Chapter- 20 : Defiance Part - 2
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Come on, Ron. Five minute's past - and you were the one who picked the time and place. Green eyes flicked over the crowd visible through Foretscue's front windows, and he shifted restlessly in his seat as another customer entered the shop. Nobody was staring at him, but he was still twitchy from the previous murmurs that had followed him down the Alley, and the begged notice-me-not charm from Foretscue wasn't invisibility. If someone looked hard enough, they'd realize something was out of place.
And eventually, someone probably would. Subtle though the spell was, he was in a cafe full of trained wizards and witches. Too much to hope for, that the quiet blurring of the spell, the subtle twist that guided minds with a gentle nothing to see, nothing of interest, would not of itself rouse inquest. Wizards and witches were so bloody curious. They'd tickle a dragon to see what happened. Put a misdirection ward up, and they'd want to know why.
On the street outside, sunlight glinted gold off hair a distinctive red-orange hue. Weasley hair, he thought, and Ron hadn't been joking when he called it one of the more distinctive wizarding family traits.
He kept his seat, waiting, as Ron stepped into the shop, eyes scanning for him. The notice-me-not charm served as a thin veil, but it would not hide against someone who knew exactly what he was looking for, knew that it was there to be found... Ron's blue eyes met his, and under focused attention the charm's influence burned away like morning fog touched by sunlight.
He nodded to his friend, and Ron crossed the floor to sit across from him.
He wanted to say hello and I was worried and I'm sorry, but he didn't know what Ron knew. Almost two months since he'd seen Ron last, and no letters during the summer. The terse reply he'd received from his missive of a few days ago had offered little hope, although he took it as a good sign Ron hadn't simply told him to go to hell. His stomach was in knots about what Mr. and Mrs. Weasley might have told him - how they might have told it. So instead he only asked, "What do you want to know?"
"Everything." The word was flat. Demand and plea in one.
Which meant- "Your parent's haven't told you anything?"
"No." The short reply carried an universe of emotion within it, halting the wave of relief he'd felt in its tracks. In Ron's voice bitterness mixed with hurt, betrayal touched pain, and all of it was almost buried under the fierce thrum of an anger that burned. "They're not ready. Or I'm not ready. Someone's not ready. They weren't very clear." One hand clenched hard on the table, knuckles white. "But I went to them and asked them who gave Ginny the diary, and they said they couldn't tell me. Couldn't. It's not can't, it's won't. They lied to me - for almost two months, they've lied to me. They buggering well know who." Ron's gaze shifted to meet his straight on. "And so do you." Blue eyes burned into him and it was - hard - not to flinch.
Ron had always had a hair-trigger temper; quick to take insult, quick to jump into a fight. Prickly, protective and defensive at turns, and God knew he could hold a grudge over the silliest of things. But this, this was different. This wasn't anger. This was rage. This was the urge to strike out, to hurt as he was hurting, to ease your own suffering with the suffering of others. It was something he'd never seen in Ron before, and for one second he almost doubted the wisdom in sharing what Lucius Malfoy had done. Almost doubted because, God, he could almost understand now the decision Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had made. Because the tone in Ron's voice scared him; because he was afraid that, with Ron feeling like this, he was more than capable of doing something very, very, stupid.
Almost.
But he had his own memories of rage. He'd felt it on a cold stone floor, as Ginny's life drained away. He'd felt it in an office later, staring at Lucius Malfoy's contemptuous face. He'd called it and chained it and used it in the weeks past, twisting emotion into a weapon to rouse magic within him. If he was an adult maybe Ron would scare him, maybe the idea of a kid angry enough to kill would scare him.
But he was a kid, too. And he had his own body-count.
And this was Ron.
"Okay," he said finally. "Let me start from when we separated..."
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IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE BY 25+ ADVANCED CHAPTERS YOU CAN DO IT BY GOING TO
(P).(A).(T).(R).(E).(O).(N)
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