These Bring-Your-Child-To-Work-Day events are entirely too puffed up, thought Ron as he marched miserably down the marbled corridors of the Ministry of Magic. Spending the entire day with his father, listening to him squeal with delight at the mention of cow prods, was not his idea of fun.
He had managed to break away from the tiny office his father shared with Perkins by using the infamous excuse of needing to use the bathroom. Since his last visit to the Ministry of Magic, where he had nearly been strangled by brains, Ron had not been too keen on returning.
The colossal marble corridors of the Ministry had long lost their allure for him, and he scoffed as he exited the lift ā” the gold fountain remaining a ruined pile of rubble.
He found himself walking unattended and ignored by the large amount of people swarming about the Atrium, and purple memos whizzing overhead like an incessant cloud of bees. Ron was jostled around by all the witches and wizards hurrying to get where they were going, and didnāt notice as he was herded down a flight of stairs, to a long black corridor.
Windowless and damp, the corridor stretched out in front of him like a menacing tunnel, to which there was a plain black door at the end. His feet, going of their own accord, propelled him forward, until he felt his fingers clasp around the golden doorknob. An icy blast of air ruffled his ginger locks.
A room materialized, circular in shape, with twelve handleless black doors. Candles burned blue from the sconces on the walls, casting black, flickering shadows in every direction.
Ron looked around him nervously, his heart pounding in his ears. He backed away slowly, as though to make for the door, when it slammed shut with a forcible BANG, sending the walls of the room swirling around him at a dizzying pace.
As quickly as it had started, the spinning ceased. Ron staggered forward, his head still reeling, until his legs gave way and he crumpled to the ground.
āBlimey,ā he whispered, holding a hand to his eyes. He heaved himself off the ground, studying each door as though it would form a mouth and say āPick me!ā He chose the second door to his right.
He thrust it open, and immediately wished he would have picked any door but that one.
A draft of ice cold air greeted him, sending shivers to the very core of his soul.
Blackā¦silence.
Funny thing, silence. The lack of sound and light replaced by the pounding fear of a beating heart, as the sweat drips and muscles tense.
āBloody doors,ā muttered Ron as he struggled to see past the penetrating darkness. A bizarre sensation coursed through his body, as though all hopes of ever getting out of the Department of Mysteries were suddenly dissolved.
He squinted as hard as he dared without rupturing his retina, the impenetrable blackness of the room making him lightheaded and uneasy. An unexplainable feeling arose within him. He felt his breath quicken, his pulse race, and the palms of his hands became clammy with sweat.
Panic surged through his body, with no chance of escape. He shouted as the walls closed in around him ā” the blinding thick, black air, foul and rank, swirling through his head, ensnaring all senses. He no longer had control of his mind as thoughts of death, sadness ā” hopelessness ā” filled him.
Ron felt the familiar panic set in ā” a panic he thought he had been rid of ages ago when he used to be afraid of the dark. His body convulsed. He could feel the stickiness of his sweaty palms. He thrust one in front of his face, but not even the faintest outline could be seen. He ended up punching himself in the eye. Cursing marvelously, he rubbed it furiously with his other hand, his heart continuing to thump at a rapid pace.
Blimey, he thought, his body shivering like mad. There is no way asking Fleur to the Yule Ball was any more terrifying than thisā¦
Something flickered in the shadows to his left. Whipping around, Ron stared wide-eyed as the shape in front of him became more and more clear.
A glittering door, like a large jeweled bug, materialized before Ronās eyes. His feet shifted forward, drawn to the shimmering light that threatened to permanently blind him. He quickly threw a hand in front of his face, feeling frantically around him for anything to grab hold of as the mysterious door drew him in closer.
The very earth seemed to tremble beneath his feet ā” he was heaved forward, spinning, and spinning, and spinningā¦
The world stopped, and Ron found himself in the most peculiar position of his life. His feet were attached to the ceiling, his ginger locks standing straight on end as though he had just been electrocuted. Stretching high above his head were many rows of benches, similar to the courtrooms in the lower levels of the Ministry. On the opposite side of the room, nearly camouflaged into the black wall was the door. Did he dare move towards it?
Perfect, he hissed, warily shifting one foot. What in blazes am I supposed to do now?
If he lifted his foot, would he fall ā” crashing with full force into the stone āaboveā?
Iām mincemeat, he thought, bursting into maniacal laughter unexpectedly.
Thereās nothing for it, he reasoned, the blood rushing to his head, Iām going to have to move sometime or another ā” whereās Hermione when you need her? I mean when you really need her?
Ron took a great shuddering breath, and lifted his right foot.
The space righted itself ā” and Ron crumpled to the floor in a broken heap. Coughing uncontrollably, he dusted himself off, and ran, or stumbled rather, to the door along the opposite wall.
Running at a dizzying pace, Ron heaved himself through the black door, shutting it behind him forcefully. A split second later, he wished he hadnāt.
The door dissolved behind him with a horrible hiss, leaving the wall blank and scorched. He was trapped. There were no windows, or doors ā” just echoing, black, space. He could no longer tell which wall he came in from, or where the exit could possibly be. Each wall was an identical seamless trap.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, an eerie uneasiness settling over him. He whipped out his wand, brandishing it in front of him like a flimsy sword in hopes that it could spark some form of escape.
Fat chance, thought Ron bitterly. I might as well ask for Snape to waltz in here and help meā¦
Suddenly, with a great shuddering rumble that shook him to the very core of his heart, the walls gave a great heave, and as though on wheels, began moving toward him.
His heart skipped a beat.
He clutched his wand in his hand so tightly that his knuckles began to turn white. He looked at his wand as though it would provide him with sudden inspiration and tell him how to get out.
The walls were only a few feet away from him now.
Bah-doom.
The grinding of stone on marble echoed in his ears.
Ba-doom-da-doom.
He fell to his knees, looking at his reflection in the glossy floor.
Doom-ba-doom.
Fear and panic took over his mind.
Boom-tom-da-doom.
How do I get out of here? All I want is to leaveā¦pleaseā¦, he thought wildly, racking his brain for any scrap of information that could remotely help him.
Dah-boom-tom-boom.
The walls brushed against his outstretched arms and legs.
Rumbling closer, and closer, and closerā¦
In a last effort to save himself, Ron did the last thing on earth he ever thought he would do ā” cry. Hot, fat tears streamed from his eyes, the walls pressing ever closer. Thoughts raced through his mind ā” of his friends, his family ā” Hermione. The irreplaceable feeling of defeat loomed over him, poisoning his mind with horrid thoughts.
Just when all hope seemed lost, the walls shuddered; coming to a stop with a grating crunch. Ron raised his head, a shiny black door as glossed as polished marble appearing before him on one of the walls.
He scrambled to his feet, drying his eyes with his sleeve, wrenching the door open with such force that the hinges groaned. He threw himself into the next room, collapsing onto the soft surface ofā¦carpet?
A squashy pink armchair rested in the center of the room, nearly dwarfed by soft pillows and fuzzy blankets strewn around its base. Ron slapped himself good and hard, briefly visited by a horrifying vision of Professor Gilderoy Lockhart during Valentineās Day of his second year.
Bloody hell, he thought, flabbergasted. No one will ever believe thisā¦
A harp began to play in a corner, its soothing melody drawing Ron to the squashy armchair in front of him. He sunk down into its soft plush interior, feeling the weight of what seemed like hours of struggle and toil lift from his shoulders. A dreamy look crossed his face.
All he wanted to do was sleep.
The harp continued to play, lulling him into an overpowering daze. He hadnāt a care in world ā” all trouble was left behind him ā” he could stay a few more minutes.
Or maybe he could have a little nap.
Or maybe I could sleep a while, he thought pensively, I really have noā¦preferenceā¦
On the brink of a never-ending slumber, he laid back on the chair, curled like a cat, as the covers put themselves over him. They pulled tighter, so he couldnāt move his arms or legs. They pulled even tighter ā” his breathing was becoming shallower.
They pulled tighter ā” he was gasping for airā¦
With the strength of a Weasley, bred from years of brotherly abuse, Ron ripped the blanket in two, the words of his father echoing in his mind, āNever trust a thing if you canāt see where it keeps its brainā¦ā
Ron clutched his wand, as the blankets rose into the air, the armchair approaching him with menacing force. His back was to the door, he clutched the knob with one hand, never taking his eyes off the foes in front of him.
Oneā¦
Twoā¦
āTHREE!ā He bellowed, wrenching the door open, and sealing it behind him.
Ron looked nervously around the room he had just entered. Something familiar struck a chord of his memory, something he could not quite place. He knew he had been here before ā” what seemed like ages ago ā” but something was not right.
The Veil.
āOf course,ā he whispered, āhow could I be so thick?ā
He scratched his head, a bewildered expression on his face. The stone dais was not in the center of room, as it should have been, but was dangling from the ceiling, a mottled gray veil swaying side to side. Wooden benches were scattered around the room, some plastered on walls, some upside down, and some even up on end.
What the devil ā” ?, thought Ron, taking a few steps forward.
A light breeze swept continuously through the room, bringing with it black shadows whispering of faint memories. A haunting voice seemed to pass right through him.
A burden in the midst of the dead,
Who above all others fear to tread,
To a place where even heroes have fled.
The voice seemed eerily familiar to him ā” like an echo from a distant past. He shrugged, gazing around him for any sign of the door that was supposedly ahead. He walked to the opposite wall ā” nothing. He felt around for any seams in the wall, pressing his ear against it to hear any sound from the outside world.
Ron backed up slowly, looking with a puzzled expression at the wall, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger. And then, as if pushed by an invisible force, he was sent pummeling to the ground.
Furiously rubbing the throbbing spot on his head, and swearing so vehemently that any sailor would have been proud, he finally noticed the handle jutting up from the floor. He yanked at it fiercely, cursing his stupidity, to reveal a large trapdoor.
Gulping dramatically, Ron took one last look at the room around him, and jumped into the chasm below.
Ron braced himself for the impact of his fall, but that wish was never granted. He plunged headlong into an icy black lake, encompassed by an ancient cavern.
āBloody hell!ā He spluttered, flailing his arms and legs wildly, blinded by the inky blackness around him.
Panic sunk in ā” the inability to see his surroundings consuming his thoughts. His head dropped below the surface, bobbing up and down like a cork, gasping for air. He had never been a fine swimmer, and was innately afraid of water.
Think, he told himself, are you really that thick? There canāt be a door far away from hereā¦
Sconces lit and, on the far side of the room, was yet another door, a brass key dangling on a hook.
Thereās something dodgy about it, Ron pondered, it canāt possibly be that simple.
The clank of metal on stone sounded overhead, and Ron looked up to see another brass key dangling from a ceiling stretching as high as the Great Hall.
Then that means, he whispered, looking down.
A large key shone from the bottom of the lake, some ways down by the looks of it.
Well, obviously, deduced Ron, the key that is easiest to reach will not open the door. That would mean I have to go for the key on the ceiling.
Proud of his sudden mental surge, Ron felt compelled to smile, despite his precarious situation. He gazed above him, whipping out his wand, treading water as best he could.
āAccio!ā He called fruitlessly. He knew the spell wouldnāt work the moment it left his lips.
His legs and arms were growing steadily numb in the sub-zero water; he had to find a way out of here ā” and fast.
He swam to the desolate door on the other side of the room, and tried prying the key off the wall. It wouldnāt budge, as thought it had a Permanent Sticking Charm placed on it long ago. Ron gulped furiously, and dove to the bottom ā” the key coming free from the floor easily. He tried the key beside the door again ā” this time falling free into his palm.
Tapping his hand against his forehead, he transfigured the one key into a broom ā” hoping upon hope all those years of practicing Quidditch with his brothers had paid off. He soared high above the lake, reaching the ceiling key with ease.
He clasped his hand around the cold metal, swooping downwards, the cold air whipping his ginger locks. He hovered at the door, thrust the key in the lock, and almost cried with mirth as the door opened with a creak. He pocketed the spare key, and soared through the open doorway.
Ron landed harder than he meant to, his legs wobbling like jelly as he dismounted his broom, propping it against the wall. He had entered a stoned in enclosure, wide and long as a Quidditch pitch. There was a door on either end of the room, the one he had just entered through, and the exit.
He walked cautiously towards the middle of the enclosure, his fist gripped tightly around his wand. A form began to slowly materialize in front of him ā” misty gray at first, developing slowly into a creature ā” his Patronus.
Bizarre, he observed, wrinkling his nose, I donāt recall casting the spell.
The yippy Jack Russell-like dog bounded around his ankles, eager to play. Ron shrugged him off, noticing a thick chain attaching it to the exit door. The Patronus didnāt seem to like being ignored, and bit Ron forcefully on the leg.
āOiā”mangy muttā”go bother someone else!ā He bellowed.
The dog gave a vicious snarl, and before Ronās very eyes, grew ten times its normal size ā” his canines elongating to a sharp points, his gleaming red eyes obscured by matted brown and white fur.
Ron look horrified as his chance to escape dissolved, the wild creature blocking his way out.
Think, he said to himself, not for the first time that day. What did Hagrid always say? āThe trick with any beast, is to know how to calm āimāā¦Right, should be easy enoughā¦
Ron gulped furiously; racking his brain for any scrap of information he had ever learned in a Care of Magical Creatures class on how to calm a mutant Patronus.
āSTUPEFY!ā he roared, but the Stunning Spell seemed to have no effect.
āIMMOBILUS!ā Still nothing.
Some seven spells later, he stood, panting and out of breath. The creature was getting more annoyed by the minute, ready to devour him at any given moment.
What about music? He thought. That certainly seemed to have an effect on Fluffyā¦
He whistled a well-known tune, scratchy and ear-wrenching, but music none-the-less. The great dog gazed at him stupidly, his luminous red eyes drooping slowly. His great frame crashed to the floor. Ron continued to whistle as though his life depended on it. He took the heavy chain between his fingers, subconsciously knowing that it must be attached to the door he entered, before he could exit.
He fumbled hastily with the chain, finally clasping the other end to the hook beside the entrance door. The great heaving form of the dog disappeared with a āpop!ā, and Ron literally threw himself out the door, vowing never to trust his curiosity again.
Ron stepped cautiously into the next room, liking his time in the Ministry less with each passing minute. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary with this room, but he had learned not to trust a hope. He let loose a long whistle, breathing a calming sigh of relief. He whistled too soon.
A sound like a vacuum echoed in his ears ā” levitating him off the ground, until he hovered close to the ceiling.
Wait a minute, he thought suddenly, if Iām up here, why am I down there?
His body remained on the ground, scratching its head stupidly as though all reason and thought had left him. His soul floated above, clearly amused.
Very funny, he smirked sarcastically. Letās quit playing these little games.
He āswamā towards his body, but either he couldnāt paddle to save his life, or there was some unseen force preventing him from getting any closer to his body. He hovered in the air for ages, sulking in a manner so like Myrtle that he actually scared himself. Countless incantations raced through his mind, but for some ridiculously odd reason, Charms lingered in his memories.
I know there is a Charm to counter-balance the effects of this spell, he deduced, but what was the bloody incantation?
He racked his brain, floating around the room for any clue that could help him in his search. One wall seemed to be different from all the rest ā” some of the warped and crumbling stones formed an irregular pattern. He hovered along the opposite wall and found his answer.
The stones formed a shape ā” he was momentarily hit with a vivid memory ā” Hermione levitating a snow white feather, as Professor Flitwick cheered her onā¦
āExcorpus Leviosa!ā He nearly shouted, āIt has to be! I remember Hermione practicing that spell before O.W.L.ās loads of times! Now, what was the damn counter curse?ā
He muttered incessantly under his breath, searching for the word that would bring him back to his body. Not that being a soul didnāt have its good points ā” flying invisible to the rest of the world could have its advantagesā¦
āIncorpus!ā He bellowed suddenly, bringing his wand down with crashing force.
Sucked inward, as though by a strong ocean current, Ron reentered his body ā” with a rather strange noise much like the squelching of an insect when it is squashed. He shook his head like a dog, blinking furiously.
Almost by pure will alone, his feet carried his body forward through the open door. The blackened walls of the chamber shimmered eerily, rippling softly like clouds before a storm.
Ron reached out, touching the smooth surface of one of the walls. His reflection gazed back at him, smiling, even though Ron was not smiling himself. His mirror image backed away, falling in line with other people Ron recognized ā” all with flaming red hair. Ron reached for a little old man, with wispy orange hair, who touched his fingers and slowly crept out from behind the glass.
More people followed ā” a stooped over old woman with snow white hair, a spry young man with a long red ponytail, and even a ginger colored dog. Shadow people flocked out of the mirrored walls, surrounding Ron and whispering gently.
Ron was bloodied, scratched, and bruised, but not even the turmoil of his situation could touch him now ā” not when everyone and everything he had ever loved or remembered as a child had come back to him. The voices whispered to him ā” telling him to stay ā” but could he?
Could he forever remain here, lost to time and space, when his entire life lay ahead of him? Would he sacrifice all to spend one last moment with his loved ones? He couldnāt ā” not when he was so close ā” not when he was so near his destination.
He had to go on.
But there was no door. The shimmering walls created some sort of optical illusion ā” camouflaging any means of escape.
āYou have to let me go!ā He shouted to the spirits surrounding him, āYou canāt keep me here, please! You donāt understand ā” I have to go back ā” I have a lifeā¦donāt take that away from meā¦ā
The spirits looked at him with glazed smiles. One of them stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. It was his grandfather, who had died when he was little. He gave him a wrinkled smile, before letting loose a great sigh, floating steadily upwards, until he faded into the shadows.
Other spirits followed, until the room was cleared of ghostly figures ā” and the door was revealed. Ron wrenched it open and found himself standing in the crowded hall of the Atrium. He nearly wept with relief, as he let loose a sort of hoarse roar, throwing his fist into the air.
All noise in the Atrium stopped, as all eyes turned towards him. He felt a familiar pink tinge rising in his cheeks. He cleared his throat loudly, āEr, sorry about thatā¦.ā
āRon!ā Shouted a voice above the bedlam. āWhere in Merlinās name have you been? You disappeared over an hour ago! I was getting worriedā¦you look a fright!ā
āDad!ā Cried Ron, āWell, it is a, uh, rather interesting story ā” you got an hour?ā
āI suppose,ā he replied, furrowing his eyebrows, āDo I really want to hear it?ā
āLetās just say that Iāll never ever listen to this bit of Dumbledoreās advice againā¦ā replied Ron with a groan.
āWhatās that?ā asked Arthur eagerly.
āLet us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.ā