Jaded (Rewritten)

Chapter Ten: Wide Awake

The Burrow: Ottery, St. Catchpole – Devon, England – 8:04 A.M

The back door of the Burrow creaked open, and Ron shuffled into the kitchen, looking like he'd gone ten rounds with a Mountain Troll and lost.

"What in the name of Merlin happened to your face, Ronald?" Molly asked, sounding utterly aghast. She nearly dropped the frying pan she was scrubbing as her son sauntered in, or rather, lurched toward the living room.

Ron groaned, the mere vibration of his voice seemingly causing him pain, and slumped onto one of the floral-patterned couches.

Molly was on him in a second. She hastily padded over and leaned forward, grasping his chin with a firm hand. She tilted his bruised face toward the light, wincing as she studied his swollen, bloodied eye and the jagged cut on his lip. "I'm asking you, Ronald Bilius Weasley, what happened to your face?"

Ron winced, his voice a pathetic rasp. "'Arry..."

Molly frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. "I'm sorry? A carry? Did you trip over a delivery?"

Ron let out a jagged sigh and pulled his face away from his mother's reach, every movement appearing stiff. "Harry," he said, more clearly this time.

Molly's eyes widened until they were nearly as round as her dinner plates. "Harry? Our Harry? The boy who wouldn't hurt a fly unless it was trying to resurrect a Dark Lord?"

Ron gave a slow, miserable nod.

The shock on Molly's face slowly ebbed away, replaced by a heavy, knowing somberness. She moved to the other side of the couch and sat down, smoothing her apron over her lap. "Is this about... well, is it about what you did to Hermione?"

Ronald remained stony and silent, staring at a loose thread on the rug.

Molly sighed, a long sound that carried the weight of the entire family's disappointment. "Well. We can't exactly blame Harry, can we? That girl is practically his sister. He was bound to have a reaction eventually."

Ron didn't offer a defense. He simply leaned back against the cushions, inclining his head and closing his eyes as if the light in the room were too bright to bear. "I know," he murmured, the word laced with a bitterness that tasted like copper and regret.

Molly took another long look at her son—at the physical manifestation of the bridge he'd burned—and sighed again. "Do you want me to fix that? A quick Episkey and some essence of murtlap would do wonders."

Ron shook his head once. It was a silent penance, a physical reminder of the night he'd finally lost his best friend.

Molly stood up, her maternal instincts warring with her disapproval. She began padding toward the kitchen. "Have you had any breakfast? Do you want me to fix you some eggs? A bit of toast?"

"Just pumpkin juice, Mum," Ron murmured without opening his eyes.

Molly nodded to the empty air and headed for the pantry. The Burrow was usually loud, filled with the clatter of pots and the whir of magical gadgets, but today, the silence felt as heavy as lead.

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Rangali Island – Maldives Island – 12:02 P.M

"Draco, I am so hungry. Can we please eat before I start gnawing on the scenery?" Hermione whined petulantly, trailing a few steps behind him.

Draco turned back, looking remarkably cool in his white linen shirt despite the humidity. "Just give me a moment. I'll just pay for this and we can go," he said, holding up a small, intricately carved wooden box he'd been haggling over.