****
“Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things.”
-Pierce Harris
Immediately, the cottage disappeared, and they were back in Malfoy Manor. Hermione jerked away, but he held her fast.
He could see himself being dragged alongside Harry and the others, and he found himself being pulled into the middle of the room by the roots of his hair.
Bellatrix towered over him, sneering. “Where did you get the sword?” Silence greeted her, as he tried to think of something, anything.
Lestrange raised her wand, and he prepared himself for the inevitable pain. But it didn’t come. In amazement, he stared down at himself, watching as his body reacted to the agony he couldn’t feel.
Ron could hear shrieking and sobbing, and with a pang in his heart, he realised it was coming from him, somewhere deep inside himself.
Lestrange said something in her low and menacing voice. There was a grunt, then laughter as his legs gave out when he was pulled to his feet.
“Don’t worry, I got you girlie.”
A small moan escaped his lips as Bellatrix advanced, finally stopping inches from his face.
“That’s just a taster, Mudblood. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll tell me how you got it.”
His brain was being tugged in a million different directions; he had to make something up, try to get her off the scent…But before he could even finish the thought, the Manor had disappeared and he knew that his thoughts were no longer his own…
Ron heard, as though she was miles away from him, “If you’re not going to tell me, missy, then you’re going to have to show me.”
He was on the Hogwarts Express for the first time, passing a compartment, when he spotted a youth with flaming orange hair chatting with a frail looking boy sporting untidy jet black hair and crooked glasses.
He instantly recognised the infamous Harry Potter, (he had read plenty about him already) but he found his gaze lingering on the other boy. He wanted to impress him, so he started blabbering on about all the course books he had learned over the summer. To his dismay, the red-headed boy just stared at him in puzzlement.
“I’m Hermione Granger by the way, and who are you?”
“Err…Ron Weasley.”
“Ron” he thought as he turned around and headed back to his compartment. “I hope he’s in Gryffindor…”
The scene disappeared, and now he saw himself being clobbered by the White Queen in the catacombs of Hogwarts. He cried out as he fell to the ground with a muffled thump.
“Pathetic,” Bellatrix hissed, her wand rising and falling multiple times. But still the images kept coming….
Now he was looking down at himself in the hospital wing, muttering.
“Erm-i-o-nee” he groaned, turning over on his side.
Ron’s spirits soared as tenderness exploded inside his chest, feeling happier then he had ever felt in his life…
“Where’s the sword?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know!” he wailed.
Ron gaped in wonder as his seventeen-year-old self came forward, holding the mangled remains of Voldemort’s locket and wearing a bemused expression.
He saw him open his arms rather gracelessly, and he wondered if this was just another dream…
Bellatrix’s fury broke as the spell seemed to reverberate through his body, and he screamed worse than before.
“How dare you try to conceal-”
Then a truly evil grin lit her gaunt face. She fixed her gaze on him with a undying fervor, and he yelped as images started to flood into his mind that he had never seen before…
He saw himself running toward them, and there was a flash of green light before he tumbled to the ground, his prone body thudding to the floor with an awful finality, his eyes glassy and barren.
“NOOOOO!” He fought against his captor, but the wolf held him fast, cackling.
“Where’s your hero now, Mudblood?” Bellatrix leered as she cut through the air once again with her wand.
“Stop, please-”
Now he saw himself being cornered in a dark forest, and Greyback was advancing towards him. Then there was an awful yell and a strange ripping sound…
* “I’m going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?” *
* “We found it-we found it- PLEASE!” *
He was being buffeted with countless horrendous images at once, Ron being tortured, Ron being killed, Ron being attacked…
* “You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!” *
Ron could hear Bellatrix yelling again, and his strength was gradually seeping away….
“I don’t know anything about it, please… LEAVE HIM ALONE!”
He clutched at his skull, his brain feeling as though it were being pried apart layer by layer with a scalpel.
“It’ll be his turn when I’m through with you; you know that don’t you?” Bellatrix sauntered over, glaring at him through her heavily lidded eyes.
“Let’s see if we can make him scream a little louder, shall we?”
Sharp nails were scraping into his skin, digging in harder by the second. He could feel the blood rising through his shredded coat, and there was a mangled, almost inhuman cry for mercy. It did not come.
I want to die, I want to die….Death is better than this. Without warning he was dropped onto his back, and he cried out as his wounds and the ground made direct contact.
“I could let him have his way with you, Miss Mudblood, unless you have something to show me.”
The odd feeling of Legilimency returned, and he was terrified that he would reveal something…but he shouldn’t have worried; it seemed his visions gravitated around one person.
I can’t let her do this…
Suddenly, there was a noise coming up from the floor below, a frantic pounding that seemed to coincide with the desperate thumpings of his heart. The vibrations tickled his back, and he desperately twisted his head around to find the source. But there was something else as well, someone screaming his name without end…
His own face swam before him, as vivid as though he was standing there in front of his face.
I have to do this…For Ron, for Ron…
With an enormous effort, he closed his mind to the intruder, black spots starting to blur his vision. Briefly he spotted Bellatrix getting to her feet, a look of pure shock and anger plastered to her harsh features.
I’m sorry, so sorry Ron, I love you. Then nothing.
***
Ron’s grip slackened, and Shell Cottage came back into view. A million questions swarmed his brain, but all he was concerned about was Hermione, who had curled into herself, sobbing.
Sickening guilt gnawed at his stomach.
“Hermione, I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry,” (How many times was that going to be said tonight?) “I didn’t realise that when I saw all that stuff…so did you.”
Ron shuffled his feet.
“But I really don’t get why I didn’t feel-”
“Any pain? You shouldn’t have.”
Hermione continued her deadpan stare at the wall, her expression unusually hard. He could sense the sadness behind the every syllable.
“Legilimency only extracts emotional and mental memories, not physical ones.”
Ron embraced her, clenching his jaw against the emotion that welled up inside him like a near-erupting volcano. Hermione was shaking, and he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“I was being so selfish, I just wanted to help, and now look where we are…”
Hermione brought up her head to stare at him, brown into blue. “You must think I’m a twit, I hate being so, so-”
“Utterly brilliant and amazing and the single bravest girl I’ve ever met?”
She inhaled deeply. “Ron, I’ll never regret what I did that night…never.”
“Hermione, I had no idea. As if the Cruciatus curse wasn’t enough…How were you able to shut her out?” He shook his head in amazement.
“Well, it’s obvious isn’t it?” She straightened up against the couch. “I remembered you when you were trying to get to me from the cellar. Thinking about you gave me focus…it always has, Ron.” She gave a small smile.
He was silent, and looking down on her, he was flooded almost overwhelmingly with affection for this woman, his best friend, who had been willing to give up everything for him.
“I just… I can’t believe that you thought of me, of all people. That whole time we were there, you never stopped. Bloody hell, you didn’t even think of your parents.”
She looked down at the floorboards, the corners of her mouth turned up, and there was a faint pink hue apparent on her cheeks.
“Well, I guess that’s that. I have no more secrets, Ron. I suppose it’s your turn now.”
“What?” It caught him off guard.
“Ron” Hermione said quietly, but he had already passed her his wand; she had cocked her head slightly, revealing a thin, jagged mark that glowed white in the dim light.
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
He nodded, bracing himself against the onslaught of memories.
“Legilimens!”
They were both back in the cellar, and he once again felt the sting of his knuckles slamming repeatedly against the stone. He yelled himself hoarse, ignoring the bruises that were surely festering under his skin.
She screamed again above him, and he got a flash of her laughing, just laughing at one of his many antics. Ron pounded the slabs, and his mind was starting to drift….
Hermione had her hands on his shoulders, and he tried to keep his breathing even as they swept over the dance floor. Her lilac-colored dress whispered over the ground, and in one blissful moment he forgot how bloody clumsy he was, and how tight his dress robes were.
Quite frankly, he couldn’t care less that Krum was jealously scowling at them over his glass of champagne, or that soon, much too soon, the three of them would embark on the most dangerous mission of their lives…
He and Harry had just escaped from their prison, but Ron still found himself trapped in his own personal hell. He spotted her, lying there at Bellatrix’s feet, not moving.
The musty odour of Grimmauld Place overpowered him as he looked up at Hermione, half-asleep.
“Ron, what if something happens to us, to Harry…what if we…” Her whispers broke off abruptly as he, despite the logical voice screaming in his head to stop, grabbed her hand for reassurance…
He dragged her out from underneath the shattered remains of the chandelier, his heart somewhere in his throat, breaking.
He was eleven again, staring at the bushy haired, rather bossy girl who had her hands on her hips, trying to keep up with her.
“I’m Hermione Granger, and you are…”
The cellar dissolved, and now the room where Ginny and Hermione had shared in the cottage came into view. The latter had just woken up hyperventilating, sweat cascading from her scalp.
Ron bolted from the chair as though electrically shocked. “Shhh…you’re okay, you’re okay…”
He gathered her up in his arms, and started to rock her. Before he knew it, he was singing, actually singing to her, the same lullaby he had heard since he was a small child. She quieted down, her fingers still tightly clutching his shirt.
A Mourning to Remember by hermy008
Chapter Notes: This chapter was the hardest to write, for a lot of different reasons. (Including this being the longest chapter so far.) But we'll see what happens. :)
Chapter Endnotes: The phrases in asterics ** are from deathly hallows, u.s version, chapter 23, pg. 464-465
Comments/reviews/questions are as always, very much appreciated. :D