Chapter Text
“Come on, Hermione! Please! I’ll be your best friend.”
Ron snorted. As if that would convince Hermione to play quidditch. He moved his rook to line up to face Seamus’s bishop.
“You already are my best friend, Harry, unless, I don’t know, McGonagall has confiscated your broom to keep you from being murdered—”
“Sirius wasn’t actually a murderer!”
“--or you’ve just near-murdered a classmate and can’t admit you’re wrong!”
“Oh, come off it, Hermione, you were just jealous that I was better than you at potions.”
Rons sniggered again. Yes, antagonise her, Harry. She’ll definitely decide to play now.
“You were cheating! It wasn’t your own work!”
Seamus huffed. “How many times do you think they’ll have this argument?”
“Until they die and then they’ll keep it up in the afterlife” Ron replied. “Hermione really doesn’t like coming in second best, and you know Harry can never admit he’s wrong.” He narrowed his eyes at Seamus. “Mate, how attached are you to being Beater?”
Seamus shrugged. “I’d rather be Chaser, actually. Harry just thought I’d be a better fit at Beater.”
Ron nodded and raised his voice. “Hermione! What if you were Beater? You’d get to smack a hard ball at Malfoy’s face the whole match.”
Hermione drew up short. Her thinking face went on.
Harry began to protest, “She’s more the build of a Chaser, though.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, as he slid his bishop into check, “but she’s got all those rage issues.”
“I do not have rage issues!” Hermione snapped, her hair sparking.
Harry gave Ron a look as if to say, “Fair point.”
Hermione said, “You know I’m not a very good flyer.”
Harry answered, “Yeah, but if you were a Beater, you’d get to keep one hand on a broom the whole time. Besides, you don’t have to be a good flyer. Look, you’re the last Eighth year left. If you don’t join, we can’t field a team.” Then Harry gave Hermione big, sad eyes. “This will be my only year at Hogwarts where someone isn’t trying to kill me, or it didn’t seem like someone was. Weren’t you the one who said we should all be striving for some sort of normality?”
Ron bit back a grin. Harry had gotten so good at manipulating Hermione.
Hermione huffed. “Fine. Beater, though. And, Neville,” she turned to their friend, much more the body of a Beater, and said, “Malfoy’s mine.”
Neville lifted his hands as if to say, “I’m not part of this!”
Harry rushed forward and hugged Hermione. “Thanks, Hermione! You’re the best.”
She laughed. “Using time turners, getting you through the first task, flying to the Department of Ministries on an invisible horse, camping with you for months to find Horcruxes, and it’s me willing to join a quidditch team that’s for bragging rights only that has you thinking I’m ‘the best?’”
Ron snorted again and said, “Checkmate.”
Seamus groaned. “I’d forgotten how not fun it is to play you.”
Everyone was back for their third week of their Eighth Year at Hogwarts to make up for the education they hadn’t had in their Seventh Year. Eighth Years hadn’t been allowed to join the quidditch teams, though; so, Harry and Malfoy had petitioned McGonagall to allow them to do casual matches on nights the pitch wasn’t being used.
Harry had managed to recruit Dean and Parvati as Chasers, Neville and Seamus as Beaters (though now Seamus would be a Chaser), and Ron, of course, as Keeper. They had needed only one more person to field a team, and now they had it.
It was going to be an interesting year.
Ron, Harry, and Hermione had lingered too long over breakfast and rushed into the Potions classroom just before class got started. They halted as one when they noticed the change to their usual table. Rather than Ernie Macmillan, Padma Patil made up the fourth seat. Ernie had gone to sit with the Ravenclaws.
“Wha—” Ron had begun to ask.
“Shh, I’ll explain later,” Hermione answered. As they took their seats, Hermione said, “Good morning, Padma.”
Padma lifted her eyes from the Potions table. They looked guarded but sad. “Good morning,” she said quietly.
Ron sat alongside her after Harry and Hermione took the other two chairs. Ron always felt mildly uncomfortable around Padma. It had been nearly four years since the Yule Ball, and in four years he had grown enough to realise he’d been a complete knob to her. She’d done him a huge favour to be his last minute date. He still didn’t understand how she hadn’t had a date. She and Parvati were the prettiest girls in their year.
Slughorn came puffing out of the back room. With Death Eaters still on the loose, Hogwarts remained the safest place for him.
“Good morning! I hope you are all as excited as I am for your assignment: I would like you to either create an entirely new potion or tweak an existing potion in a meaningful way. So, for instance, what if, instead of Pepper-Up and some coffee, you created a real hangover potion?”
Hermione raised her eyebrows, though a few students snickered.
Slughorn gave a jovial laugh. “As if you lot hadn’t had a run-in with an over-abundance of fire whisky yet at eighteen.”
Ron laughed. The professor had a point. Even Hermione’s lips twitched. Padma’s did not.
“Not to worry, though, you won’t have to do this alone. You can partner up!”
Hermione groaned. “Which one of you are going to get in my way?”
“Hermione, that’s not very nice. After all we’ve been through,” Ron protested. “Besides, Harry and I are usually partners anyway.”
Harry grimaced. “I really need to make sure I pass my NEWTs to become an Auror. Do you mind if I team up with Hermione for this?”
Ron drew back. Right, ever since he’d left them during the Horcrux hunt, Harry was more likely to choose Hermione for things that really mattered. Ron sighed. It was his own fault. He would regret it for the rest of his life.
He looked over at Padma and winced. She’d probably say no. Then he’d have to go beg someone else to pair up with him. That would require getting up and going over to another table. Ugh, what if only Malfoy were left?
“Padma, er, would you be my partner?”
She nodded but didn’t lift her eyes from the desk. “Yes. I’m not very good though. I’m only fifth in the class.”
Ron snorted. “I’m sure that’s better than dead last. Thanks.”
“Once you’ve found your partners, you can use this time to brainstorm your potion,” Slughorn boomed.
Ron turned toward Padma and said, “I’m not really sure where to get started on creating a new potion. That’s more a Fred and George thing.” Ron closed his eyes as a wave of sadness washed over him. He felt as if it must have been a literal wave because he almost fell to the floor in his pain.
When he opened his eyes again, Padma was looking at him with concern. He sorted his face as best he could and sat straight again.
“Sorry, er, yeah, so any ideas?”
Padma studied him for another moment before she mused, “I think what everyone needs is a way to talk about what happened this last year.”
Ron reared back. “Nah, I don’t think anyone needs that.”
But Padma bit her lip and nodded. “But, what if they felt happy while doing it? Don’t you think it would be easier to talk about it?”
“Er, you want people to feel happy about being tortured?”
Padma shook her head impatiently. “No, more like, what if they were artificially happy, like a Euphoria Elixir, but they had to talk about whatever someone asked them about, even if it hurt—”
“Like Veritaserum,” Ron added.
Padma gave him a little smile. “Right. But we don’t want them to fight it like with Veritaserum. So, maybe Babbling Beverage too?”
“And you think the end result will be they’ll feel better about whatever it was?” Ron asked sceptically.
“It’s not like they won’t be sad,” Padma answered. She closed her eyes and gulped down something herself, it seemed. “But they’ll at least have faced it. Nightmares are worse if there’s no one to tell about them, right?”
Ron took Padma in and clocked how sad her eyes looked. “Yeah, I guess. Alright. It’s better than any idea I’ve had. So, we’ve got to figure out how to make a combination Euphoria Elixir, Veritaserum, and Babbling Beverage, yeah?”
She nodded.
“Alright, we could meet in the library after dinner, I guess.” Just like old times. Except Ron had traded one pretty swot for another.
Padma bit her lip and her eyes darted to the Ravenclaw table and back. “Um, actually, would it be alright to meet in your common room? I could get the books beforehand. I have a free period after this.”
Ron shrugged. “Yeah, alright. It might be rowdier in there than in the library, though.”
Padma gave a small nod. “That’s alright.”
“I mean, if you don’t want to meet in the library, I could go to your common room. I bet the Birds are quieter than the Lions.”
“No!” Padma nearly shouted. She sucked in a breath and darted her eyes at the Ravenclaw table again before calming her expression. “I mean, no, Gryffindor will be fine.”
“Okayyyyy,” Ron answered.
When class was over, Ron said, “I’ll see you tonight. Seven alright?”
Padma just nodded and nearly hurtled toward the door to be the first out.
“Er, Hermione,” Ron asked, “do you know what’s wrong with Padma?”
A loud and rather rude snort went up from the Ravenclaw table where Terry Boot elbowed Michael Corner. Anthony Goldstein seemed to reluctantly smile, Ernie looked vaguely uncomfortable, and from the next table Draco Malfoy glared at the two laughing wizards.
“Keep your voice down,” Hermione hissed, darting a nasty glance at Terry and Michael. “I’ll tell you once we get somewhere more private.” She led them out of the classroom and behind a tapestried alcove that hadn’t existed before the final battle. Harry had discovered that the Marauder’s Map wasn’t as accurate as it had once been.
“So, apparently last term,” Hermione whispered, “a bunch of boys in Seventh Year made a bet over who could get the ‘Ice Queen’ to sleep with them. They figured it would be easier with a war on.”
“Who is the Ice Queen?” Harry asked.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Padma! Pay attention Harry.”
Harry rolled his eyes right back.
Hermione continued, “So, each one started flirting with her, but it was Michael who ended up dating her. But, he didn’t convince her to have sex with him until the beginning of this term. Then he broke up with her, told everyone she was as frigid as her moniker, and collected his money.”
Ron’s mouth dropped open.
“What a bastard,” Harry said.
Hermione nodded.
Remembering the look Malfoy had given Corner and Boot, Ron asked, “What’s got Malfoy’s wand in a twist? Angry he didn’t win the bet?”
Hermione shook her head. “No, the Slytherins weren’t in on the bet. He and Padma are friends, I guess?”
Ron grimaced. “Padma’s friends with Draco Malfoy?”
Harry answered, “Don’t you remember? She testified for him. She said he hid her from the Carrows. That’s why she never got caught even though she was the one running around the castle painting ‘Dumbledore’s Army still recruiting’ on the walls.”
Right. He did remember that. Still. “Seems like a bet the Slytherins would take, though.”
Hermione shrugged. “Well, he didn’t. So, I guess he’s not all bad.”
Ron huffed. Obviously he wasn’t all bad when they all had testified for him—Ron very reluctantly.
Ron met Padma outside the portrait hole that night and helped her climb through. The Ravenclaws had a proper door, so the climb must have been odd for her. Then again, she was probably used to visiting Parvati and Lavender.
“Thanks,” she said, eyes downcast.
“Er, there’s a window seat over there that’s kind of quiet. Not great light, though,” Ron offered.
A corner of her mouth quirked up. “It’s alright. We’re magical. I’m sure we can come up with something.”
Ron blushed. “Er, right.” He took out his wand and conjured some fairy lights to twirl around them.
Padma looked up and smiled. It was the first genuine smile Ron had seen on her face that day. “Nice.”
They made their way to the window seat, and Padma handed him a few books. “We need to see what possible reactions certain ingredients in combination may have. We obviously can’t just use all of the same ingredients in each potion.”
“Right, obviously,” Ron said. Actually, he had been about to ask if they could just do that, but he took her word for it.
They sat in silence as they read for about half an hour. Padma scratched some notes on some parchment and Ron followed suit, noting down the instructions for stirs and amounts.
“May I see what you have so far?” she asked.
Ron winced at his chicken scratch and thin notes, but handed them over. Padma’s forehead scrunched, and Ron prepared himself for the scolding on his shoddy work.
Instead, quietly, she said, “I think you may have missed something about the anticlockwise turns for the mint. May I see the book?”
He handed it over, waiting for the huff of impatience that never came.
Padma turned the book back toward him and leaned into his space. “See, here, if there’s no counter turns, then the peppermint may dry out the figs, rendering their juice useless. This could take away from the babbling effect.”
“Oh, sorry. I must have skimmed that part.”
“That’s ok. It can happen to any of us.”
He looked up at her with puzzlement. “Alright. I’ll be more careful next time.”
She gave him another genuine smile. “Did you want to look at my notes?”
Ron blinked at her. “You’re way smarter than me, Padma. I’m sure your notes are fine.”
Padma cocked her head at him. “Didn’t you help plan the Ministry and Gringotts break-ins? That would mean you would have to have collaborated and checked each other’s work, right? In all the interviews, Hermione said you were instrumental in the planning, especially Gringotts.”
Ron shrugged. “Yeah, but strategy is different than potioneering, you know.”
“We’re still planning something. It means we need to check things over. You got an OWL score good enough to get into this class. I’m confident you can see if I missed something.”
Ron took in her face. Was she just trying to be kind? No, she seemed as if she meant what she said. He took the parchment she was holding out and looked it over. “Huh.”
“What?”
He drew his brows together and flipped back in his book. “I don’t think the powdered asphodel will work. Yeah, see, it says it neutralises the myrrh.”
“Damn,” she sighed. Looking up at the clock, she packed the books away. “I guess we can look some more tomorrow.”
“Nah, Harry’s having us all to practice quidditch. McGonagall let us have the pitch to play the Slytherins on Sunday.”
“Oh. Alright. Let me know when.” Padma looked disappointed. Did she like spending time with him?
Ron went to walk her to the portrait hole. Padma spotted Hermione and asked, “Hermione, do you know if my sister is in the dormitory?”
Hermione looked up from her homework. “No, she went to the Black Lake with Seamus and Dean. Do you want me to give her a message?”
“No, it’s fine.” Padma’s face fell.
Oh, that was it. She didn’t want to go back to her common room. Ron imagined it would be real awkward there.
“Speaking of strategy,” Ron said.
Padma whirled toward him with hope in her eyes. “Yeah?”
“Do you play chess?”
“Yes, I’m quite good actually.” She swished her hair haughtily.
Ron gave a low laugh. “You’re on, Patil.”
Padma was quite good. Loads better than Harry or Hermione. Probably his best competition since he’d played Bill last. Their game went on so long that Ron had to put a stasis charm on it so Padma could make it back to Ravenclaw tower before curfew.
Padma came back a few times that week to work on their Potions plan and finish their chess match.
“Is this the same game?” Hermione asked on Saturday evening.
“Yes,” Padma and Ron said in unison, not looking up from the board.
“What is this?” Harry asked as he stood over them. “Some sort of epic? Is there an end in sight?”
“Yes,” Padma said as she moved her knight into position. “Check.”
Ron castled and said, “Checkmate.”
“What? No. How?”
She looked and saw that the rook had a straight shot to her King. But, even if the knight still took the rook, Ron’s queen would simply take the rook and be in position to take her King. And, if she moved left, Ron had an answering knight. If she went right, there was a bishop waiting. She could move all she wanted, but it would just be Ron’s queen keeping step every turn.
Padma narrowed her eyes. “Well-played, Ron.”
He grinned at her. “Thank you. Hey, are you coming to our match?”
Padma drew back abruptly. “Why?”
“Er—I just thought—”
She hissed, “What? You thought what?”
Ron exchanged a panicked glance with Harry. “Er … that you’d want to watch your sister play?”
Whatever had gotten Padma so prickly passed. She sagged a bit. “Oh, yes, I do.”
“Right, yeah, so I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ron said.
Padma ducked her head and nodded, keeping her head down as she exited the portrait hole.
“What was that about?” Ron asked. “Do you think she’s that angry about losing?”
“No,” Hermione said with a mixture of sadness and irritation, “it’s that ever since Michael told everyone about taking her virginity, blokes are treating her like she’s some kind of slag. It’s been awful. It’s no wonder she’s been hiding in here as much as she can. Just today, I heard Zacharias Smith ask her if her you-know-what was so snobby it would now only open for a hero of Hogwarts. I guess students in Gryffindor have noticed how much time she’s spending with Ron, and that’s why Zacharias said that? Maybe she thinks you’re spreading rumours too, Ron.”
“Smith is a complete arse,” Harry said.
“Well, he won’t be sitting on his for a while. I made sure to curse him with boils on his bum,” Hermione said.
“What a mess,” Ron said. “I’m only trying to be nice, you know, since she seems so sad all the time now. Why don’t her friends get rid of these blokes?”
“Oh Ron,” Hermione huffed.
“What?” Ron gave Harry a questioning glance.
“Er—we’re not sure if she has any friends.”
Ron furrowed his brow. “Why wouldn’t she have friends? There’s nothing weird about her.”
“I don’t know,” Hermione answered, “but I’ve never seen her with anyone except Parvati and Lavender. And, ever since Lavender died, Parvati spends most of her time getting high with Dean and Seamus by the Black Lake. Malfoy might be Padma's only friend, and they’re more friends in class than study-together-in-the-library friends. And he’s sort of keeping to himself too. I’m surprised he approached Harry about these Eighth Year matches, actually.”
“Huh.” Ron’s mind wrapped back to something Hermione had said. “Wait, Padma was a virgin? He took her virginity and then he dumped her?”
Hermione sniffed in contempt. “Yes, and if she was a little stiff, that’s normal for a virgin.”
Ron winced, remembering his own first time with Hermione. Ron had had sex before, but Hermione had not. She had been pretty stiff. Worse, he had felt awkward too, in ways he hadn’t with Lavender even though he’d just been figuring out sex then himself.
After a few more tries, they decided maybe friendship was better after all.
Michael Corner was a complete and utter wanker.
Ron flew back and forth along the hoops of the pitch. Since it wasn’t an official match, only a few people from Gryffindor and Slytherin had trudged up the stands to watch. The only Ravenclaws were Padma and Luna.
Ron grinned to himself. One could always count on Luna.
Ron looked across to his opponents. His main opponents, really, were the Chasers: Zabini, Greengrass, and Parkinson. Ron had blocked Zabini’s shots two years running. Ron was used to him and had watched him play in other matches. Ron knew Zabini’s maneuvers and tells. Parkinson and Greengrass, though, were complete unknowns. Honestly, seeing girls on a Slytherin team at all was bloody weird. Had there ever been any?
Goyle was a Beater, but Ron had played him before. That was fine. Monster hit, but no subtlety, easy to dodge. He took in the other Beater and his jaw dropped. What the bleeding hell was Bulstrode wearing? Surely that was Muggle. It fit her form like a second skin. And when did she get such big tits? Good Godric. Robes hid a lot.
Malfoy, of course, was Seeker. Theodore Nott was Keeper. Ron had no idea how he performed.
Ron turned his attention back to the Chasers, focusing on the two unknowns. Greengrass studied her nails and hovered, looking thoroughly uninterested in the match. Parkinson, though, flew back and forth in front of Ron. Once she knew she had drawn his attention, she drew her tongue across her upper lip and winked at him.
Ron blinked several times in astonishment then grew hard. Fuck, that was uncomfortable on a broom.
As if she knew the effect she had on him, Parkinson gave him a lustful smirk.
Even though this was simply a recreational match, Madame Hooch had agreed to referee. She blew the whistle, released the balls, and Dean and Zabini dove. Zabini caught it, went to pass to Parkinson, but Parvati intercepted. Ron watched as she dove and weaved between the Slytherin Chasers. Zabini was hot on her tail, and Parkinson did a feint as if to draw Parvati off course, but Greengrass was utterly useless. Unfortunately, Nott managed to bat Parvati’s shot away.
Ron examined his opposing Keeper and realised the bloke was at least as tall as Ron if not taller. That would make it difficult for both sets of Chasers.
Zabini easily caught hold of the quaffle from Nott, passed it to Parkinson, who passed it to Greengrass, who passed it back to Zabini. Zabini took his shot, but Ron caught the quaffle easily. He tossed it back toward Dean, their most reliable Chaser, but Parkinson intercepted it. She narrowed her eyes and grinned, turning back to the hoops.
She was a good flyer, no doubt. But Ron could still read her tells. He had hurtled in the correct direction and would have caught the quaffle except for the bludger aimed right for his face.
With an undignified eep, Ron ducked, allowing Parkinson’s shot through. She crowed with delight, flew about the hoops, blew a kiss at him, and sing-songed, “Weasley, you’re my king!”
He glared at her. He was about to give her a rude gesture when he noticed another bludger in his trajectory. He ducked again and looked at the place where the bludger had come from. Puzzlingly, the only player that way was Neville.
The match went on, but the only quaffles he let by were those from Parkinson. She and Bulstrode seemed to have some sort of incredibly synchronised timing that allowed Parkinson to score just as Ron had to roll away from a bludger.
The Gryffindor Chasers were having better luck with Nott, pulling ahead of Slytherin by 100 points. But, in the first ever occurrence, Malfoy caught the snitch instead of Harry. All the Gryffindor players stilled. This had never happened before. The only times Harry had failed to catch the snitch had been because he hadn’t been playing or Dementors were on the pitch.
Ron knew he had done his part. He’d let only four quaffles by, and they had all been Parkinson’s, but he still hated losing—to Malfoy, no less. Then again, Harry probably felt even worse.
Malfoy landed and threw his new Firebolt to the ground, stalking toward Hermione who had just landed.
“There are other players flying besides me, Granger,” he snarled at her.
“Oh?” Hermione challenged. “I couldn’t tell. Your ridiculous hair is like a beacon.”
Malfoy sucked in a long breath through his nose before barking back, “I don’t think you have a broom to fly on, Granger, when it comes to ridiculous hair.”
They began to snap and bicker all the way to the changing rooms.
“Losers buy the winners drinks at the Hog’s Head,” Nott called out. “That means you’re buying mine, Weasley.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Fine, yeah, I’ll be along in a bit.”
Even though he knew he had done everything he could to secure their win, Ron was still salty at the loss. He offered to help Madame Hooch capture the bludgers and secure them into their box.
By the time Ron finished, most of his teammates were filtering out of the changing rooms as he made his way in.
He had just turned on the spray and leaned back into the glorious warmth flowing over his shoulders when he heard a voice purr, “My, my, you really are the king, aren’t you?”
Ron’s eyes snapped open to see Pansy Parkinson standing in front of the showers.
Ron resisted covering his cock because he didn’t want her to know he was embarrassed by her presence. “What are you doing in here?”
Pansy shrugged. “Like you, I’m having a shower.”
“There are Slytherin showers.”
She nodded. “There are. But they don’t have fit as fuck gingers in them, do they?”
Ron’s eyes went wide. They went even wider when Pansy pulled her shirt and bra right over her head and shucked her quidditch leathers and knickers from her. She moved forward and pressed a hand against Ron’s chest, pushing him against the wall.
Pansy slid down his body until she was on her knees and murmured as she eyed his cock and wrapped her hand around it, “Fucking royalty.”
Ron had time only to blink before her mouth slipped over the head of his cock and he groaned. Parkinson had a very talented mouth and hands.
“Fuck, Pansy,” he gasped.
She moaned around his cock, increasing his pleasure. As his breaths grew more shallow, Parkinson moved her mouth to the head and sucked in short, forceful bursts.
“Pansy,” he gasped. “I’m about to come.”
“Mmhmm,” she encouraged. She took him all the way to the back of her throat and swallowed.
Ron let out a sound so loud he was surprised his teammates wouldn’t be able to hear it in Hogsmeade. He poured down Parkinson’s throat and she swallowed every drop.
He clocked his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked down into Parkinson’s brown eyes which were glittering with mischief. Merlin, she was short. There would be no way to return the favour in the shower.
“After being such a dirty girl for my king,” she murmured, “maybe you could help wash me up.”
Ron laughed and grabbed the soap.
After making her come on his fingers in the shower, Ron picked Pansy up and placed her on the sinks, their heights too different for any other kind of positioning. She came fast on his cock; but, since she’d already drained him once, he made sure she came a second time with him.
As he bent over her gasping, she grasped the hairs at the nape of his neck and breathed into his ear, “And that’s why we all sing, Weasley is our King.”