By Lev Stone
I began writing this story because I noticed a dearth of fiction involving Weasley family interaction. However, because the Weasleys are a loving family, I could not write am interesting story. So I used as a starting point a familiar author who specializes in family dysfunction. Thus I imagined the Weasleys with a vague image of Philip Roth in mind. As a result, Ginny was removed entirely and the Weasley family is now Jewish. All the Weasleys are full-grown and Ron is the narrator of the story. This has nothing to do with JK Rowling other than borrowing some of her characters. Hope you enjoy.
I dread family suppers at the Burrow. Every month it’s the same thing. The six Weasley sons leave their lives one Friday every month and descend into Ottery St. Catchpole for a night that serves no other purpose than creative torment. We all hate it. But the guilt we’d feel for not coming would be unbearable and it would last far longer than the meal we’d miss.
Each time without fail, I’m the second to arrive. Percy doesn’t travel on the Sabbath because long ago a bunch of rabbis forbade the use of magic on such a holy day. So Percy arrives Friday afternoon, hours before the rest of us.
I apparate from my flat to the Burrow to find Percy standing alone in the garden.
"Hello, Ronald," he says pompously, "How’s life treating you?"
I hate Percy. Ever since he was young he’s been an obnoxious, arrogant asshole. After Bill and Charlie left for Hogwarts, Percy decided it was his duty to be the bossy eldest child. But Bill and Charlie were fun to be around and Percy simply isn’t. Fred, George, and I rebelled against his control. Our relationship has been tense since. We were already reaching two decades of hostility before the problem with Hermione. Now it’s worse.
"I’m fine Percy. How are you? How’s Newton?"
"I’m well, Ronald, thank you. Newton is well also. He’ll be getting ready to go to Hogwarts soon."
Newton is my nephew. He lives with his mother, the former Mrs. Penelope Clearwater-Weasley. Newton’s a little shit, but if I had his name, I’d probably be one too. He’s going to get beat up when he goes to Hogwarts. I’m not sure why Percy’s talking about getting ready though. Newton is nowhere near eleven. Knowing Percy there’s probably already pressure on Newton to be Head Boy. Mum and Dad did the same thing.
"Children are wonderful, Ronald," Percy says, "You should really think about getting married and having some."
I want to tell him to shut up and mind his own business. Or ask him why he barely sees Newton if he’s so wonderful. I’m dying to tell him to stop calling me Ronald. But instead I just glare at him. To my delight, it makes him visibly uncomfortable. It’s a new record – three minutes into dinner and already the tension’s already unbearable. And Bill’s not even here yet.
As Percy heads into the house to escape, I notice how old he looks. His hair is thinning and he wears glasses that make him look almost elderly, as does the religious garb he insists on wearing. Ever since his divorce he’s gotten involved with that cult of Orthodox Judaism. Enough to make the rest of us uncomfortable, but not enough to put himself out of the way if he wants something. Poor Percy – married at twenty-three, a father at twenty-four, divorced at twenty-five. He’s intolerably lonely, and I think he’s the only one of us who looks forward to these dinners despite the rampant hostility. I’d like to feel sorry for him, but I’m petty and he deserves all his misery.
Just as I’m about to follow him into the house, a jovial voice calls out, "Hey, Ronnie! Don’t lock me out." I smile and turn around to embrace Charlie. I visited his house only two weeks ago, but it feels longer. I miss him when he’s not around. Any moment I spend in Charlie’s presence isn’t a complete waste. He’s the one person in the world who can call me ‘Ronnie.’
"How are you doing, Ronnie?" he asks me with a grin.
"I’m okay Charlie. How are you and the family?"
"Christine’s still pregnant," he laughs. "The other little ones are a handful, but we still like them. Just today they asked me when Uncle Ron is coming back to visit."
I love my nieces and nephews. Unlike Newton, Charlie’s kids are well behaved, loving, and completely like Charlie. I wouldn’t be surprised if they all play Quidditch, though Charlie swears only one has any talent. I think he’s being modest.
"So Ronnie, how about Chudley? They’re actually second in the standings and can move into first with a victory over Winbourne next week."
"I want to be happy, Charlie, I really do. But every Cannons fan knows that no other team can snatch defeat from the jaws of victory quite like Chudley. We cross our fingers and hope for the best."
He laughs and I smile again. Charlie absolutely amazes me. He’s clearly Dad’s favorite son and the two of them can talk Quidditch for hours without realizing how much time has elapsed. When Charlie was at Hogwarts, all the other students looked up to him, house be damned. He was such a spectacular Chaser that every team in the Isles came to recruit him, even Montrose and Puddlemere. But Charlie wanted more. He chose to go to Romania and study dragons instead, which nearly killed Dad. He desperately wanted Charlie to be a (Jewish) sports star and bring the World Cup back to England. Instead my big brother is the foremost living expert on the Hungarian Horntail and has a steady job lecturing about dragons. He also has a beautiful wife, five children, and several books to his name. Christine was a former Miss Magic U.K. She has Aryan written all over her face, but Dad never seemed to mind. In private, he proudly proclaims "Charlie’s made something of himself." Mum isn’t happy about the marriage, but says nothing.
I study Charlie as he walks past me. I never noticed before that despite a slight paunch and receding hairline he looks quite young. Definitely younger than Percy.
Before I can move, a rocket flies in front of my face and explodes, covering me in blue ink. Fred and George have arrived.
"I can’t go to dinner covered in blue ink, so one of you better clean me up," I say through gritted teeth. No need for greetings. The three of us are too close for that.
"Why Ron, you look positively lovely in blue. It’s really your color. Far better than maroon."
"Fuck you, George. How the hell am I going to get cleaned up?"
"Oh relax," says Fred, "It’ll fade in a few minutes. Do you like it though? It’s a new product we’re selling at the joke shop."
"Did you run tests this time to make certain it’s only temporary?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about it. We’re not making that mistake again," says George.
"Cost us too much money. Cost me a girlfriend," says Fred.
"So is the Rabbi here yet?" asks George.
"Yup. Percy was in the garden when I arrived."
"But you were smiling when we apparated. Is he in pain?" asks Fred.
"No. Percy’s fine. Charlie’s here."
"Charlie’s here? Fred, we’ve got to tell him."
"I know, he’ll appreciate it."
I know I shouldn’t ask. I make it a rule never to ask about their lives. But the reporter in me is too curious. "What will he appreciate?"
"We saw the most excellent Quidditch match yesterday," says Fred, "It was between the Pride of Portree and the Vrasta Vultures. Nothing on the line, just an exhibition. But it lasted seven hours. Unbelievable."
"I’ve never seen anything like that," adds George, "Even at the World Cup. Krum is definitely ready to retire though. He couldn’t get to the Snitch fast enough."
I knew I’d be sorry. Krum. Memories of Hermione. I didn’t want that tonight. It’s already too hard. But now I know why they didn’t tell me about the match before.
"How did you get the tickets? I thought they were sold out months ago at a ridiculously high price."
"A client of ours gave them to us," says Geroge.
"He was, er, pleased with some of the creams he got from out shop. I understand he got even with quite a few people," Fred says.
This is why I never ask about their lives.
"Has Bill arrived, yet?" asks George.
"What do you think?" I respond.
"Knowing Bill… he probably won’t show up until we’re ready to leave," George says. "Have you seen him at all in the last month?"
"No," I say regretfully. "Bill sent me a letter a few weeks ago asking for something. But I didn’t hear from him after that. You’d think he would stop by my flat more often. Manchester isn’t Egypt. It’s so much easier to apparate to London."
"That’s just Bill. It’s nothing personal," says Fred, trying to be reassuring.
"Have you seen Mum and Dad yet?" asks George, changing the subject.
"Oh, shit! I’ve only seen you, Percy, and Charlie. I completely forgot about them."
Fred and George both laugh.
"Percy probably told them you’re here. You’re in for a scolding, ickle Ron," says Fred as he goes inside the house.
"If you keep hoping, Ron, maybe one day they’ll forget about you too," says George with mock encouragement and he follows Fred in.
I stay outside. I say I’m waiting for the color to fade, but really I want to see Bill first. The ink fades quickly and although Mum repeatedly calls my name, I pretend not to hear. After about ten minutes, Bill appears. He’s so easy to spot in a crowd with his long hair, fang earring, and dragon leather boots. He’s the eldest child, but ironically looks like the youngest.
"Hello Bill," I say wearily, "Good to see you."
"Hey kiddo," he responds, "How’s life?"
"Tough. Very tough. How’s by you?"
He grins and puts his arm around my shoulder. I catch a faint whiff of marijuana as he replies, "Life’s great. It’s a big party, kid."
Shit! Damn it all! It bothers me that he still believes that crap. Though there’s no reason for me to think he’d change, I keep hoping that he’ll grow up. Fred says that Bill never met a vice he didn’t love. From all that I’ve seen, I don’t disagree with that assessment. I used to want to be just like him.
We walk into the house. Mum hugs Bill and then me. Dad warmly embraces me and shakes Bill’s hand. Charlie, Fred, and George hug Bill. Percy just glares at him without so much as a word. They loathe each other. Growing up, Percy was always in Bill’s shadow. Bill was always better at everything Percy excelled in. That made Percy insecure and he found every possible way to make himself feel superior. Usually it was by attacking Bill’s morals. One of the reasons I hate these dinners is because Percy still does it. He’s the same insecure prick, but far more subtle and hurtful. And Bill’s an easy target.
Mum starts to nag me. I’m used to it by now so I just pretend to listen.
"Ron, why didn’t you come in? What’s wrong with you? It’s rude to wait outside someone’s home without first announcing yourself. I thought I raised you with manners."
"Sorry," I say, "I was kind of blue."
Fred began to giggle, but a quick glare from Mum stifles him. Dad talks to Bill – it’s not a pleasant experience for either of them. The entire family listens.
"Bill, when are you going to get your hair cut? You don’t look like a nice Jewish boy. You look common and low class."
"I’m not cutting my hair, Dad. I like it like this."
"Bill," Mum chimes in, "Please let me cut your hair so you’ll look good for some girl."
"Or some boy," George calls from across the room.
Fuck! George, if there’s such a thing as reincarnation, I hope you return as someone with tact. Mum unsuccessfully tries to pretend she missed that remark.
Thank God for Charlie. He always knows how to break an awkward silence. "Dad," he loudly interjects, "Do you believe that the Quidditch Magazine named Dai Llewellyn the greatest Seeker of all time? Those idiots completely overlooked Plumpton’s better record. He was second. And what about Wronski? Can you believe he was only fourth? No one in the last two centuries has been more innovative than he was. At least Eunice Murray was named third. It should have been Plumpton, Wronski, Murray, Llewellyn." Everyone else joins in the conversation – even Mum, who doesn’t like Quidditch. I glance at Bill who’s staring at the ground.
Of Bill’s many vices, sex is the worst. He’s openly and aggressively bisexual, although he tried to hide it from the family for years. It doesn’t matter who he’s fucking with as long as he’s fucking someone. It’s always been like that. Bill is legendary for having had an affair with a Hogwarts professor while he was a student. George says McGonagall, Fred says Sprout. Harry jokes that it was Snape. Charlie knows, but refuses to tell. He said it was a big scandal among the faculty and that it was hushed up. I never knew about it until after I graduated and I probably never would have heard about it at all if it hadn’t been for a very drunk Fred and George. But I knew Bill liked men before anyone else in the family. When I was fourteen, I caught him snogging Oliver Wood at the Quidditch World Cup. Harry, Hermione, and the rest of the family were off setting up camp, but I went to get some water and found Bill and Wood groping each other behind a cluster of pitched tents. I never told him I saw him, and just pretended to act as surprised as everyone else when he brought home Alex, who is to date, the only real partner he’s ever had. Before they met, Bill had a different fuck buddy each week. After the breakup it was the same thing. Sleep with ‘em, forget ‘em, and find a new one. I know for a fact he has a few illegitimate children running around somewhere, but I don’t know any of their names or their mothers. I doubt Bill does either. Percy revels in that; at every dinner he snidely remarks, "How are your children? What are their names again?" Given his own family situation, I think he envies Bill’s complete lack of responsibility.
When Charlie introduced us to his future wife for the first time, it was during the height of the Bill/Alex relationship, and any girlfriend looked good by comparison. Because Bill was dating a man and Charlie was Dad’s favorite son, no one dared say anything negative about Christine. In contrast, Dad bears incredible resentment toward Bill. When Dad impregnated Mum during their seventh year of Hogwarts, her parents tried to jinx him, hex him, and then curse him. Mum and Dad were married in a ‘propped wand’ wedding - my grandfather literally held his wand against Dad’s back until after the wedding vows. Dad regrets the marriage, I think. He threw himself into his work and spent countess hours studying Muggles so that he could avoid seeing her. Bill reminds him of his mistakes. I imagine it didn’t help that Mum loved Bill so much. Everything Bill has done is wrong according to Dad. Bill was Head Boy, but he wasn’t a Quidditch star. Bill got a great job at Gringotts, but it wasn’t "a job that utilized his talents." Now that Bill is an irreligious, bisexual hedonist, Dad has plenty of fodder to nurture his displeasure.
I excuse myself and go into the kitchen. It seems smaller than usual. Bill follows me in. He has a stupid grin on his face.
"It’s always something, isn’t it?" he says.
I sigh. "So how high did you get before coming?"
His grin gets even wider. "Can’t fool a Daily Prophet reporter can I? Even with an odor removing spell. Just one spliff. I needed something to take the edge off tonight’s fun."
"I don’t suppose you have any with you," I say. Taking the edge off of this dinner doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. I’m no stranger to marijuana. Our first year out of Hogwarts, Harry and I got high all the time. Bill gave us our first eighth and joined us. Hermione never lit up, of course. That was too reckless for her. But Harry and I felt we earned it, having permanently gotten rid of the Dark Lord and all that. The best times were when Fred, and George joined us too. I can’t remember anything except that I used to laugh really hard. Probably at Harry. He talks too much when he’s stoned.
"Nah, sorry," says Bill, "I didn’t think you did that anymore."
"I really don’t. But every so often I need some tension relief."
Bill laughs and grabs me into a bear hug. God, he’s high.
"Bill! Ron! Get out of the kitchen and join your family!" Mum yells. She talks far too loudly for my comfort.
We walk into the family room. Mum’ s not there. She enters from another room. And she’s carrying jumpers. I groan a little too loudly. Dad glares at me, but doesn’t say anything. I have nothing against a new jumper, God knows, in my line of work I go through clothes quickly. But Mum has a color code for all her children and grandchildren and I’m stuck with maroon. Maroon is the one color I absolutely hate, but Mum refuses to listen. And then she gets upset when I don’t wear the stupid thing.
"Mum," says Fred, "You should make a new jumper for Ron. George and I discovered that blue is actually his color."
The two of them crack up. I smile a bit until George chimes in, "And while you’re making new ones, Bill should get one in lavender."
I stop smiling. Mum blushed in embarrassment. Dad glowers. And Bill looks embarrassed – marijuana can’t take the edge off that.
It’s not that Fred and George are homophobic – well they are, but only in that I’m-still-a-teenager-at-heart way. Their real problem is that they never learned that some things aren’t amusing. I think it comes with having a twin to always laugh at your jokes. But discussing Bill’s sex life isn’t funny when Mum and Dad are present.
It’s fucking unfair because Fred and George owe a lot to Bill. When they first opened their shop, they did terrible business. Our parents couldn’t help financially. Dragons don’t pay so Charlie had next to nothing. I was still at Hogwarts and Percy flatly refused to help. Bill sent all the money he could, pulled strings at Gringotts for loans, and even arranged for a transfer to England so that he could help them out in person. He was their savior and best friend. But that was all before Bill met Alex. It all changed after that.
What’s most troubling is my family’s refusal to acknowledge that for three years Alex changed Bill’s life for the better. Pot isn’t the most dangerous drug Bill does. He used to regularly drop acid with lovers. But because Alex despised the stuff, Bill stopped doing it. Bill was so in love that he gave up all promiscuous behaviors. He even outed himself to us by bringing Alex to the Burrow and not hiding their relationship; that took balls. They made it through horrible times together and kept going strong. I envied them so much.
I remember that they broke up the same week I got my job at The Daily Prophet. Bill immediately went back to drugs and sex. He still refuses to talk to anyone about Alex. Even Charlie, who was Bill’s best friend, has no inside knowledge. All we know is that Alex offered Bill unconditional love, and for some idiotic reason my brother blew it.
Once again Charlie tries to distract everyone with idle conversation. This time, instead of Quidditch, he talks about his children and how they are all learning to fly on toy brooms. He thinks one of his daughters could be a decent Beater, but none of the other kids have any skill.
The rest of us remain embarrassingly silent. Finally Mum goes into the kitchen and calls out "Supper’s Ready" muc too loudly. We make our way into the Burrow’s new dining room, which can actually seat us all. While we were growing up, there was never enough money for anything, but with no children at home Mum and Dad save their Galleons better. The dining room is a new addition to the house.
Mum and Dad sit on either end of the table. On one side Percy sits (much to his consternation) with Fred and George. On the other side I sit next to Mum. Bill is in the middle and Charlie sits next to Dad. Mum waves her wand and the meal flies out of the kitchen.
Charlie is still talking about his kids. I love Charlie. He’s the greatest guy you’ll even meet, but he only talks about dragons, Quidditch and his family. His conversation skills are very limited when you want to talk about something else. And he never stops talking. It’s a nervous habit I think. Dad, Fred, George, and Charlie go to all the Tutshill Tornado matches together so that’s always a conversation topic. Being a Chudley fan, I’m the Quidditch pariah of the family. Which alone is bad enough, but the Cannons are the biggest losers in League history. Fred tells me that disappointment teaches me character. I want to see Tutshill go on a century losing streak and see if his character improves.
After what feels like an eternity, Fred interrupts Charlie and tells a story about one of the new clients at the joke shop. Mum’s face flushes red. She wanted them to work in the Ministry but a mysterious benefactor gave them money to open the shop. Thank God she doesn’t know the mysterious benefactor was Harry. She likes Harry more than she likes me; the betrayal would be too much for her nerves. It’s a big secret that I never would have discovered if Harry and I didn’t get stoned together. Like I said, he talks too much.
"So this client, who shall remain anonymous," Fred says, looking at a smirking George, "wants a fake wand for his wife because he said he needed to teach her a lesson in humility…"
I look to my left and see Bill secretly changing his water into vodka. I feel the same way. Listening to their stories is a bad idea.
"… so finally he brings back the fake wand and sure enough it has bite marks on it." Fred finishes the story. George breaks into hysterical laughter. Charlie politely chuckles. Mum, Dad, Percy, and I just stare in horror. Bill takes another gulp of his drink.
I can’t take it anymore. I need some space. I left a Chudley Cannons cap in my old room the last time I was here so I could leave the table to get it if I needed the break.
"Excuse me for a minute, I need to get something from my bedroom," I say.
"Ron," Mum interjects nervously, "You’re not going to take long, are you?"
I turn scarlet and run out of the room. I’m sure that no one else has any idea what she was talking about, but it’s still embarrassing. When I was fifteen, my mother walked in on me while I was masturbating. My door was locked, but she had her wand with her.
I didn’t even know she was there until I heard her gasp, "Sorry!" Ever since that time, she’s looked at me funny whenever I wanted to go to my room. It’s not fair. Nobody in this world jerks off more than Fred and George. They used to have contests to see who could finish first! But I’m the one who got caught.
I get my cap, put it on, and head back to the dining room. Dad is less than amused. "You left, just to get a cap?" he says with some annoyance.
"Well, I figured Percy shouldn’t be the only one with his head covered," I said looking at Percy’s yarmulke. Percy glares at me. I smile back and sit down. Bill’s refilled his vodka. I don’t understand how no one else smells it. On the other hand, I’m a reporter for The Daily Prophet. Our senses are specially trained – to snoop out stories and all.
The next conversation Charlie begins is about why the Holyhead Harpies are going to be the surprise of next year’s Quidditch season. Only Charlie has anything interesting to say. By the time dinner ends, Bill is completely pissed. He knows it to and tries to speak as little as possible until Mum asks him, "So Bill, honey, what are your plans? Anything interesting happening at work?"
"I’m thinking about going to back to Egypt," he says heavily slurring his words. Damn it. Although Bill doesn’t talk much when he’s drunk, when he does it’s like he’s been given veritaserum.
Mum starts to freak out. "How can you go back there? It’s the land of our people’s oppression."
"No Jewish mothers in Egypt," says Bill under his breath. Aloud he says, "You didn’t complain last time."
"I thought you just needed to feel your way around and get it out of your system. Bill, Israel’s so close. Why don’t you go there instead?"
"I used to go there all the time. There’s much more to do there," says Bill.
"Yeah, Mum," says Fred, "Didn’t you know the best gay bars in the Middle East are in Tel Aviv?"
Shut up Fred. Please, please, please don’t make things worse. Too late.
"I don’t ever want that discussed at this table again! It upsets your mother," yells Dad.
Percy spots an opening and attacks. "Of course you don’t, Dad. It’s vile. God forbids it, William. You should find a nice young woman to marry instead of leading a life of sin. Look at what you did to that poor boy Alexander. You brought him into that immoral lifestyle of yours and then abandoned him to it. He’s never going to feel God’s love because of you."
I can actually feel Dad’s anger. Mum’s sobs are quite audible.
"That’s it, I’m going," yells Bill. He tries to get up, but instead topples over in his chair. Charlie and I rush down to help him up, sharing a pained look. Bill’s complete lack of sobriety is no longer a secret.
We lift him back onto his chair. "Sit! Just sit and don’t talk!" I whisper harshly to Bill. I’m shocked to see he’s on the verge of tears. Percy has really upset him. I hate seeing Bill in pain. I lose my cool.
"You’re the perfect one to talk about sexual morality, Percy," I say, unable to choke back my bile any longer, "Seeing you stole my girlfriend to cheat on your wife."
Silverware drops. Another secret has just been revealed.
"What’s this now?" asks George.
"I think Puddlemere has a good shot to win the championship this year…" begins Charlie, but I cut him off.
I jump out of my seat. "Didn’t you know, George? Percy and Hermione had an affair during Penelope’s entire pregnancy. That’s why she left."
"Is that why you dumped Hermione?" asks Fred incredulously.
I don’t answer. The truth is, Hermione dumped me. And idiot that I am, I’d still take her back tomorrow, that’s how much I miss her. She was my first. She introduced me to sex, and then risky sex. Blow jobs behind the shops of Diagon Alley. Quickies in broad daylight out in the Burrow garden. No one else ever touched me like she did. But Hermione hungered for power and I couldn’t satiate her. That’s why she slept with Percy, and before both of us, Krum. She never loved them; I think she may have loved me. After Percy, she slept her way to a top position in the Ministry. Eventually she’ll be the Minister of Magic. I just know it.
I’m suddenly aware of how long I’ve been silent. Everyone is staring at me, except Percy who looks down at his plate.
"I made my peace with God," he says, "I’ve moved on."
I feel a new wave of rage. "You never bothered to make peace with me."
"Do you think I owe you some kind of apology, Ronald?"
"No, you owe me a helluva lot more than an apology. And don’t call me Ronald, you goddamn fucking hypocrite!"
Percy just looks at his plate again. I can’t be in his presence anymore.
"It was a lovely dinner," I yell, "Thanks."
Bill stumbles and falls to the floor again.
I turn to him viciously. "I’m taking you home with me. You’ll just splinch yourself if you try to apparate."
I put his arm around my shoulder and hoist him up.
I look back. Everyone is staring at us, mouths agape. Another lovely supper at the Burrow. "Bye all," I shout, "See you next month. And Mum, for my next jumper – orange. My favorite color is orange. Everything I own is orange. Not maroon."
I drag Bill into the kitchen and take out my wand. "Incendio!" Instantly a fire roars in the fireplace.
I find Mum’s Floo powder supply and toss some into the fire. The flames turn green and Bill looks at me tentatively.
"Well, go on," I say impatiently.
"Ron’s flat" he drunkenly mutters, and walks in.
I hold my breath for a moment and say a silent prayer that he’ll make it. Then I apparate home. There he is, passed out on the floor in front my faux fireplace. It’s tough to travel wasted via Floo Powder. Seeing him lying there gives me a rotting feeling in my stomach.
I can’t talk to him, so I busy myself by getting a blanket and pillow to make up the couch. I haven’t had an overnight guest in a long while.
"Is that where I’m sleeping, Ron?" he says in a faint voice.
"No," I reply darkly, "I’m taking the couch. You get the bed."
He stares at me, "I can’t…"
"Just go. There’re some shorts and t-shirts to change into in the dresser." I shouldn’t be doing this for him. I’m a goddamn idiot.
With effort, Bill picks himself up off the floor and drudges into the bedroom. It’s pathetic to watch. After about fifteen minutes I hear him playing a sad tune on the guitar I keep by my bed. He plays beautifully, but that’s Bill. He can pick up an instrument and play it well immediately, even when he’s pissed. He plays far better than I ever could.
It pains me to admit this, but he’s also a better writer than I am. It was his dream first to write for The Prophet. But he never did it. That surprised all of us, because Bill had always succeeded brilliantly with everything he ever tried. Therein lies his problem. He excels at music, writing, studies, and charm breaking for Gringotts, but he also uses that same drive for drugs, alcohol, sex, and all around self-destruction.
I listen to him play guitar and it dawns on me how alike he and Hermione are. Perhaps she should have dated him instead of me. They’re both so driven by their addictions – hers to power, his to practically everything. Neither knows how to handle someone who loves them. I have a terrifying vision of the two of the together. Bill is getting topped by Hermione and she’s using a strap-on that he bought for her. I try to shake the image out of my head. It’s bad enough that I’ve already had to visualize Percy in bed with her.
"Ron," I hear Bill weakly call me from the bedroom.
I walk into the bedroom. He’s lying on the bed, wearing an orange shirt with black shorts. He looks like a hopeful Chudley fan.
"Yeah, Bill. What is it?"
"Thank you for letting me stay here."
"You’re welcome."
I start to leave.
"I haven’t slept all night at someone else’s apartment since I started seeing Alex," he mutters.
I don’t know if he means that for me, or just for himself. He has a distant look in his eyes. But my heart softens just the same.
"What happened between the two of you, Bill?"
"Do you really want to hear?"
"Why wouldn’t I?"
"Everyone in the family seemed to have a big problem with the two of us being together. Little comments, digs, looks. In Percy’s case, rants."
I suddenly felt very self-conscious. "Bill, did I ever say or do anything to upset you?"
He stared off into space. "No," he said dreamily, "Nothing I can remember. Maybe I just assumed you were like them."
There was an awkward moment of silence. Again I ask, "What happened between you two?"
"I don’t know for certain, but it is my fault. My own inadequacies. You had just told me that you got the job with The Prophet and I started to freak out. I felt like life passed me by. My baby brother got my dream job, and I was stuck in Manchester working for a bank. Alex tried to help, but I just left. I went to some bar and got stoned out of my mind. When I came back I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore and that I didn’t like my life with him," he broke down and started sobbing, "That I didn’t really love him. It… it wasn’t true. I just kept yelling at him, saying that he was holding me back from enjoying life. I went to bed alone, and when I woke up he was gone. No explanation, or note, or good-bye. I guess I deserved that."
Bill completely breaks down, which shocks the hell out of me. I’ve seen him pissed, stoned, angry, arrogant, exuberant, broody, moping, excited, apathetic, and protective. I’ve never seen him vulnerable before. It’s a side he keeps hidden from all of us. I put my arms around him and he just weeps for a while.
"Why didn’t you ever apply for the Prophet job?" I ask him.
"I almost did. I had gotten together a portfolio, but the night before I was supposed to send it in, I had a horrible dream. I met the editor and he was Dad. He told me I had no talent and never did. I wasn’t good enough to make it as a writer. I took a class in divinations, Ron. I recognize a prophetic dream when I have one."
I’m glad I’m still hugging him so he can’t see the pity in my eyes. Divination is a crock of shit. There’re no such things as prophetic dreams.
"I guess I really blew it, didn’t I?" he asks me. "Treating the one person I ever loved like shit."
"We all make mistakes, Bill. We’ll just know better next time."
It was trite and it’s all crap, but it was the only thing I could think of.
"Ron," Bill begins, "Were you shocked when I brought Alex home?"
"No. I’ve known about you since I was fourteen."
"How?"
"Remember when Dad took us all to the Quidditch World Cup? Harry and Hermione too."
"Yeah. The time the Death Eaters made all that trouble."
"Well, when we were setting up camp, I saw you and Oliver Wood snogging. I figured it out then."
"Oliver Wood," he said trying to place the name. "Oh, I remember him. He was a lousy lay. From that experience I learned never to fuck a confused virgin. Whatever happened to him?"
"He’s the Keeper for Puddlemere United. He’s married and has a few kids. Harry keeps in touch with him."
"Guess I didn’t make much of an impression with him either."
"Bill, which professor did you sleep with at Hogwarts?"
"Why did you turn scarlet when Mum asked if you were going to take long to go to your room?"
I blush again. "Goodnight, Bill."
"Goodnight Ron."
I got off the bed and started to leave. "Ron," he calls after me.
"Yeah, Bill."
"You’re my hero you know."
I’m a little taken aback, but I smile. "You’re my hero too."
"Sorry," he mutters. His expression is sad, but I swear I see a small gleam in his eyes.
"Goodnight, Bill," I say again, and walk out.
That night I sleep badly. Damn couch. To pass the time, I magically repair the cracks on my ceiling.
I think about my conversation with Bill. And I wonder if he’ll remember it. Or if he would have said any of that to me if he hadn’t been pissed and stoned. Around two in the morning I hear a whimpering from the bedroom. I tiptoe in and see Bill shivering on the bed. In his sleep he must have thrown off the covers. I don’t want to wake him up, so I just put the covers back on him. His body relaxes and he actually looks peaceful. I kiss him on the forehead and creep back to the couch.