Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or its magnificent characters and locations.
Mad World
Chapter One: Enthrallment
"I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad. The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had." —Mad World—
October 29th, 1995
3:19 A.M.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was as peaceful as ever. A crackling fire dimmed as peak hours drew in, and not a soul, except for Peeves the Poltergeist, was disturbed. Unfledged poppy, bee orchids, and foxgloves anxiously waited for the distant sun to stretch its rays across the Black Lake. Everything was in solitary peace, everything but the boy's corridor of the Gryffindor tower.
Wake up, Ronald.
Ron Weasley's eyes opened wide. He sat straight up in his bed, looking as if he'd already been up for several hours, not that there was anyone awake to notice. Ron instinctively looked at the clock perched on his bedside table. Illuminated red numbers showed 3:19 A.M. He faced the foot of his four-poster bed to find a figure in the shadows looking on at him in between the maroon drapes. Ron squinted to see more clearly, but the figure kept clear of the moon's faint beams shining through the window. This wasn't the first time Ron had this visit, so he wasn't surprised to find he had a guest.
Almost every night, this undeterminable presence stood at the end of Ron's bed, or sometimes crept on him wherever he might be alone at night. The stubborn shape never revealed anything about himself, itself, but it had so much power that it told Ron what to do and when to do it, and Ron, for some reason, couldn't do anything about it.
"Who are you?" Ron whispered for what seemed like the hundredth time. He looked left and right to affirm that his dorm mates were still sleeping. When he heard nothing but loud snores, he focused on the figure again.
Come closer, a metallic voice answered.
Ron slowly pulled off his bed covers and crept to the edge of his bed; he was determined to see who has been visiting him for many a night. As his arm was stretched out to grab the stranger, his hand was stopped by a half-invisible force. Half-invisible because the force only to be seen when it was touched, which it made ripples like a stone thrown into a lake. He was puzzled by this, and touched it again. More ripples made their way outward. Then, in the blink of an eye, the Gryffindor boy's dormitory disappeared, and the surroundings were replaced with blinding white lights in every direction. Ron was still on his dark crimson and mahogany bed that stood out amongst the sea of nothingness. Ron's eyes were still fixated on the shadow. He lowered his head—as if he was the predator and the figure his prey—but his eyes never moved.
The figure reached out and placed a grotesque hand upon Ron's head, which allowed the creature to probe into his mind. The white room changed. It now showed images, awful images and scenes of heinous martyrdom. Blood-shed, screams and bones cracking were all seen and heard. But Ron couldn't see any picture clearly enough to determine upon whom this gruesome torture was inflicted. They whizzed past, but the macabre sound remained. He boxed his ears, but it didn't help much. Ron slammed his body onto the bed and screamed; the sound was the most terrible thing that ever reached his ears. Then—silence. The figure was standing face-to-face with Ron. The teen's eyes scanned the guest.
It's time, the figure commanded.
Ron stared at the form and smiled wickedly. He blinked, and everything went black.
There was a loud crack that had almost every Gryffindor in fidgets. Murmurs of disbelief crowded the dormitory as they stared at one boy's former four-poster bed.
"Go get Dumbledore!" a seventh-year yelled to another student. "Hurry!"
Everyone was in awe as they gathered at Ron Weasley's bed, which was now seared to a crisp. Nothing of his was seen untouched by flames except for part of Ron's nightshirt. Ginny Weasley pushed her way through the crowed, trying to see what all the commotion was about. Once she found out that it was her brother's bed, her eyes swelled with tears. Hermione Granger, the exchange student from Beauxbatons, had become fast friends with Ginny. Hermione walked over to Ginny, trying to comfort her new-found friend.
"He's gone." was all Ginny would whisper through her sobs.
A few first years jumped as the roar of a green fire burst through the dormitory. Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the emerald flames, brushing off a few loose embers.
"My, my, Ignatia Wildsmith was a wonder of her own, was she not?" Dumbledore asked the rhetorical question as the first and second year students were awed by the headmaster's presence. He walked over to the pile of ashes and burnt pieces of wood, picking up a few grains and rubbing them between his nimble fingers. To everyone's surprise, he started chuckling.
"He's off his bloody rocker!" muttered Seamus Finnegan.
Still chuckling, Dumbledore explained, "If he were really gone, then he would have left a farewell note!"
Ginny exploded into pure rage. "How could you say that when my brother is d-dead, you—" Her fists clenched as she fought the urge to physically and verbally attack the headmaster. "You slimey—"
Dumbledore looked beyond the students in a dreamy-like trance. Some students in the back of the crowd gasped. "Are you even listening to me?" She looked back to where Dumbledore was staring. Her heart stopped. A tall, thin teenager with fiery-red hair was seen at the doorway of the dormitory.
"RON!" she yelped, running through the parted crowd towards her brother. She said his name reiteratively as if to thank the gods for Ron's revival. She squeezed Ron so tight that he couldn't breathe. He stared amongst the relieved faces and was about to ask what exactly was going on, but Ginny only hugged him tighter. Once the girl let go and situated herself clinging to his arm, Ron asked Dumbledore his mind-numbing question.
"Blimey, what'd I miss?"