Disclaimer: It's not mine. Also, this is Pre-HBP

Letum

It was summer, and Ron Weasley was bored and anxious. Or, anxious and bored, it didn't really matter which way you said it. He was bored because his best friend, Harry, was stuck on Privet Drive alone. Either his relatives had forbidden him to use his owl during the summer or Harry was wallowing in some horrid depression and didn't want to talk. Ron couldn't really blame him; his friend had just lost the closest thing he ever had to a father.

He was anxious because he had finally bit the bullet and written to Hermione, his other best friend. Though, in the past few years something had changed; he wanted to be something more than friends with her. And he had written this down the first week home. He then gave his over eager owl, Pigwidgeon, the note to deliver to Africa where Hermione and her parents were on holiday. That had been seven days ago, and he was starting to worry. Maybe she wouldn't want there to be anything more between them, or maybe she was already involved with someone else. Ron didn't like the thought, but wouldn't put it past her to hide that kind of information from him; she always did in the past.

Ten days passed, and Ron received a return note from Harry. It was short and to the point. All it said was that he was fine, which Ron didn't believe, and no, he hadn't heard from Hermione either. Ron had been so disheartened by the lack of news he tossed the note away and didn't reply.

On the thirteenth day, Ginny had blown up at Ron for bringing her down with him. He was in a right state after reading a very tragic rejection letter that he thought had come from Hermione. Tears were in his eyes when he finished the letter that said she hated him and thought it was very humorous that Ron could even think she could ever want him, "in that way". When the letter began to laugh and the words morphed into "GOTCHA! From: F&G" Ron wanted to sigh in relief while choking his two brothers. Even with the pranks every few days, Hermione's silence was really starting to eat at him.

On the fifteenth day, three packages were awaiting Ron when he woke. Sleep still clinging to his eyelashes, he padded over to the boxes that had apparently come from no one. He retrieved his wand from his bedside table; packages from no one couldn't be taken lightly, especially if they were from Fred and George. He opened the first package that was the size of a shoe box. Inside was something brown.

"Great, another prank," Ron muttered to himself.

Throwing caution to the wind, he picked up the brown lump. It was moist, slimy even, and quite bendy. Mushy was a better word. He let the brown thing slip from his hand and back into the box. A coating of reddish brown slime was left on his hand. With a look of disgust he wiped the grime on to his pants. He wasn't quite old enough to use magic unless it was absolutely necessary.

Ron opened the next smaller box. Inside was a finger. A small, it looked to be the pinkie, finger. Ron's face contorted in disgust. His brothers obviously had a darker side they were letting loose. With great hesitation he opened the last box.

Inside was some strange packing material. It was stringy, and brown. A light brown, not like the slimy thing he held earlier which was more of a dark reddish brown. He started to pull at the stringy stuff hiding whatever lay beneath. To his surprise, the strings seemed to be weighted or attached to something else. Instead of trying to move the thick strands fruitlessly, he grabbed a handful and pulled.

All the soft strings started to come out of the box. At the end Ron saw what was weighing the contents of the package down. It looked like skin. It looked like it had eyes. It looked like it had a mouth. It looked like…Hermione.

Ron dropped the ball hastily. A sickening, squishy, thud filled his ears. Ron backed away, his wand pointed at what appeared to be one of his best friend's head. He lowered his wand, and then pointed it back. Over and over, his brain just couldn't process this. Then to his horrified astonishment the mouth of the thing began to move.

"I do Ron…Ron…Ron. I do Ron…Ron." It was Hermione's voice. Only the kindness that usually permeated her voice had been turned cold. Dead. Flat. The warmth that usually filled Ron upon hearing her voice had been replaced with dread. The last line he had written in his love letter brought itself to the forefront of his mind.

Do you ever feel the same way?

The voice continued, almost taunting him, "I do Ron…Ron…I do."

After Ron frantically called for his mum at the top of his lungs, after he begged and pleaded for it to be some cruel joke, after Ginny came up only to sink to the floor with her hand over her opened mouth, after all this, Ron seemed to shut down. The days passed and blurred together. He went to the funeral, a muggle funeral since Hermione's parents lived through the attack, but he couldn't really remember much. Harry was there and had said something, but whatever it was, was now forgotten. Ron remembered kissing the gravestone when no one was around. Once home, he reentered the room he had been avoiding. His room.

The door creaked open slowly. Then something hit Ron, something he didn't notice before. The smell. His lunch rose from the depths of his stomach and spilled onto the floor. He turned and sprinted from the room but stopped in the hall. Tears in his eyes again, like every other day since three days ago. He stopped, and without thinking he swung.

His knuckles connected with the wooden wall. Over and over, he swung and swung. The wood splintered under his knuckles. Brown began to smear with the red of blood, but he kept swinging. His hearing that must had been lost within his rage returned, but all that he could hear was his own screaming. The pain that had shut off returned as well, and Ron finally quit swinging. He crumpled to the floor, his hand cradled in his lap.

"I swear Her – Hermi – Hermione. I'll get whoever did this. I will kill them. If it's the last thing I do, they will pay…"

Ginny found him a few minutes later, still muttering the promise over and over to his murdered friend.

Ron and Harry returned to Hogwarts, but it was never the same. Mostly they stayed quiet, or Harry would snap at someone. Even if Ron was keeping his head down, he was also keeping his ears open. While Hogwarts was a prestigious school, it was also home to the children of Death Eaters. If something was said that could lead to Hermione's killer or killers, Ron wanted to hear it. Harry, on the other hand seemed preoccupied. Ron didn't care; he had his own oath to live up to without worrying about Harry too.

Then it came in the form of a whisper. Almost seductive, the words reached his eardrum.

"Told you the mudblood wouldn't last," said the voice.

Ron almost didn't believe he had heard a thing as he scanned the area around him. Then, in a shadowy corner a glint of platinum blond caught his eyes. A smirking Draco Malfoy was standing there smugly. Ron's ears turned slightly red, but he held his tongue.

"It's only a matter of time before the Dark Lord brings death to your family's doorstep. I told you, Weasley, you chose wrong."

The information sorted itself out in Ron's mind before he replied, "And if I want to switch sides?"

Draco's eyes lit up momentarily, but the light extinguished so quickly Ron almost believed it was a figment of his imagination.

"What could you possibly offer us?" Malfoy asked while looking at his perfectly manicured fingernails.

"The one thing You-Know-Who wants, but has never been able to get."

Malfoy's cold grey eyes bored into Ron's. "And what would that be?"

"What do you think, Malfoy, I can get you to Harry. I can give Harry to The Dark Lord."

"Meet me tonight on the third floor—" but Ron didn't let him finish.

"I'm not meeting anywhere where the walls can have ears."

Draco stood in thought for a moment. "Fine, meet me in the Slytherin common room. It's –" but Ron cut him off again.

"I know where it is. Just give me the password."

"I'm impressed, Weasley. Fine, the password is Sanctimonia. Ten o'clock."

"I'll be there," Ron finished. He then continued on to the Great Hall.

Ron was in the dungeons at half past nine. He watched the Slytherin common room entrance. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so he made his way fifteen minutes early. His wand held at the ready, he said the password and entered. The room hadn't changed in four years, but Ron didn't have time to think about that. Instead he focused on the unfocused brown eyes of his dead friend. Her voice answering him that she too felt the same for him. Emotion swelled in his chest. Hatred boiled and took over his mind. Malfoy and his cronies were sitting on the couch. Ron didn't remember saying the words, but a green light began firing from his wand. One by one, the Slytherin house was being murdered. Ron had killed thirteen before Professor Snape was able to get to Ron and stun him.

Ronald Weasley was tried and convicted for the murder of thirteen students. Ron was expecting a life sentence in Azkaban, but he didn't get it. He expected that his victims would all be the children of Death Eaters, but that didn't happen. Blaise Zabini had tried to stop Ron, but had been hit by an Avada Kedavra instead. Also, two second year students had been killed during Ron's rage. No, Ronald Weasley wouldn't get a life sentence; instead, he got a death sentence. The Veil was the only future he had left.

When he was led to the Death Chamber, most people in attendance shook their heads. Ron was flashing a satisfied grin. His mother's sobs echoed around the circular chamber. Ron caught Harry's eye.

"She's avenged, mate, its up to you for the rest!"

Harry nodded. Ron's manic grin smoothed itself into a genuine smile. No matter how messed up everything had become, it would all still sort itself out. The world would continue to spin. Good would continue to battle evil. It didn't matter if he was here or not. Ron began to wonder if he would meet Hermione after death. Or maybe he'd meet some of his ancestors. With this thought in mind Ron broke the grasp of his executioners. He wouldn't be pushed like some common criminal.

Instead, he decided to run.

A/N: Thanks to Rachael for making this readable, LeAnn for the idea, Lucy for some of the morbid details, and Lacy for some of the reactions.

A/N2: And now for something completely unrelated: For readers of RoH and WAY, I will continue and I will update. I have not abandoned these stories. I have just been dumped in a more hectic schedule.