Lyric ficlet for Sandy Keene:
No one saw him gimpy going round the bend
And no one but me knows the stuff it takes to mend him
- Tanya Donnelly
Disclaimers: Everyone here belongs to J. K. Rowling.
by Lesa Soja
Harry was a little taller in the fall, still not as tall as Ron, but enough that he bought all new robes which swung rustling round his ankles when he moved. When he called the first D.A. meeting a few weeks into the term, the Room of Requirement was packed uncomfortably full, which Ron hadn't quite thought could happen. But standing against the back wall with Dean's and Neville's elbows in his sides, Ron watched Harry gesturing and thought perhaps he ought not to be surprised.
Dumbledore himself was not present, and no one seemed to be asking if he should be.
Hermione kept researching new defensive spells, on top of her ordinary homework. Ron hadn't learned as many of those as she had, but he was a regular master at Silencing Charms now, and a few other things. He kept his wand under his pillow at night, despite Moody's predictions of horrible disfigurement, so that when Harry crawled in under Ron's blankets, Ron could silence the bed right away. And he always Leviosa'd Harry back to his own bed before dawn. Ron hadn't had new robes that year and his were getting to be distinctly too short. But they were still plenty long enough to cover any marks left on him in the morning.