Never Let Go

“Put me down Charlie!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, pummeling the weather beaten ginger’s back as he ran around the gnome infested garden with me over his shoulder.

“That would defeat the purpose of using you as a baton.” Charlie tightened his hold on me.

“Baton?” the word inspired fear. “What do you mean baton?!”

“Ready Bill?” shouted Charlie, completely ignoring my inquiry.

“Oh no, I refuse to be used as a track and field baton!” I attempted to escape but failed, the years of working with dragons had made Charlie stronger than I remembered.

“Awe come on Millie, stop fighting, you know you’re enjoying this . . . one . . . two . . . three . . . catch her, Bill!”

In a split second I was hurling in the air, covering my eyes with my hands so as not to see the ground when I crashed into it. I expected to feel the moist earth underneath my body, to hiss in pain when I collided against it, but I didn’t, instead I was caught midair by Bill, whom patted my lower back reassuringly when he took hold.

The two elder Weasley’s continued playing catch a little while longer, only stopping when Ron returned from the bathroom and demanded that they stop torturing me. They did as they were told; placing me on a nearby bench where I could catch my breath but instead of settling down completely, Bill picked up Ron and the game began anew.

Ron flew threw the air, his fiery red locks blowing in the wind as he rocketed towards Charlie who stood ready to catch him. From the looks of it, Charlie was confident that he was going to catch Ron with ease, but that wasn’t the case. Ron may have been thinner than me, but he didn’t fly through the air with the intention of being caught or falling, he flew threw the air with the intention of tacking Charlie and that was exactly what he did.

The pair fell with a resounding thud that echoed with such intensity that it was heard by everyone within the Burrow. Molly ran out, followed closely by my grandmother whom looked scared shitless, I think she thought that I had gotten hurt and the look of relief that swept across her face when she saw me sitting on the bench, told me that that was exactly what she had feared.

“Stop it this instant!” screeched Molly, her voice booming throughout the garden. “We have guests over and you behave like wild animals! Just wait . . . just wait!”

Ron dusted himself off. “It’s not my fault. Charlie was playing catch with me.”

“He was what?!” roared Molly.

“Playing catch,” Charlie muttered. “I don’t see what the big deal is. We did it to Millie and she was . . .”

He shouldn’t have said that, if he was getting yelled at for having tossed his brother in the air, he shouldn’t have stated that the same had been done to me, but he did and the moment that the words left his lips, his eyes widened and Molly, well, her eyes narrowed.

“How on earth could you do that to Millie? The poor dear just moved back to England and you lot are making things more difficult for her, oh, just you wait!” threatened Molly.

“It’s alright Molly.” I reassured. “It was actually a lot of fun.”

“Fun?” she repeated, clearly unconvinced.

“Yeah,” I lied.

“Are you sure?” Molly pursed her lips.

“I am,” I laughed. “I'm fine Molly, they didn’t hurt me, they were going really easy on me, they, just went crazy with Ron because he’s their brother.”

“Well alright then, but no more rough housing, can’t be taking you lot to St. Mungo’s with the state things are in,” Molly turned to Rosalind. “Shall we put the kettle on for a spot of tea?”

“That sounds lovely Molly,” Rosalind directed her attention towards me. “Be careful Millie, you have a bad knee and if you’re pulling questionable stunts, it might get worse.”

“Nan, why do you always have to bring up the knee?” I groaned.

“Because one of us has to worry, now, be careful, we don’t want to have that surgery, do we?”

“No, Nan.” I answered.

A kiss on the cheek was my grandmother’s response.

“What happened to your knee?” asked Ron when our matriarchs left.

“I messed it up during wrestling season last year.”

“Wrestling?” Bill shot me a quizzical look.

“Yes, wrestling. You know, the sport that the ancient Greek’s practiced?”

“I know the sport,” replied Bill. “But I just can’t believe you participated in it. It just doesn’t seem like a very Millie thing to do.”

“And why not?” their response was one I was curious to hear.

“Because you’re not violent,” interjected Charlie. “Ever since you were small you’ve been a very peaceful person. It’s odd for you to have been in such a violent sport.”

“I'm curious as to why you joined.” Bill sat in front of me.

“I read that the Greek philosophers all wrestled so I decided that if I wanted to be like them, I had to wrestle to.”

“Are you any good?” asked Charlie.

“She’s brilliant,” spoke Ron as he plopped onto the small bench.

“Not brilliant, just alright,” I told them.

“You took second at girl’s international last year,” Ron twiddled his thumbs.

“How’d you know that?” I was genuinely surprised.

“It was in the Daily Prophet,” answered Ron.

“No, it wasn’t, if it had been in there we would’ve all known,” Bill ran a hand though his hair. “How’d you know about her placing Ron?”

“I saw her name in some sports magazine Harry was reading,” he mumbled awkwardly, it was clear that he didn’t want to elaborate on the subject.

“There wasn’t a picture, was there?” I asked.

Ron shook his head. “No, if there’d been a picture I would’ve recognized you today but that girl you lost to looked like a troll.”

“You’re so mean.” I laughed.

“I'm serious, I thought she was part troll!” his ears turned red. “Losing to her was understandable and as far as I'm concerned, you took first, because trolls don’t count in my book.”

“Thanks Ron.” I blushed slightly, I, wasn’t the best at receiving praise.

“What’s got Millie blushing like Ron?” inquired the twins when they arrived out back.

“Ron was complimenting her,” answered Bill.

Fred smirked. “Awe our darling Millie, still can’t take compliments. That’s so cute.”

“Must you talk in a baby voice?” I cringed.

“Yes, because if my memory serves me right, you hate baby voices and . . .” Fred trailed off.

“Annoying, you, is a passion of ours, so our little Millie is going to be spoken to like a baby,” added George.

“I'm going to magically muzzle you,” I threatened.

“Can’t do that, you’re only 16!” exclaimed Fred, a smug smile on his face.

“Bloody hell, I forgot that over here the age is 17!” I cursed.

“What was it in America?” asked Bill.

“Sixteen. It’s because they treat magic like muggles treat driving, it’s a privilege that you have to get a license for and since muggles get their driver’s license at sixteen, then we can get our magic one at that age as well.”

Charlie’s brow furrowed, “A magical license? Does it have to be renewed or does there come a certain age where you don’t need one?”

“You need a license in order to practice magic, regardless of what age, and if you’re caught doing magic without a license, then you’ll be fined a hefty amount. I know it seems weird, but I personally like it, magic is a huge responsibility and just because we were born with the abilities, that doesn’t mean that we should be free to use them, they have to be checked and if a person isn’t up to par or their magic is dangerous, then they shouldn’t be allowed to do it.”

“You sound like such a politician,” Ron slouched.

“Well I do want to be one when I'm older.”

We stayed at the Burrow until the late hours of the night, my grandparents sitting in the living room with Arthur and Molly, while I sat out back with Ron, staring into the night sky in a pleasant silence. It was nice to not have to talk, to just sit out back in one another’s presence. I had feared that our separation was going to make us act like strangers towards each other, but it didn’t. We picked up right where we’d left off.
We went right back to being Emi and Ron.

At around nine o’clock, my grandparents announced that it was time to leave the Burrow, I wanted to tell them that they could go home, but that I was going to stay there, but I held my tongue, knowing how rude it would be to invite myself to spend the night. Thankfully, just as I was standing up to leave, Ron asked if I could spend the night.

“Can’t she spend the night?” he asked them.

“I think it best if she came home, the time difference has yet to set in so she’ll be up till very late,” responded Rosalind.

“Oh, that’s no problem,” reassured Molly. “The children don’t go to bed until one or two, sometimes even three. Isn’t that right Ron?”

“It is, mum.”

“Well then, Millie, do you want to spend the night?” Rosalind asked warmly.

“Yes, Nan,” I answered.

“Alright then,” Rosalind turned to Molly. “We’re just going to take Millie home so she can grab a change of clothes. We’ll bring her back soon.”

“I can go with her,” proposed Ron softly.

Rosalind smiled kindly. “Don’t trouble yourself dear, it’s not that far for us.”

“It’s n-no trouble, I mean, she’s going to come back here so it doesn’t make sense for you to have to walk there and back and there again,” mumbled Ron.

“Nan, that makes sense. That way you and grandpa can relax.”

“Is it alright if Ron accompanies us?” Rosalind asked Molly.

“Yes, he’s always wandering about, it’s nothing new but Ron, grab a sweater, it’s a bit chilly out.”

“Mum, it’s not cold out.” Ron told her.

Molly did that look that mother’s do whenever they want to get their point across. “Fine mum, I’ll get a sweater.”

Ron disappeared up the stairs, returning with a maroon sweater in tow. He held it loosely in his hands, a sign that he had no intentions of putting it on, but after Molly glared at him, he threw it over his head and pulled it down. Mothers always fretted about their children. My grandmother was like that with me and I'm sure my mother would’ve been as bad as Molly.

Upon arriving at the cottage, we made our way up to my bedroom where I grabbed a nearby backpack that I stuffed with some pajamas and a clean change of clothes for the morning. Ron walked around the room as I did that, I assume that he was observing just how much it hadn’t changed.

“This is exactly the same as when you left,” he commented.

“I should hope so. No one’s lived here since we moved.” I threw on my backpack. “Should I take a pillow?”

“No, we have all that at the house.”

“Oh, okay, well, I'm ready when you are.”

“Is that Theodore?” his eyes were fixed on the worn teddy bear that rested on my bed.

“It is,” I picked Theodore up. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

“Since I gave him to you,” the corners of his lips hitched upwards, “Can’t believe you still have him.”

“I’ll take him over to your place. I bet Theodore misses the Burrow.”

“Yeah,” Ron lifted his gaze to my face. “Give me your backpack; I’ll help you carry it.”
“It’s not heavy.”

“I know it’s not, but I just want to carry something.”

“It’s because your mum will yell if she sees me carrying it, isn’t it?”

Ron, yet again, blushed. “N-n-no.”

“Always blushing, always stuttering,” I hugged him tightly, resting my head against his chest. “I love that you didn’t change. I would’ve hated to have found you a stranger.”

“I couldn’t change even if I wanted to . . .” he whispered softly.

We arrived back at the Burrow shortly later. I half expected to find everyone sleeping, but Molly was busy in the kitchen, preparing some hot chocolate for us to drink as well as some toast. As I stood in the doorway watching her bustle about, I couldn’t help but remember all the times that I’d stood in that doorway doing the exact same thing.

When everything was ready, Molly put it on a tray for us, giving us strict orders to not give any to the twins because they’d been acting up throughout the day. Her orders were not going to be followed; she knew that, which is why she placed enough cups for all of us on the tray.

Most of the night was spent in Ron’s room in the company of all the Weasley children. I'm assuming that they thought it was going to be a moment in which we would all talk about our lives and what we’re done but it ended up just being a night filled with laughter and with pranking. The twins were the best at pranking, but I got them a few times.

At a little before four am, we decided to call it a night. The twins and Ginny retreated to their respective rooms, leaving me and Ron alone in the room. I changed into my pajamas in the bathroom and returned to the room so that I could burrow myself underneath the covers of the extra bed in the room.

I was tired, eager to get sleep but then the thunder started.

I hate thunder. It makes me think of . . . I hate thunder and whenever it started, I began having horrible flashbacks of the time when I had found my father hanging in the middle of his room. It had been an awfully stormy night; thunder crashed outside the window and ever since then, thunder had been a most hated enemy.

“Are you awake?” whispered Ron.

“Yes.”

“Are you still . . .” he didn’t have to finish his statement.

I knew what he was asking.

“Yes, still.”

There was a few seconds of silence, the rustling of sheets the only sound.

“Why don’t you come over here?”

When we were small and had our slumber parties, I would crawl into his bed whenever thunder was heard. Knowing that someone was there always made it possible for me to fall asleep and I gladly accepted his offer. I left the bed, taking with me the blankets that I had covered myself with and I crawled in beside Ron, completely wrapping myself in the blankets, leaving only space for my eyes. That was how I slept whenever there was thunder.

“It’s going to be alright, thunder will pass soon enough,” whispered Ron reassuringly.

I fell asleep to the sound of his voice, only to be awoken hours later when the blankets were torn off us and someone – with a very bossy voice – cried out Ron’s name. At the sound of the voice my eyes immediately snapped open, I bolted up right, looking towards the direction where the voice came from and saw a bushy haired stranger glaring daggers at me.