A/N: This story is written for Round 5 of QLFC

Prompt: Keeper: (Phantom Zone/ Prison Dimension) Write about a place where the worst criminals are imprisoned. Eg: Azkaban or The Raft (where the Marvel's most wanted criminals are imprisoned.)

Thank you to Shay and Grace for betaing! 3

Word Count: 2099

The cell is dark and cold and smells like ashes.

Ron should have expected this, he knows, but it is nothing like anything he's ever experienced before. There is nothing to surround himself with. No scrap of comfort, no sliver of light. All that remains is darkness. Thick, suffocating darkness that flattens him from all corners.

He wants his mother. Even just thinking about her makes his heart ache, and he has to dig his fist into the cement floor to keep the pain from taking over.

I love you, Ron. With all my heart. Never forget that.

Then she was gone, shot in the heart with a blast of green light while Ron watched, screaming and screaming and screaming until he couldn't breathe anymore.

Slowly, he unfolds himself, stretching out his legs and arms until he is no longer curled up into a ball. He has to breathe, that's what he has to do. He has to keep breathing. In and out. In and out. The air tastes like fire and burns the back of his throat, but he keeps breathing. In and out.

"Ron?"

He'd know that voice anywhere. Even though the dark and the smoke-tinged air try to muffle the sound, it's clear as a bell. He drops on all fours, crawling along the cement until he reaches the source of the tone.

"Hermione?" He scrabbles at the wall, dragging his fingers against its cold surface until he finds a long, thin crack. It splits the concrete in two, and he bends down so that his mouth touches the wall.

"Oh, Ron, is it really you? I wasn't sure — I was hoping, but I couldn't…" Her voice trails off, disappearing into the quiet of the cell.

Ron is silent for a moment, letting the smooth dips of her voice wash over him. He'd forgotten how beautiful her voice was. He pictures her in his mind, imagines her leaning her forehead against the wall and brushing the cement with her words.

"I'm so sorry."

He doesn't know what he's sorry for, not really. None of this is his fault. And yet, somehow it is. He should have never let Harry out his sight, stayed by his side no matter what. If he had been there, maybe things would have been different. Maybe his best friend and his mother would both still be alive.

"Ron, it's not your fault. None of it." Hermione sighs, the sound reminding Ron of tired nights spent holed up in the common room. "We could never have anticipated this. Any of it."

"But maybe I could have-"

"Please don't, Ron. We both know there was nothing we could have done." Hermione's voice is brittle, a bird with a broken wing, and Ron wants nothing more than to rush to her side and put his arms around her.

They are quiet for a moment, and Ron finds himself thinking of Malfoy, of all people. Where might he be in this mess? The thought of him brings other faces to his mind: his brothers, his teachers, his friends. What happened to all of them?

"I feel like I'm sinking." She shifts, leans back against the wall. "I'm drowning in — in all this dark, and all I can think about is —"

"Is him." Ron doesn't need her to finish. He knows exactly what she's thinking of.

"I keep hearing him laugh, seeinghim kill all those people." Her voice breaks and Ron hears every name in the undertones of her voice. Harry. Molly. Fred. Tonks. Lupin.
"Ron, how — how could he have won?" A sob ripples through her words and Ron feels his whole body tense.

"I— I don't know." His words are meaningless, and he throws them away into the empty, smoke-tinged air. "The last thing I remember is Harry crumpling to the ground and then- blackness. And now we're here."

"Everything was wrong. The prophecy, and Harry, oh, Harry." Hermione lets out another sob, and tears fill Ron's eyes. When he was nothing, Harry had thought he was something. He had always stuck by his side, through every fight and every trial. And now, he is gone.

"Listen, Hermione, we've got to get out of here." Ron shakes away his sadness and sets away his tears. There will be plenty of time for them later. "There's got to be some kind of door — maybe we could slip past during mealtimes?"

"If there are any mealtimes," Hermione says, sniffling. "And everything looks gray to me, Ron, all I can see are walls."

Ron leans his chin down on the cool floor, taking in a sharp breath. There has to be a way. Harry would find a way.

"Listen, Ron, in case we don't get out, I want you to know something."

"Don't say that." Ron shakes his head, tightening his fist. They are getting out of here. They have to. They are all the wizarding world has left.

"Just- just know that I love you, Ron. I always have and I always will, no matter what happens." Hermione's voice is smooth like glass now, and Ron doesn't even try to fight his tears now. "I know this might be the last time I have with you, and so I just want you to know that I've loved every minute of the past seven years. To live this journey with you — I wouldn't have it any other way."

Ron is silent for a moment, letting her words wash over him.

"I love you too, Hermione. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me." It's not articulate, it's not a speech, but it's what is in his heart. Slowly, he slides the tips of his fingers through the gap in the wall. A moment later, Hermione's fingers meet his, and the two of them stay there, enveloped by the darkness and the silence.

Ron wakes up to a sharp pain in his side, and he quickly folds in on himself, gritting his teeth in pain.

"Get up, Weasel."

The man standing over him smirks and rolls Ron over with his metal-toed boot. When Ron doesn't move, he kicks him again, his face contorting into a frown.

"I said, get up."

Ron clenches his fists and pushes himself up on all fours. Slowly, he gets to his feet, his side throbbing from where the man has kicked him.

"Where are we?" Ron looks up at the man, not recognizing his face. He has to get to Hermione.

"Where do you think, boy? This is Azkaban, only we're the ones running it now." The man grabs Ron's wrist, digging his nails into the boy's flesh, and starts to drag him towards a doorway that is new to Ron. "Isn't that funny, Weasel? Only days ago, it was you who thought we'd never win. And now, look at us. I guess even Harry Potter couldn't save you all, could he?"

Ron shakes his head, digs his nails into his palm. This is hell. This is the end of everything. He doesn't bother fighting. He's spent his whole life fighting, and he's tired now. He's tired of pushing forward and going nowhere.

The man drags him out of the doorway and into a dismal hallway. As they march down the gray corrider, Ron stares into each of the cells they pass. He regrets it the minute he passes the bars. A shudder runs down his face at the familiar faces. These are students, his peers, his friends, people who fought by his side.

And now, look at us. I guess even Harry Potter couldn't save you all, could he?

"Ron!"

His head snaps to the side and he sees a flash of red in one of the cells. Immediately, he wrenches his arm out of the Death Eater's grip and puts his face to the bars.

"Gin, is that you?"

"It's me." His sister emerges from the shadows, her long hair covered in dirt and grime. She looks haggard, starving. "How are you doing?"

"Better say goodbye to brother dearest, Gin." The guard is back, and he pins Ron's hands behind his back before he can even think of moving. "He's about to go the same way as Mummy."

Ginny's face contorts in anger, and she spits at the guard.

"How dare you —" Ron begins, but then he stops and his heart drops in his stomach. For once, he's not going to be the one hot-headed enough to start a fight he cannot win. So this is what's coming. After all these years, this is how it ends.

"Ron, listen to me." Ginny threads a hand through the bars, reaches towards her brother. "You're going to be fine, okay? You're strong, Ron, stronger than you know." Her eyes well with tears, and Ron locks eyes with his sister. She's always been the brave one. How can he be strong, after everything that's happened?

"I love you, Ginny."

"I love you too, Ron. And I — I'll see you again, okay?" Her hand is shaking outside of the bars, palm up and quivering.

"No, I don't think you will, darling." The guard laughs, cruel and piercing, and pulls Ron to his feet.

He doesn't look away from Ginny until they turn a corner, and he can't see his sister anymore. Where is Hermione?

And then, his questions are answered, because there she is, standing in a broad open room that's filled to the brim with Death Eaters.

She stands alone in the middle of the room, and though she's covered in dirt and blood, she has a defiant expression on her face. Her hair flows around her face, wild and free, and Ron doesn't know if he's ever seen her more beautiful than she is today.

The guard jabs his wand into Ron's back and pushes him into the middle of the room, right next to Hermione. She doesn't say a word when she sees him, but she slides her hand into his and looks up at him with her big brown eyes.

The Death Eaters surround them, a sea of smirking faces, a tense silence clinging to each one. But Ron doesn't look at them, doesn't give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear. For once in his life, he is going to be strong. For Ginny, for his mother, for Harry. For all of them.

Hermione squeezes his hand, and Ron keeps his gaze locked with hers. Suddenly, a door slams, and a figure in swishing black robes stalks into the room. They know who it is the second they see him.

"Well, well, well, look who's here." Voldemort gives the two of them a slow, condescending smile that makes Ron shiver. It's the face he wears when he's about to kill. The face he wore when he killed Ron's mother.

"You'll never win," Hermione says beside him, and the sound of her voice gives Ron strength. Voldemort turns, raising an eyebrow at the girl, and the Death Eaters surrounding him laugh coldly among themselves.

"Won't I?" A corner of his mouth curls up, deepening his wicked smile. "It seems to me that I've killed your only hope of success. And now, with the two of you dead, who will be left to stop me?"

"There will always be someone." Ron finds himself speaking, and his voice echoes in the room. "Even if it's not us, those who are left will never give in to you. You can kill and you can terrorize, but they'll always be here. Fighting you for the rest of their lives, just like we have."

Voldemort laughs, but Ron doesn't care. From beside him, Hermione smiles, her eyes filled with tears. Warmth surges through Ron's body, and he smiles back at her.

"Then I suppose I'll just have to kill them, too. Just like you." Voldemort raises his wand and the Death Eaters cheer.

"I love you, Hermione Granger." Ron looks into his best friend's eyes and puts his forehead to hers. "And whatever comes next, we'll face it together. Just like we always have."

"I love you too, Ronald Weasley." Her voice is choked with tears, but she manages a smile. "And I always will."

So when the green flash finally comes, Ron is not afraid. He holds tight to Hermione's hands, whispering his love as the darkness envelops him.

They've done their fighting, and now it's time for the next wizards to rise up. But Ron knows, even as he fades away, that they'll never be forgotten. And with that, he lets himself go.