feel as if they had entered some dusty archive or ancient library. There was nothing else unusual about the study. Bookshelves, a table, a few armchairs, a sofa, a floor lamp by the nightstand. Everything was as usual. Just like everyone else's. Except that it was unusual to see a Muggle laptop on a wizard's desk... The condition of the master of the study himself would not have surprised any of his entourage long ago, either. But Ron Weasley, following Dudley out of the fireplace, whistled in astonishment:

- 'I see Potter hasn't changed a bit,' he snickered cheerfully, looking at his former enemy sleeping on his papers. One of Harold's cheeks was already imprinted with fresh ink, narrating the black tea deliveries to the magical community. So he, apparently, had not had enough of such adornment, and now his other cheek was also threatened with inscription.

- You're right about that. Harry doesn't change at all," Dudley smiled and grabbed a jug of water from the bedside table, winking cheerfully at Ronald, and poured the water over his sleeping cousin. He groaned instantly, snarled grudgingly, but didn't actually wake up. Only gave out through sleep, on autopilot, evaporating water from himself and papers: - You nasty, my dear, let a man sleep, huh? You keep me awake at night..." Dursle rolled his eyes defiantly and waved his hand, magically reproducing the sound of a gong.

Potter instantly sprang to his feet, looking around at his own study. He looked up at his cousin, yawned widely, covered his mouth with his palm, and frowned irritably.

- It's nobody's fault you don't sleep on time," Dursle snorted, though he knew the culprit, or rather the culprit, was there after all. He sighed, and decided to interrupt Harold's almost-repeatedly angry rant: "I've brought a special guest, in case you haven't noticed," Dudley said slyly.

Potter sighed and looked around again. This time his gaze caught on an unfamiliarly bright spot in the study: the bright red hair of the school enemy. Harold had absolutely no idea why Dudley had brought him, and right into the study, but he accepted his cousin's will and did not intend to challenge its reasonableness.

- Ronald..." he exhaled.

- Hello, Potter. Sorry for the sudden visit," Weasley grinned cockily, extending his hand for a handshake with feigned bravado. But Harold saw fear through all the masks. Fear that his attempt to get along would be rejected this time as well.

- Unexpectedly. But you're just in time," Potter smiled, shaking his hand without the slightest thought. - I could really use a shake...

***

Ronald had been a guest of the Potters for several days and never tired of marveling at the harmony of life around him.

The only people who greeted him with suspicion and mild mistrust were the Malfoys: Draco and Lucius. And the other members of the community, whose names were still being littered in the articles of the English papers, welcomed him as if he was their good friend and even friend, as if he was not plotting against them together with Dumbledore, as if he had never been their enemy. Ron was horrified to feel as if he had entered another world. He was shocked to see that not only did his classmates have spouses, but children as well. Most had two children, and some had three. Dudley, for instance, had an older daughter and two sons. Granger, that is, Hermione Crum, had an older son, a daughter, and another young son. The Malfoys had two glorious twin girls, as lunatic as their mother, and a tiny toddler heir, a copy of the perpetually pompous Draco. The Potters had two children so far: fourteen-year-old Jonathan Harold Potter and six-year-old baby Charlotte Evelina Potter. However, judging by the fact that Fleur was dragging her spouse almost forcibly into the bedroom almost every night, they weren't planning on having two.

Ronald looked at the family of his former enemy and realized that he truly respected him. Because he chose family over fame, because he was not afraid to take responsibility for his friends and their families, because he did not care about the world's opinion of a hero who conspired with the murderer of his parents, who betrayed his country and escaped responsibility for what he had done. Respect because Harold was truly loved, and he got it on his own, not hiding behind the backs of his elders as he did, unable even to make peace with his own sister without his mother.

Watching the rat-catchers, his own age, frolicking with their own children, fooling around in ways that made the growing children seem more intelligent and mature, Ron realized that in the pursuit of glory, in the attempt to escape the shadow of his older brothers, he had missed something truly important. Something his parents had not explained to him, but which Fred and George had readily understood, showing up in the community days after his arrival but smiling and teasingly introducing him to their wives and children.

Even the Bat of Hogwarts, Severus Snape, understood this "something. It was not for nothing that he, not caring about his reputation, chased his twins Lily and James on the beach, who, in turn, chased his older brother, his cousin, Antares Sirius Black... Fame, world fame... Ron had once told Harold that he would not trade his family for that. Wouldn't trade it for anything. It was that question that made him think and realize: fame wasn't worth the lives of family members. And yet he acted back on his words. He traded family for fame, first breaking up with Lavender Brown, then his mother and father, then his sister. He never had a particularly warm relationship with his brothers; they didn't quarrel, they just drifted apart. And now he was alone: no family, no friends, no close friends.

Whereas Potter, then his worst enemy, had easily traded fame for family. No, of course, the glory of Survivor Boy would stay with him forever, and would haunt and overtake him whenever he went out to any popular magical place in the world. But he was in no hurry to go out to people. Why should he? He had enough people close to him to socialize with. A whole community! Not a settlement, but a community, where everyone knew each other, where there were no strangers. Where everyone was one's own, where everyone was family. A big, no, just a huge family, where everyone was accepted without prejudice, where everyone was loved as they were born and raised... Ronald thought that if he had not chosen enmity years ago, in his third year at Hogwarts, he might well have been part of this community. Jealous, but not in a black way anymore. And regretted it, very bitterly...

***

- Harry, forgive me," Ron asked earnestly, struggling to catch Harold alone. It wasn't easy to find out that Potter liked to walk barefoot on the beach by the water line at sunrise, and that he went to watch the sunrise alone almost every day. At any other time there was always someone swirling around him, and so Ron had to ask for a walk in his company to talk to him.

He walked slowly, letting the surf wet his legs to his knees, was silent, immersed in some thoughts of his own, and reacted in a lethargic way: "Huh? For what?

- For being jealous. For backstabbing, for setting you and your friends up and hating you," Weasley said quickly, as long as he had the strength of mind to say something like that to his former enemy. - And thank you," he exhaled very quietly when Potter turned around, "for pushing me into an independent life. If it hadn't been for that conversation in the Forbidden Forest, I would still be..." He sighed heavily, knowing that if Harold hadn't spoken of chess, he would still be living with his parents, in his brothers' shadow, angry at the world. He had understood this a long time before, when a journalist asked him after one of his victories how he had come to compete in the championships. What could he answer? That the enemy told him and he listened? But in fact, he had. He sighed again and admitted his debt. "Besides, if it hadn't been for you, I probably wouldn't have ended up so well..."

Potter turned away, smiling as he threw his face into the sunrise and the breeze. So..." he snorted at the thought. Then another, and another, and before he could turn around, he finished.

- Thank you, Harry! - Ronald exhaled whistling, smiling broadly. He hesitated, though, not knowing how to ask the one question that had been tormenting him.

As if he sensed it, Harold turned around. What now?

- He hastened. And Ron dared, somewhat awkwardly, even timidly with excitement, to ask: - You wouldn't happen to need a strategist, would you?

- We're all strategists in one way or another," Harold replied evasively.

Ron grew sullen. He asked for a new chance, hoped for a chance to stay in the community and become a small part of something larger, something whole. But how to tell his former enemy that, given that he still didn't know what Harold had thought of him all these years, or if he had ever thought of him at all! - But you can live, you can stay," Potter chuckled, who understood the point perfectly. And, clapping Ron on the shoulder, he suggested: - Let's race to the pier, shall we? - Without waiting for an answer, he took off sharply, switching to a run.

Ronald blinked stunned, laughed lightly, shook his head, and, worrying about nothing else, rushed after... Life no longer seemed empty to him.

END