AN- exactly a month ago, on the 13th of March, it was Leeshy- Vanity Sinning- 's 19th birthday. Leeshy is one of the loveliest, nicest, awesomest, most wonderful people I know, and I am proud to call myself her husband. This is for her. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LEESHY!
Tastes like Shadows
He's running. He's running as fast as he can. His legs and heart are pounding. He's sweating all over.
He doesn't know where he's going. He doesn't know how to get there.
All he knows is that he's running, and he hasn't got much time left.
He can feel the countdown in his head, as his surroundings, that he's only just noticed, melt into the corridor walls of Hogwarts.
…Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…
Someone's following, and he knows it's Harry, but he doesn't stop, because Harry's different, he's scary, and he doesn't want him there.
As he runs, he starts to realise that he's slowing down. The air's getting thicker- it's like running through syrup.
Why can't he run?
The air is liquid! Thick, gloopy liquid, and it's filling his lungs. He coughs, splutters, chokes, but he keeps running. It's like his feet have a life of their own, because all he can think about is how he needs to get this stuff out of his chest, but he can't, and they keep going.
Harry's still there, still behind him, and getting closer. He can't understand why Harry isn't being held back by this stuff like he is, but then, Harry always was better at him than everything.
He can't be beaten again.
He forces himself faster. He sees a clock, and although he doesn't read it, he knows what it says.
…fifteen, fourteen…
He trips and falls, and keeps on falling, down, down, down…
He braces himself for the hard ground, but it doesn't come. Instead he slows, and floats, light as a feather, until he reaches some kind of soft plant that he sinks into, knowing it's safe.
Harry follows him, lands in front of him. He opens his mouth to speak but even as Harry's mouth starts to move he changes, his features mould.
Bellatrix is standing in front of him. She looks down and just laughs and laughs and laughs.
He covers his hands with his eyes, and patterns appear beneath his eyelids.
…ten, nine, eight…
He's swimming in a huge pool, and his whole family is there. Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ginny.
They all look happy, happy like they haven't been since… since…
His gaze swings to Fred, who smiles lazily at him.
"You're dead," he tries to tell him, but the words only come as bubbles, and they're all laughing, laughing at him…
…five, four…
He's running again, but now the air is thin, and he's running so fast that everything is a blur.
He knows what he's running to now- he's running to save Fred, he has to, has to.
He's nearly there- not far now- he can get there, if he just tries.
He's not going fast enough! He has to save him!
…three…
Nearly there... he can see Fred now, see his shock of red hair…
…two…
Fred's face is changing, shock is ghosting over his laughter…
…one…
And he's falling, falling to the ground, and he's too late, it's all his fault.
...zero.
Ron wakes, covered in cold sweat, tears pouring down his face.
He rolls over and buries himself in Hermione's chest, because she's there, like always, there to save him from the dreams.
He loses himself in her love, because that's what keeps him sane, that's what keeps him safe.
His dreams- nightmares- threaten to engulf him, but Hermione is strong, understanding. She has her own problems, but she sets them aside when he needs them, but lets them flow when he's ready to comfort her.
It's not an easy life, but it's an arrangement that works, and they're as happy are they can be, under the circumstances.
Circumstances.
He hears that word everywhere, and he hates it, both of the hate it.
It was better when circumstances was just a long word that only Hermione bothered with.
It was better before, before the war, before the nightmares, before Fred…
All his dreams end with Fred.