Freckle

Freckle

Disclaimer: Thon keech mak's me hee-haw.

Translation: Scots – This rubbish earns me nothing.

Despite wearing his winter cloak, the cold cut through Ron Weasley as he stood looking through the trees towards the castle. Anxiety gripped his gut as he gazed at the multitude of turrets and worried about the inhabitants. He tried to distract his pessimistic preoccupation by planning for the day ahead, but found it increasingly difficult with snow-laden wind slicing through to his bones.

Brushing snowflakes from his pale eyelashes, Ron turned to his companion whose long hair hung with icicles.

"The castle's quite close to the town, isn't it?"

"What's worrying you, Ron?"

"Someone might see us."

"We're not staying at the castle. Our place is a bit further on. There's a decent-sized wizarding community."

"Don't the Muggles notice?"

"In this part of the country, the local Muggles have been accustomed to various unusual comings and goings for centuries. Besides, we usually exit towards the mountains, which aren't far away."

Ron grunted his acceptance before turning to trudge away from the castle on the hill, his feet scuffing through the falling snow.

"Good idea, my brother. Let's get going."

"Where are we?"

"Romania."

Ron huffed, his breath visible in the cold air before being whipped away by the wind. "I'm not stupid; I figured that out. More precisely, Charlie?"

"Well, that's Bran Castle, and we're heading over this way. It's still a fair walk."

"Why can't we use our brooms?" Ron asked, whining a little as he dragged his aging Firebolt behind him.

"We have to keep the airspace clear for rapid deployment."

"Oh." Ron's tone was flat and disinterested.

Charlie Weasley wrapped a muscular arm round his little brother's thin shoulders and gave him a half hug. "Come on, Ron. I know this is hard for you to believe, but you are going to love this place. Our base is a little further up the hill and into the forest. I've got a nice, warm room ready for you, with views across the river, and there's plenty of hearty food. Not as good as Mum's, mind."

Ron scarcely responded as his brother chatted and guided him onwards. Charlie's good spirits flagged a little, but he remembered the boy beside him desperately needed support, and he had promised his parents he would do what he could. The older Weasley brother felt a little overwhelmed by the responsibility; after all, he was a dragon keeper, not a psychologist.

"We've got some fantastic dragons, and you're going to love it here. We're training an aerial squadron, and..."

"Are we nearly there yet?" Ron asked, not interested in how long the journey was, only concerned with reaching their destination so he could retreat to bed.

"Sure." Charlie gave him a lopsided grin and another quick one-armed hug. "If I stop talking, we'll get there a bit faster."

~*~

When he first arrived in Romania, Ron went about the tasks Charlie set him without enthusiasm. Over time, the physical work of cleaning out the dragon stables gradually built his muscles, and the regular tasks gave his life structure. No longer was he able to drift into introversion when the dragons needed him for their most basic care in their winter quarters. His days were filled with shovelling, hauling, feeding and yet more shovelling, with no magic allowed in case it roused the dragons from their hibernation.

Initially, Ron resisted the anti-depressant potions his brother gave him. He watched Charlie dispassionately as his older brother sat on the edge of the bed and cajoled him. The older Weasley's fingers flexed as he resisted the urge to hex his stubborn little brother into submission and force the medication down his throat.

When Ron did take the medicine, its effect on his mood was not immediate, so he began to doubt he would ever feel better, and the side effects were unpleasant. He sat next to Charlie at meal times, head down and scowling at the food he spooned automatically into his mouth, in an attempt to quell the anxiety and nausea warring in his belly. Ron hated having to take the potions, he hated not being 'normal', he hated how his body bloated up after all the preceding weeks of deprivation, and he loathed his big brother for constantly being so bloody cheerful and nice.

Very gradually, his depression lifted, and he started to look forward to the days ahead. There was no specific date he could look back on and say that was the day he had started to feel better. The process was slow as his mood picked up, his ability to concentrate improved and his desire to live returned.

Ron felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off him; his head came up and his eyes opened. Taking a deep breath, he took up his tools in his capable hands and walked with a sense of purpose to get on with his daily chores. Once or twice, a brief, anaemic smile tweaked his mouth as he watched the antics of the younger dragons wrestling together and testing their growing strength.

Now, his evenings were spent in the communal areas with his brother. While Charlie chatted amicably with the dragon handlers and the riders, Ron sat quietly by his brother's side, adding little to the conversation, but not retreating to his room as soon as the evening meal was finished.

After a day's hard work in the clear mountain air, his nights were spent in dreamless sleep as his tired muscles melted onto the comfortable bed. No longer plagued by restless Horcrux-induced nightmares, Ron's sleep was deep and restorative.

Occasionally, he thought of Harry and Hermione as he drifted into sleep. The overwhelming, burning hatred he had felt towards them leached away, and he realised he missed them. As he lay curled on his side with his head on the soft pillow, his concern for their well-being flowed through his chest, tightening around his heart. Hot, slow tears welled from the corner of his eye, pooling in the hollow on the side of his nose before brimming over and dropping heavily onto the pillowslip. Sniffing, he brushed away the moisture with an angry hand.

"I'm not good enough... not strong enough, yet."

~*~

Pushing long hair, plastered to his forehead with sweat, away from his eyes, Charlie watched his little brother working alongside him. He grinned as Ron shoved his sleeves up his arms for the fourth or fifth time, only for the cuffs to flop back down again and come to rest dangling over his hands and getting in the way.

"Take your shirt off."

"It's your shirt, Charlie. That's why it won't do what it's supposed to."

"Why do you think I work with my shirt off, little bro'?"

"To show off your toned torso? Shame it's so pale and freckly and looks more like a toad's underbelly."

"Ah, but the girls love it."

"Arrogant git."

Charlie tensed his arms, making his pectoral muscles dance under the pallid skin.

Ron grimaced. "That's gross. All that writhing, gingernut, freckled skin. Put it away."

Clapping a hand on Ron's shoulder, Charlie roared with laughter, the muscles in his chest rippling with his mirth.

"You don't get it, do you, Ronnie?"

"No..."

"Take a look at your little dragons, then look at who the witches favour. Then, count how many freckly redheads there are in this community." Charlie winked as he left Ron standing wide mouthed in the middle of the stables. "See if I'm not wrong."

~*~

The skin beneath his hands was pale and speckled, smoother than he had anticipated and surprisingly cool to the touch. He had expected heat and roughness, vibrant colours and ferocity. Instead, Ron was captivated by the vulnerability of the dragon hatchlings.

All of them looked like their parents, but with less aggression and minimal fire-breathing, reminding him of the miniature dragons the competitors in the Triwizard Tournament had received. The main difference was the gangly legs and lack of coordination, and Ron laughed as a baby Horntail tripped on its neighbour's outstretched wingtip and fell forwards onto its snout with a squeak and a miniscule puff of soot. He could swear the silver dragonlet next to it sniggered in smoky breaths.

"I think I'll call you two Harry and Draco. How do you like that, little dragon?" He laughed as the silver youngster cocked its head and nipped at his fingers before strutting off and ignoring Ron while he got on with his work. "Yeah, I picked the right name for you, didn't I?"

Ron's fingers worked on the fledglings, rubbing oil into their growing scales, which irritated them as they grew quickly. The one currently in his hands was his favourite: a young female with the palest skin, her veins visible as a steely blue beneath the fine pattern of speckles across her chest. Long rows of golden spikes ran in horned ridges, from the bridge of her nose up over the dome of her head like a gilded headdress and cascaded gracefully down her back, coalescing into a burnished spur at the tip of her tail.

Gently, he eased open her wings, smoothing emollient over the wrinkled crêpe of skin between the slender bones. She looked fragile, but Ron knew only too well her feisty nature, having watched her stand up for herself against the strutting boys.

The small dragon purred and rolled over on her back, exposing her soft, freckled underbelly.

"You're just a little tease, girl." Ron smiled, running a finger down her smooth chest and tickling her tummy. He gave her belly a rub, and she curled around his hand, holding tight with tiny clawed feet, winding her tail around his wrist and nipping at his thumb. Ron rubbed harder until the little dragon was growling, biting and wriggling wildly. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his hand were seared by an unexpected snort of vivid, red flames.

The young dragon shot to her feet, immediately adopting a defensive stance as Ron cursed and sucked at his burnt skin. With eyes wide in surprise, she watched as the redhead buckled over laughing. The other fledglings clustered around with curiosity. They had rarely seen this man smile and had never heard him laugh. Horned noses nudged him, and clawed toes scratched his skin as they clambered over each other and tried to investigate the cause of the unusual disturbance as Ron collapsed in a giggling heap on the floor.

"Gods, you guys are beautiful," Ron said, wiping a tear from his eye and pushing inquisitive snouts away from his face. Tilting his head back to look at the speckled dragon who was peering down on him with an amused look in her multi-coloured eyes, he grinned. "Especially you, Freckles."

"Ég elska freknur.ˮ

"Huh?" Ron's head tipped further back, seeking the owner of the voice. Two thick plaits of hair swung forward, and an upside-down witch's face adorned with a sunny smile appeared above him. Ron's replying grin was embarrassed and goofy. "Sorry. I didn't catch that."

"I was just agreeing with you. I like freckles, too." She gave him a hand and hauled him to his feet with surprising strength for someone of slender build.

"Yeah, she's an Antipodean Opaleye and a real beauty."

Brushing stalks of straw off his leather, dragon-handler's britches, Ron straightened up to face the girl who, although petite, appeared to be the same age as him.

"Ron. Ronald Weasley," he said, automatically sticking a hand out in introduction before he realised he was wearing no shirt. Folding his other arm protectively across his chest as a flush of embarrassment scalded his freckled skin, Ron's head dropped, and his proffered hand sagged. "Um..."

A small hand clasped his firmly. "Frigg Ragnarsdóttir."

"Eh?" Ron lifted his gaze from their joined hands to the girl's friendly face.

"Frigg."

"Frig?" Ron snorted. "Really? As in..." His amusement dissipated slightly as he saw the thinning line of the witch's lips.

"Why does my name always make you English boys laugh? It's from Iceland."

"So, it's friggin' cold." Ron could not stop the quip escaping, despite lifting his free hand to cover his mouth.

Rolling her eyes, the girl continued. "Frigg means to love, by the way." She ignored Ron's snort. "I wish I'd been called Eir after the goddess of healing like my sister. Instead, I got something that makes immature idiots snigger and think they're comedians."

She huffed as Ron tried to close his mouth over the resurgent giggles bubbling up in his chest. The deeper the girl's frown, the more insistent his laughter became.

"Boys! You're all the same!"

Ron held onto her hand as she tried to spin away from him.

"I'm s... sorry," he gasped, resting his forehead on their joined hands. "You just caught me by surprise, and my mouth sometimes opens before my brain has had a chance to catch up."

Frigg shook her hand from his grip, folding her arms across her chest, which rose and fell with her indignation.

Ron's fingers ran through his unruly hair, making it stand up in orange flames of colour, which clashed hideously with the embarrassed pink of his cheeks.

"Ha! Your hair is funny! And you laugh at my name, Wheezy."

"Weasley." With a grimace, Ron acknowledged her amusement. "Yeah, well, we can't all be dark-haired and swarthy with buff bodies. Some of us have brains instead."

"Pff! Yours must be well hidden."

"Touché." Ron turned away, trying to hide his hurt feelings.

Again her slender hand sought his. "This time, I apologise. I should know not to make fun of anyone's name or their hair. I mean, look at mine."

Ron's fingers reached for one of the thick plaits. "What's wrong with your hair?"

"Look at the colour. It's mousy brown...ˮ

"...Ash blond..."

"...And mouse-brown is such a horrible colour."

"Mice must like it..." Ron blushed again at his own stupidity. "Well, I like it," he continued in a mumble, clearing his throat and letting his hand fall from where it had been stroking the girl's silken braid.

"And I like freckles," her slim hand brushed across his bare shoulder, "but only on a man with intelligence!"

Turning on her heel, she left Ron standing and gawping after her.

"Did you hear that, my little ones?" he asked the hatchlings crowding around his feet after he'd recovered his wits. "She likes freckles on a man with intelligence!"

"Intelligence? Has someone been talking about me?" Charlie queried as he appeared through the door. Noting the look of surprised elation on Ron's face, he smiled.

"Don't be so cocky, Chas."

"They were talking about you? Well, well." Seeing his blush, Charlie ruffled Ron's hair teasingly and dropped a fraternal kiss on his temple. "It's great to see you smiling again, but be careful with the girls around here."

"Why? Will they break my heart?"

"Nope. They're tougher than they look, little bro'. They'll break your balls."

Ron swallowed nervously. "Even the little ones?"

"Especially the little ones."

"And I thought Hermione was scary."

"Hermione's nowhere near as scary as a dragon keeper. They're like the dragons themselves. They may let you ride them, but you'll never really be able to tame them."

Ron's giggle sounded almost like a whimper.

~*~

A loud commotion at the entrance to the dragon compound had people running from all directions.

"Le' go of me!"

"Hold him! Ishbel, Snodgrass! Round the other side!"

"Le' go, I say!" The voice boomed across the enclosure.

"Stop! You can't just walk in there! The dragons will kill you! Help me, everyone. Please!"

"Charlie! Tell them to let me be."

Charlie Weasley's face, flushed from running, broke into a broad smile as he saw the cause of the disturbance. A person stood rigid in the centre of the courtyard, surrounded by a swarm of witches and wizards, some with wands drawn, others holding onto his arms and legs to restrain him.

"Get these varmints off me." The huge man looked down at the gaggle of dragon keepers hanging onto the sleeves of his bearskin coat. He gave his leg a shake, dislodging a couple of the smaller wizards.

"Let me through." Ron pushed his way through the crowd and threw himself at the man's chest. His arms struggled to span the width, let alone hug the vast expanse covered by damp, hairy cloth. "Hagrid!"

The half-giant's eyes glistened with merriment, and his wild beard danced with his hearty laugh. "Well, if ʼt ain't young Ronald. Whatcher doin' ʼere, lad?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I jus' dropped in fer a chat and a cuppa wi' Charlie." His eyes sought the older Weasley for verification.

"Yes. You can all let him go now. I know him, and he's reasonably harmless."

"He was trying to enter the adult dragon's lair."

The huge man looked down at his toes, his beard wiggling as he mumbled into it.

"Hagrid?"

"I was jus'..."

"You could have been killed." The chief dragon keeper still had his wand trained on the half-giant, though the rest of the crowd had relaxed a little after the Weasleys both welcomed the stranger. "Have you any idea what you were doing?"

Shoving a hand into one of his capacious pockets and rummaging, Hagrid hesitated when a ripple of raised wands were pointed in his direction. Slowly, he withdrew his meaty paw, clutching a small photograph between oversized fingers. "I jus' wanted to check he was a'right."

This time he looked to Ron for assistance.

"Norbert? You want to see that evil beggar? Blimey, Hagrid, are you bonkers?"

A loud sniffle preceded his reply. "I miss ʼim."

"Her." A small feminine voice from the back of the crowd corrected him. "Norbert's a girl."

"Frigg?" Ron's jaw dropped in an unattractive fashion.

"She's my allocated dragon," Frigg continued, wending her way through the crowd until she stood before the enormous man, looking up at him from her diminutive stature. "Anyone wanting to visit her must deal with me. I won't let any stranger into my dragon's lair. And you appear stranger than most, big man."

Her gaze ran over Hagrid's chunky boots, hairy coat and exuberant beard, resting briefly on his massive hands wringing with nervousness, before stopping at his sparkling eyes. The girl reached up, stilling the fidgeting of hands which dwarfed hers.

"But, if my Weasley says you're harmless, I trust his judgement." She offered a sunny smile to Charlie, who winked in reply and gave her a cheery thumbs-up. "I'm Frigg Ragnarsdóttir."

Hagrid's beard wriggled as he broke into a smile. "Frigg?"

"Yes." The girl dropped her head, sighing in expectation of the usual response from an Englishman.

"Ragnar and Freyja's little girl?" He patted the small witch's shoulder so hard, she stumbled. "You were tiny the las' time I saw yer. Ha! You haven't grown much, have yer? How's that rascally father o' yours? He an' I used t' catch sea unicorns together."

"Ah! Now I know you, Rubeus Fridwulfasson. I am well, thank you."

"Good, good. Now, Frigg Ragnar's daughter, are you goin' to let me visit my pet dragon?"

The witch's friendly smile was soon back. "Come, Rubeus. They say never tickle a sleeping dragon, so we won't do that, but taking a peek at her will do no harm. I'm sure you wouldn't disturb my dragon's winter slumber, would you?"

Ron watched the interaction with open-mouthed confusion as Frigg led his giant friend away through the crowd, which was starting to disperse. A hand on his shoulder startled him, and his mouth snapped shut on the questions he wanted to ask.

"Great to see Hagrid, isn't it?"

"Huh? Yeah... yes... great. I'll just go and get cleaned up for dinner, and... and see you later, Charlie."

"Did you see Frigg?"

Ron nodded, not wanting to look his older brother in the eye.

"Fantastic, isn't she?"

"She seems..."

"Did you know she and I have been partners since Norbert arrived?"

Swallowing hard, Ron looked at his feet, which started to swim behind a haze of tears. "No," he whispered, his voice clogging with emotion.

"Yeah, really. I couldn't believe it when she asked me. She's one of the best, you know."

"I had no idea."

"What's up, Ron?"

"I didn't know you and Frigg..."

"Yeah, mate. She's Norbert's rider, and I'm Norrie's keeper. We work really well together."

"Work?"

"Yes, Ron, work: the thing that keeps food on the table and a roof over our heads."

"So, you're not... you know..." Ron's finger waggled in the air. "You're not..."

"Me and Frigg?" Charlie's infectious laugh rang out around the now empty courtyard. "No chance, little bro'. Not for the lack of trying, mind you. Nah, she's one of the few I haven't... She's my work partner and one of the best dragon riders in Europe. She's never shown any interest in any of the guys here, as far as I'm aware."

Ron felt his hunched shoulders relax.

"Oho! Ronnie!" Charlie laughed, nudging his brother in good-natured ribbing. "Now I understand. You've got a crush...ˮ

"Shut up, Charles," Ron muttered as he brushed past his brother, but a small glimmer of hope flickered in his chest as he made his way back to his room.

~*~

"Sir, was Hagrid sent to Romania by members of the Order of The Phoenix to liaise with European giants, or was he just making a side trip to visit his old pet after a personal visit to Madame Maxime?"

"Indeed. Now, continue with your essay preparation."

A/N: Sunny33 is my wonderful beta, and Clairvoyant is the tireless admin.

Bran Castle is situated on the border between Transylvania and Wallachia in Romania and is commonly known as Dracula's Castle.

Frigg is a Norse goddess and was Odin's wife.

In Iceland, a person's surname indicates the first name of the person's father (patronymic) or in some cases mother (matronymic). They are usually called by their first and surnames together, or by their first name alone. Rubeus Hagrid's mother was Fridwulfa, therefore he could be called by his first name and his matronymic (Fridwulfa's son), hence Rubeus Fridwulfasson.

Translation:

Ég elska freknur – Icelandic – I like freckles.