A/N: Hello everyone. Before we start, these are going to be drabbles. Independent stories. If i get some motivation, i might take one of them and start a story as well. Anyway, you are welcome for critique as well as ideas and prompts.
Prisoner of Hope
Ron stared at the chains … silver large hoops linked together … heavy … and painful.
Even though the chains reminded him of pain only, he couldn't help but stare at them. Well, there was nothing other than that to stare at. The walls, roof and floor were all white; so much so that you wouldn't know where one ended to join other. In any case he never had the freedom to walk the room.
Because he was a prisoner.
They had always been at the forefront of the war; Harry, Ron and Hermione that is. From a very young age at that. Harry the General and Ron and Hermione his colonels.
Ron smiled.
How often had he heard that analogy!
So, when the war started in earnest, it was obvious that the Golden Trio would be at the forefront again. Harry leading with bravery, Ron with strategy and Hermione with intelligence.
Just like the last time, there was a traitor this time as well. Dean … Ron's soldier.
Ron looked upwards. He didn't know how long had he been here; he couldn't count the number of times he had been tortured; he had forgotten to feel the pain because that was only what there was. He had made himself numb … to the rapes – mental and physical.
After all he was a prisoner.
Ron smiled.
It was Ron's strategy that they all split up and prepare their troops. That way if one was captured others were safe. To know whether others were alive or not in case of capture, Hermione had come up with an idea. Tattoos. Ron had one each behind his ears, so small one would dismiss them as moles. One for Hermione and one for Harry. They were alive.
Yes, he was a prisoner.
But not of these chains. Not of these bars. Not of these Death Eaters.
Of Hope. He always had been. The most optimistic of the trio. Harry and Hermione had always had a realistic and practical viewpoint. He was the daydreamer, optimistic day dreamer.
He rubbed the miniscule tattoos behind his ears. Harry and Hermione were alive. They would continue the war; they would not let these devils live for long; they would provide the bright future he had always dreamed of.
They would bring back the smiles … the long forgotten smiles.
Ron smiled.
Harry and Hermione will erect the house once called Burrow. They will build the family that was lost in the war. Wild brown haired kids with green eyes. Lush green garden and knowing Hermione, it will have no gnome, of course. Knowing Harry, it will definitely have a Quidditch pitch. And the house? It will smell of coffee, love and warmth.
Prisoner.
Ron sighed. He knew it was time now. He had protected his mind for quite long. But not too long.
Ron rubbed the tattoos again. They will get the signal. He scratched them muttering an incantation. He was surrounded in a bright blinding light. He kept muttering the incantation. Soon, the light vanished.
Ron smiled.
Harry, Ron and Hermione were standing before the gate of Hogwarts, hand in hand.
Smiling, they opened the gate.
Laughing, they raced inside.
The light came back, flashed once and vanished again.
Ron smiled … one last time. Yes, he was Prisoner. Prisoner of Hope. And his hopes will come true … soon.
Ron slumped to the floor, smile frozen on his face.