1Harry Potter is not mine.
A/N: Warning: This hasn't been beta read and it is dark. Don't say I didn't warn you.
His mind was blank. Neither pain nor joy filled his head. Obscuring his thoughts, was a swirling blanket of fog. He couldn't believe what had happened. Couldn't even comprehend it. Denial.
Harry was dead. Hermione had been killed, later. Supposedly safe, she had been left out of the battle, much to her fury. As a worthless muddblood she was disposed of, but he had been spared. Shown mercy, according to them. But this was the worst possible cruelty. For he had been left behind, unable to die with the rest of his friends.
Just as Hermione's blood had condemned her to death, his blood had condemned him to life. His blood lines were too old to lose, even if he was a blood traitor. The rest of his family had been killed in the final battle, a privilege of being members of the Order of the Phoenix.
Ginny and him were the only ones left. Perhaps Percy was alive but he didn't know, nor did he care. In fact, he prayed that Ginny was too dead, for he had a clue as to what she would be used for. A broodmare. Much the same as him. They would be kept as slaves and used to produce pure blood off spring.
'How could Harry lose? How did I end up in this dark room by myself without a hope in the world?' he wondered without understanding.
The redhead's eyes flickered around dully, there was no need to panic. Panic implies there still a chance of escape. He knows better.
The ropes around his wrists cut painfully into his skin. He doesn't notice. Dead, numb, and faint despair. Harry was hope for the wizarding world, and as Harry's body disintegrated, hope itself died.
The dark gloomy surroundings seemed appropriate. The walls were stark stone, gray. There was no light, except for the trickle that came in from the crack under the laden door.
Ron understood there was no chance of escape. The whole world had been smother by a blanket of darkness and even if he left this room, the he would never find light again. Harry was the light of the wizarding world and as his soul incinerated into a pile of ash, the lights of the would burned out with him.
This was the Dark Lord's world.
The light seeping in under the door seemed unthinkable. It was uncomprehensible that there could still be light in a world without hope. Ron closed his swollen eyes; he did not want to see the light.
Pure black existed behind his eyelids. He could breathe again. Ebony was the only thing in this world now. But his eyelids began to turn a harsh crimson, as though light was trying to seep through. That couldn't be.
But the crimson became more intense. Like blood. It was burning him. Anything was better than the blood flowing into his eyes.
Ron's eyes snapped open. Glaring light was blazing through the door, obstructed by a dark lone figure. The person's face became crystal clear. Ron's stomach clinched for a second. It was Harry.
Ron tried to speak, but only a croak came out of his parched throat. There Harry was, in a blaze of light.
"Ron, there is still hope. Trust in what is right," Ron heard Harry whisper.
Abruptly he stepped toward Ron and slammed the door shut. He was no longer in the light. Ron could no longer see him.
"Lumos," came a calm voice.
The sickly blue light revealed Lucius Malfoy. All the blood drained from Ron's face. It had been a hallucination; Harry was dead. And he was still alone. In the darkness.