The Darkness and The Light
A/N: In case I haven’t said it lately, thank you all for the reviews!! 200+!!! I can’t believe it! I dedicate this story to you all because if not for the encouragement and wonderful words, I would have stopped at chapter 10. And also, I want to dedicate this chapter to the Tom Felton fan that took the news of his having a girlfriend rather hard. You know who you are. (=P LOL)
On with the show!
Ron sat in the middle of his bed with this legs crossed in front of him and mindlessly picked at a hole that was in his comforter. He had a lot on his mind: his mother, for one. How could she be so ruthless and not allow him to communicate with Harry and Hermione? It wasn’t fair and while he believed that maybe he deserved a swift punishment, that was a little much coming from her.
Then, there was his Dad. Of all people, he expected some kind of understanding from him. He knew and understood what it was like to be sixteen and in love. He understood that virtue was a sacred thing and was to be protected at all costs….Or, so Ron had thought.
The more he thought about how his Dad had barely reacted to the news of what Draco had done, the angrier he got. How was it that he just went silent like that? Didn’t he care?
There was a soft knock on the door that brought Ron out of his thoughts. He didn’t say a word; he just merely looked up at the blank door and silently willed who was on the other side to go away. He wanted to be alone. Wasn’t that clear?
“Ron,” said a soft voice on the other side. There was another knock. Ron still said nothing at this. He knew who was on the other side.
“Please,” Mrs. Weasley said from out in the hallway, “let me in. I want to talk to you.”
He rolled his eyes in exasperation as he let out a heavy sigh. He could sit there and will to his young heart’s content, but he knew his mother would not go away until he let her in and let her say her piece.
“Fine,” he mumbled to himself. Then he said so she could hear him: “Come in.”
He didn’t take his eyes off of the doorway, so when she opened the door, his eyes locked on her, daring her to take one step in his direction. She was one of the last people that he wanted to be alone with at this particular moment. He loved his mother, but right now, she was the enemy.
“What do you want?” He asked, trying very hard not to sound annoyed that she was there.
Molly Weasley knew her son too well; she knew that he didn’t want to be alone with her; he just wanted to be alone. She called him on his silent dare and walked across the room to sit on the foot of his bed. When she did this, he inched back as far as he could, so far that now he was sitting on his pillows. This only seemed to increase the tension that was already hanging in the air.
“So,” she began, resting her hands on her knees. “You’re in love.”
He nodded firmly. “I am.”
“With Hermione,” Mrs. Weasley said, her voice flat.
“With Hermione,” Ron repeated in the same tone.
“How do you know?”
“You say that you’re in love with her,” Mrs. Weasley said casually while being suspicious of the way Ron was caught off guard, “how do you know?”
“Mum, what does this have to do with anything?”
“Don’t answer my question with a question,” she warned him.
He opened his mouth to speak, halted, choosing his words. What he was about to say was not what he had originally intended. “Don’t question my feelings. Don’t question me,” he said shrewdly.
“I’m your mother, I have to. Besides that, you are in loads of trouble right now, young man. Everything you say and do from here on in is to be questioned.” She gave him a stern look. “You say that you’re in love,” she repeated.
Ron nodded, confirming this statement once more. “I am.”
Mrs. Weasley shook her head, disbelief all over her wary face. “No. You’re too young, you don’t know what love is, Ron. You don’t know so don’t use that as the excuse for what you’ve done.”
Ron was silent as he stared at his mother, anger rising within him. First, she forbad him to owl his friends and now she was sitting here, on his bed, telling him that not only was he too young to feel love, he was using it as an excuse? Nothing could have been further from the truth.
He was already trying his hardest not to yell at her, but after she said this, he was finding it very hard with every word that he spoke:
“I’m not,” he said lowly as he narrowed his eyes at her. It was his turn to register an amount of disbelief. “Mum, I did what I did out of anger. Malfoy ra-“
Mrs. Weasley held up her hand to let him know that he didn’t have to say that word. She whispered, “I heard you and your father.”
Ron cleared his throat and went on. “I loved Hermione anyway. I have since we were twelve. You knew that, you said you did.”
“That was no reason to talk to your father the way you did, Ron. You owe him an apology.”
Ron leaned back and rested his head on the rim of his headboard. “Yeah, well, love makes you do crazy things,” he said sarcastically.
Mrs. Weasley stood up and put her hands on her hips as she looked at her son helplessly. “You yelled at him, Ron. He’s your father and you yelled at him like you were a man…”
He now looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t I?”
“No, you’re a boy. A sixteen year old boy.”
Ron sighed heavily once more and took his place against his headboard. Rather than say anything to this, he kept quiet. He was going to be nice and give his mother the benefit of the doubt. Being the last baby boy of the family, he supposed it was hard for her to let him grow up, let alone be in love.
He listened as her feet shuffled across the wooden floor and then stopped. It was so quiet now that he could practically sense the moment her hand had landed on the doorknob in order to open it. Still looking at the ceiling, he said:
“Mum, I did what I did out of love. I’m not using that as an excuse, it’s the truth. I would have done the same if it had been Ginny.”
Not without a small bit of hesitation, Narcissa quietly crossed the room and stood behind her husband as she placed her hands on either side of his waist, just to let him know that she was there. When he took her hands in his and wrapped her arms around him, she found herself at a loss for words.
This was genuine affection that he was showing, it was genuine comfort that he needed, and she could sense it.
“There’s the man I married,” she finally said. Lucius wasn’t always the overbearing and pompas man that people knew today.
The two had known eachother since they were fifteen year old students at Hogwarts. He had been kind and unafraid to admit that he had feelings in those days. It seemed to her that as time had gone on and they both had gotten older, Lucius somehow managed to fall by the wayside and become who he was now.
He pretended not to hear this, but leaned into her just a little, still looking at Draco and holding his hand.
“He looks good, doesn’t he?”
Narcissa nodded. “He does.”
“A-a Healer came in and said that it was up to him now. She said that Draco had want to live.”
Narcissa nodded gravely at her husband’s back. “That’s true,” she said sadly.
There was an odd sort of silence between them and after a while, Lucius took in a deep breath. Narcissa noticed that there was a catch when he did this; as though he were holding back sobs. That was it; she said to herself, she felt his body give a slight shudder.
“Do you think he wants to?”
She opened her mouth to answer him, but Lucius went on, his words going at a medium pace and almost overlapping eachother at times. Like he had to talk fast because if he didn’t, the sobs that were threatening to leave his body might win and this the only way he knew to fight them down.
“He has to want to, right? He has something to live for, doesn’t he? A proper education, a beautiful manor that sits on spacious grounds, everything he could ever want, and to top it off he’s a pureblood wizard, the best sort of wizard there is.” He paused long enough to look over his shoulder at her. “That’s a reason to live, right? It has to be because it isn’t then it means that I have failed him. It means that he doesn’t see that everything I have done has been in his best interest, it means…”
“Sshh...” Narcissa interrupted. She withdrew her arms and turned her husband to face her only
to take him into her embrace again in an effort to comfort him. “Lucius, it’s okay that you love your son. No one is going to fault you for that. Least of all me. I believe with every ounce of my being that Draco will come out of this.”
Is it that simple? Draco wondered. I just have to wake up?
“No!” Hermione yelled as she dove at him and knocked him on his back. “You have to apologize!” She turned her wand into a blade again and held it just inches over Draco’s throat as she now straddled him to keep him from getting up.
“Don’t apologize to a Mudblood, Draco,” said the disembodied voice. Upon hearing it again and more clearly, he realized that it WAS his father. “She doesn’t worthy of a pureblood’s apology, you have done nothing wrong.”
Draco had been turning and craning his head so as to see his father somewhere off in the distance but when he realized that it was a fruitless effort; he looked back at Hermione and met her gaze, which was as cold as his.
“He’s right,” he sneered at her. “I did nothing wrong. You are nothing but a pathetic,” he rose up and held his weight on his elbows, “worthless,” he wriggled slightly under her, getting leverage, “Mudblood!” He exclaimed, unsure of how he was able to buck his hips well enough to throw her off and cause her to land a few feet away.
He looked at her, expecting her to get to her feet, but she did not. She just lie there looking helpless and defeated. Pleased with this, he smirked and walked up to Ron, silently daring him to make a move.
“I’m not afraid of you,” Draco told Ron as he went for his wand.
“The feeling is mutual,” Ron told him, meeting his eyes. “Apologize to her…”
“Draco, wake up,” came Lucius’ voice. “Forget them and wake up.”
Draco looked over Ron’s shoulder, expecting to see his father, but did not. He gazed upward.
“I can’t do it. I have to apologize,” looking at Ron, he asked, “I have no choice, do I?” Then a sudden look of realization came onto his face. “We can hex eachother until someone dies and it isn’t any good, is it?”
Ron shook his head and Draco looked over to where Hermione lay, crumpled and crying. He walked over to her and knelt down.
“You foul, loathsome, evil...,” she stopped, swallowed her tears and continued. “You hurt me. You did it and you don’t even care.”
He took a hand that was lying limp on her side and sat her up.
“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said. He wondered if he sounded honest.
“You just want to get out of here,” she said, clutching the side she hand fallen on.
He nodded. This was true. He felt this odd wave come over him as he stared back at Hermione and he didn’t know where it came from. He wanted to apologize again. He wanted to do it because this time it would mean something, it would be true. He didn’t know why he was so eager to apologize before whereas he had been so adamant.
He thought maybe it had to do with once more defying his father. Maybe it had to do with getting out. He now stood and lifted Hermione to her feet. She looked back at him in amazement at his kindness.
“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said once more.
His head hurt. No, hurt was not the word. Throbbed painfully described it better. The room around him was blurry as far as he could tell and he struggled a moment to make his eyes come into focus.
One he did, he saw that his mother was standing over him, looking at him with concern on her face.
“M…Mum?” He groaned in a small voice.
Narcissa burst into tears of utter joy when he spoke. She leaned down and planted kisses all over his face. She placed an affectionate hand on his cheek before kissing his nose and saying,
“Don’t go anywhere, my dragon, I’ll be right back.”
She smiled down at him, unable to contain her tears. Giving him one last look, to make sure that she wasn’t dreaming, she ran from the room to get Lucius who had momentarily stepped out.
Mr. Weasley was startled when he was walking past the fireplace in the kitchen and he heard a deep voice call his name. He dropped his cup of pumpkin juice and stopped in his tracks, turning to see a head in the fire.
Not just any head. It belonged to The Minister of Magic and his boss, Cornelius Fudge.
“M-Mr. Fudge,” he stammered as he bent to pick up pieces of the shattered cup. “How unexpected to see you! To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“Arthur,” Cornelius began with a heavy sigh, “Draco Malfoy has just woken up.”
Relief gushed over Mr. Weasley. So much so that he had to sit down. He kept his eyes trained on his boss.
“Then Ron is clear,” he said.
The older man took in a deep and uneasy breath. “I’m afraid not.”
“Why not? I thought I had this all smoothed over…”
“So did I, Arthur. But, you know the Malfoys…I wouldn’t even be here if Lucius had not threatened to have my job if he didn’t see some justice done.”
Mr. Weasley’s expression turned from relief to alarm. He had a feeling that he knew what was coming next.
“Dammit, Arthur, I don’t like doing this…” he averted his eyes and his hand now jutted out from the fireplace with a roll of parchment in it. Mr. Weasley slowly leaned over and took it with a shaky hand.
Looking at the saddened expression on Cornelius’ face, he held up the paper in front of his own and read:
Since your son, Ronald Bilius Weasley is not of age in the Wizarding World, we, The Ministry are contacting you and trust that you will pass the following information on to your son.
In two weeks, he is to arrive at The Ministry promptly at 9 o’clock in the morning. Someone will meet him out front to take him to the proper department to stand trial for the attempted murder Draco Malfoy.
Mr. Cornelius Fudge
The Minister of Magic
A/N: I know, I know, huge stuff in this chapter. That an awful, awful cliffhanger. Don’t hate me!
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