QLFC, S6 R5, Wanderers Keeper — Use the title of a story written by your Seeker for inspiration ('Life After Death' by AelysAlthea)

TGS:
-Through the Universe: Major Planet — (character) Harry Potter
-Ollivander's Wand Shop: Fir — Write about a survivor
-Dreamcatchers: Hoop — Write a story about a known Quidditch player.
[Mahoutokoro, Mizu]

Warning: AU, (presumed) character death, depressing thoughts

Beta(s): Dina

~Forged in Fire~

Harry couldn't get a good look at the bottom of the hole — it was dark, filled with flies, and smelly — but the distant thing wrapped up in shadows seemed to have human limbs and head.

He knelt on the edge, waiting for his pupils to get used to the darkness and dilate, to take in more details. "Are you alive?"

Silence.

"Hey there! Can you hear me?" He gulped and the grip on his wand tightened as he ignored the little voice in his head, so Hermione-like, telling him that his fingers would cramp that way and "Relax your elbow and align your wand tip with your left sight line, for Merlin's sake, Harry!"

He waited, then picked up a pebble and threw it at the lying form.

It hit their right foot. A long, strong foot. A foot that didn't move, and neither did any other limb for that matter.

The person was probably dead, and that made Harry shiver. He looked around — only darkness, rubble, and rust. He couldn't leave the body here, food for dogs and birds.

Finally remembering his wand wasn't only to defend himself, he muttered, "Lumos!" and leaned forward… Only to hastily back off as soon as he caught a glimpse of fiery red, his eyes wide open as horror set around his heart like a frozen hand.

Harry would have recognized that hue of red anywhere, even under several layers of dirt and dried blood as it was, and suddenly, he didn't need to face the person anymore to know his eye color or to be sure that he was, in fact, dead.

Killed.

Killed by him — now he remembered.

Harry Potter, the Golden Boy, had killed his best friend.

His mouth opened to let out a cry, but no sound escaped.

In the distance, a victorious hiss resounded as his wand fell into a bottomless hole nearby.

Harry crumpled, defeated.

:o:

A loud, chilling scream woke Harry up, his hands instantly raising to cover his ears. They never made it to the intended destinations. As soon as he spotted how bad they were shaking, he noticed his throat felt raw and dry — he was the one who had been screaming.

He should have realized it sooner. After all, it had been always the same nightmare since it had happened. It had always been about Ron — dead, not standing next to him, and often accusing him, regretting their friendship.

And that, that was the thing that always broke Harry all over again, preventing him from recovering. No matter how many times a teary Hermione and his friends had tried to put him back together, it was like a huge part of him was always missing, a part with freckles, clear blue eyes, and a noble soul.

And the Weasleys… Godric! He didn't deserve their kindness and sympathy. He didn't deserve to be sleeping in the room of the one who hadn't been able to save, taking his place in their far too loving hearts.

Guilty, guilty, worthless, guilty, helpless…

The cycle never ended.

But he had talked about it to the psychologist that Professor Moody had insisted he saw, and she had said the sooner he learned to accept responsibility for what was his fault, the better. And Harry, worn out and heartbroken, had allowed her in, also encouraged by Professor Moody, who had apparently been seeing Doctor Loy for a while now and deemed her very good at her work… trustworthy.

And who was Harry to be more cautious than one whose motto was, "Constant vigilance"?

Doctor Loy often repeated that he needed to talk about it, to say it aloud in order to be able to move past it, for pushing the guilt into the back of his brain would only allow it to grow. Harry had found himself complying, hesitant at first, then with more and more conviction until some slight improvement had indeed taken place, and he was now more aware of what had truly happened.

The first nights, he had instinctively looked over at Ron's bed, reaching out for him, only to grasp cold air. Now, he merely rolled over, unconsciously imitating the position of Ron's body in his nightmare, and pressed his eyes closed again to drown himself in darkness. But all he could see, burnt into his retinas, was the emptiness of his best friend's eyes, aimed at the sky and yet unable to reflect it anymore. All the care and the warmth in them… gone.

Sometimes, after seeing Doctor Loy, Ron's ghost appeared to an awaken Harry, doing his best to help him, as he had always done, by repeating how bad of a friend Harry had been, how disappointed he was, how regretful he was that they had met…

Harry merely cried at the accusations — cathartic tears, according to Doctor Loy — thankful that his friend still talked to him, helped him accept his role into Ron's death. But the pain was still excruciating.

The only consolation he had was that he finally wasn't the only one to look up to Ron anymore.

:o:

An unusual commotion came from downstairs, distracting Harry from the spider web he had been staring at, wondering why Mrs. Weasley had allowed such a thing in her arachnophobic son's room. Another thing he was to blame for, he supposed — making everyone walk on eggshells while around him and therefore unable to enter Ron's room.

Ron would be so upset with him. Why couldn't Harry let his best friend rest in peace?

Guilty, guilty, guilty…

More cries came from the kitchen, his name linked to Ron's.

Not worthy, not worthy…

"Oh, Ron!"

"HARRY!"

"Dear —"

"— Kingsley saved —"

Then something more followed, something that made Harry pull his knees up to his chest and let his head drop on them. Those were the sounds a true family made — kisses, pats on the back, tackle hugs that made the other person fall over… Whoever was that had the Weasleys react so warmly, Harry had no part in that.

Not anymore.

Hasty thuds resounded in his ears, getting closer, stopping right before Harry's — Ron's — door.

An awkward shuffling sound and a click later, Harry found himself gazing into a familiar pair of clear blue eyes. They were unusually warm, and even that thought caused a pang of pain to surface.

Please, he thought. Please.

Ron was here again, his pale body more solid, his chapped face more open than last time, but a frown still marred his forehead. Dark circles were under his eyes.

It'd take Harry only a few inches or a few words to reach for his best friend. He stopped himself in time, didn't forget himself. Please! The hammering in his chest felt unbearable.

Ron, for his part, seemed as lost as Harry, which only increased the tension in the room.

"Harry," he said, his voice hoarse.

"P-Please." Harry stopped, hanging his head in shame. "Don't…" Don't torture me, don't hurt me. Don't leave me.

But it was Harry who had left Ron's body in the graveyard. He still didn't remember anything else that had happened that day — You're being reluctant to let me do my job, Doctor Loy's stern voice intruded again in his thoughts — but that was clear in Harry's mind. He had left Ron behind.

Don't hate me. Please.

"If you don't want me here, I can —" Ron sounded insecure as he made to leave, and that was so wrong. No one, least of all Harry, had the right to make him feel like that.

"NO!" Seeing Ron turning his back on him would be too painful for Harry to bear.

Ron looked at him and took a few tentative steps towards him. "Bloody hell, what have they done to you?"

Harry mentally examined himself and blinked, not understanding. No one had done anything to him, apart from trying to help. "Sorry," he said.

And that was clearly the last straw, for Ron rushed towards him — Harry tensed — crashing against him, trapping him in his arms. Warm, Ron's body was so warm and oh, so blissfully real and comfortable, not cold and smoky. And it made it all better; even the bed seemed softer.

Harry's head spun as he let air fill his lungs again.

All too soon, Ron was drawing back, thankfully leaving their legs tangled together. Harry needed that physical reminder his best friend was truly here, especially since his sight was blurred with unshed tears. He closed his eyes and bit his lips, shivering under Ron's intense gaze.

Guilty, guilty, guilty… "My fault…" Harry muttered, restlessly wringing his hands.

Ron sighed, but his words were fierce. "Never!" He grasped Harry's shoulder, shaking him. "You must listen to me. It was not your fault, and I'd never, ever blame you!" One of his big hands came down to cover Harry's own.

"But —"

"No! Blame You-Know-Who. Blame Wormtail. Blame the fake Moody. Blame whoever you want. Hell, even Dumbledore if you wish. But I'll not allow you to blame yourself."

The fake Moody?

"H-How?" Harry asked, despite knowing his head was too dizzy to follow what certainly would be a complicated explanation.

Ron kept it as simple as possible: how the fake Moody — Barty Crouch Jr. — had been the one to put their names into the goblet; how Doctor Loy was a follower of You-Know-Who whose task was to manipulate Harry and his memories about Ron's supposed death; how Kingsley and his Aurors had fortuitously found Ron prisoner in the Death Eaters' lair…

When Harry finally felt brave enough to open his eyes again, reassured by Ron's words and soothing gestures, he only found sincerity, affection, and a hint of worry in those blue depths.

He had Ron back. He had hope back.

"Oh…" was all he managed to mutter, after forcing himself to focus on what Ron had said. The plan made a lot of sense, and it was a wonder no one had thought of something like that before. It also explained while Ron looked like Death itself. It did nothing to ease his guilt though. He should have searched for his best friend, even if he had believed him dead. The Weasleys hadn't even had the comfort of a body to properly mourn their son and brother.

Ron smiled. "Yeah, that sucks, mate," he said, shrugging, his thumb still drawing lazy circles on Harry's hand.

Using it as a leverage, Harry scooted over, dragging Ron with him, until they were both lying on the welcoming mattress. Then he freed his hand and brushed a red lock from Ron's forehead.

Ron was truly back, and that, that was one of the only things he could trust. Harry just knew it — Ron would always come back. He absentmindedly petted Ron's head, humming.

"What are you doing, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry stopped his hand for a few seconds, embarrassed, before thinking better of it. "Helping you fall asleep," he said.

Suddenly, Ron's long fingers was on his eyes, closing his eyelids. "Not unless you sleep too."

Harry swatted them away and resumed his task to card through his best friend's hair.

Ron turned towards him, narrowing his eyes. "You don't need to comfort me, you know. I've had plenty of that from my mum and Hermione downstairs." His nose wrinkled in fake annoyance. "I swear we were all drowning in tears. At least, you're definitely drier." He winked.

Harry laughed, a nervous sound turning more natural in the end.

"Hermione, it's safe to come in now," Ron called.

"What?" Harry turned just in time to catch a glimpse of brown, before their friend joined them, none of them caring about the narrowness of the bed that creaked under their weight.

"Apparently, you can be pretty scary when you're brooding, mate," was Ron's only explanation. And his smirk didn't falter even when Hermione smacked his head.

"Honestly, Ron," she said, her voice watery, but the smile in it was unmistakable as well.

When Hermione's and Ron's fingers found his own, Harry could distinctly hear something click in his head, and he had no doubt that was his soul becoming whole as what had been a broken line turned into a continuous one once again. A full circle. An indissoluble tie.

Death no more lurked around the corner.

Life awaited ahead, and Ron, Hermione, and he… they would face it together.

word count: about 2050

A/N Cedric was never chosen by the Goblet of Fire in this AU, so this story has the bonus to save him too, even if I say so myself ;)

Ron's death was planned from the beginning as the quickest and easiest way to break Harry — especially if they had managed to turn him into a Death Eater, but come on! We all know Ron is the bravest and most loyal friend one could ask! (Fight me!)

In this scenario, Barty messed with the Goblet so that Ron and Harry were picked from it.

In the end, everyone was too shocked to expose the fake Moody.

Sorry if Harry seems to be OOC, but I'm sure his best friend's death would affect him way more than Cedric's… Not to mention Doctor Loy had been manipulating him. And I know after Sirius' death, he wanted revenge, but Harry was not really himself then...