Chapter 3: Trophy

The weather had decided to smile on the students of Hogwarts for their day of freedom. After weeks of pounding rain, late Autumn sunshine made the castle glow as if freshly washed and burnished. Enormous, swollen clouds chased each other across a crystal-blue sky, running ahead of a stiff wind and throwing a patchwork of moving shade on the fading grass. Bundled up in cloaks and gloves and knit scarves in their House colors, the children hurried in smiling, laughing groups down the long carriageway toward the gates and the village beyond.

Ron cavorted across the grass like a colt let off its lead, his long legs carrying him well down the road, then back to Hermione's side again in a few bounds. They stayed well back from a group of Ravenclaws, not wanting to hear what they were muttering to each other between fits of giggling. It might be nothing more momentous than what boy they were collectively pining for, but in their experience, every low-voiced exchange at Hogwarts always came back around to the same thing—Harry's exploits—and they both wanted to be free of Harry's concerns for one day.

They had loitered around the common room for an extra hour after breakfast, letting Seamus, Dean and the others trail out, before setting out themselves. Harry had waved them off, showing no sign of wanting to join them—with or without McGonagall's permission—and Malfoy had been conspicuous by his absence. So they were alone as they approached the huge, wrought-iron gates that marked the edge of the grounds.

Madam Hooch was on duty at the gates, opening the wards to let students through and warning them to be vigilant while outside their protection. She sounded uncomfortably like Moody, and she looked odd in her sober, charcoal grey robes. Ron almost never saw her off the Quidditch pitch. He tended to think of her as part of the equipment, rather than a teacher who roamed the castle at will or wore anything other than flying gear.

She fixed the two Gryffindors with a squinty-eyed gaze. "Keep to the village streets," she said in her clipped, tart way, "and be back an hour before sundown. All items purchased in the village are subject to inspection and confiscation, so don't buy anything that bites, stings, ensorcels or explodes."

"Yes, Madam Hooch," Hermione said respectfully.

"And check in with your Head of House as soon as you return."

"We will."

"Off you go, then. Enjoy the weather." She looked up at the clouds, then around at the air that seemed preternaturally clear, and added a trifle sadly. "Flying weather. Shame we don't have a match today."

Hermione smiled dutifully, but Ron seemed much struck by this. "Too right! It's perfect weather for beating the pants off of Slytherin!"

"I thought you wanted a butterbeer," Hermione said testily, catching his arm to pull him forward.

They felt the wards crawl on their skin as they stepped through the gates, then they were on the outer carriage road, hurrying down it. Around a sweeping curve, through a thick copse of trees that crowded up on either side of the road, down a long slope, and into the little valley that hid all but the tallest of the village's rooftrees and chimney pots.

Ron took Hermione's hand as they turned onto the main street. She shot him a surprised look from the corners of her eyes but did not draw away.

"Where to first?" he asked brightly. "It's kind of early for a butterbeer."

"Didn't you want to visit the twins' new shop?"

"Oh, yeah!" Ron enthused. "Let's check it out!"

They hurried down the street in the direction of the now-defunct Zonko's joke shop, past the post office and Honeydukes, only to find the shop still boarded up. A large, brightly-colored poster on one window announced the coming of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes of London, due to open before the Christmas holidays. But so far, the only sign of new ownership was a coat of purple paint on the door and a large pile of discarded wooden shelves, stacked outside the rear door.

Ron stared at the battered, old shelves glumly and kicked at the dirt in disappointment. "I'd've thought they'd try to get up and running for the new term. Who knows when we'll get another Hogsmeade weekend, with You-Know-Who lurking behind every bush?"

"Hush, don't talk like that."

"Well, it's true. We could be locked up through the Christmas hols, same way we were all Summer. I was looking forward to getting a bag of Canary Creams."

"What for?" she asked suspiciously.

"Oh… you never know when they'll come in handy."

"Hmph." She caught his hand again and tugged him toward the street. "Let's go to the post office. I have a letter to send, and you can't get into trouble there."

"Yeah, all right."

They strolled back down the street, in no particular hurry. Hogwarts students trailed in and out of every shop, moving in chattering groups, their faces bright with relief at the normalcy of the day. Ron and Hermione spotted Vincent Crabbe, with Maude Stimple on his arm, turning into Madam Puddifoots. They didn't bother waving a greeting, since Maude didn't approve of Vincent's friends—any of his friends, not just the sinister Draco Malfoy—and wouldn't smile on an interruption by them. Then they reached the post office.

Ron reached out to open the door, but a sharp, urgent cry halted his movement.

"Ron! Hermione! Come quick!"

The call came from a little alley that ran between the post office and the hat shop next to it. Stepping together into the mouth of the alley, they saw Colin Creevey a dozen yards away. He was standing over an ominous bundle on the ground, bouncing with eagerness, waving to get their attention.

"Down here! Quick!"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a startled glance, then took off running toward the younger boy. He greeted them with a relieved cry.

"I didn't know what to do! I just found her here, and I couldn't leave her!"

They reached Colin and looked down, appalled, at the lump at his feet. It was Luna, her body unnaturally stiff, her limbs locked to her sides, staring helplessly up at them. Ron had only just enough time to register the warning in those wide, protruding eyes, then something struck him in the head and the world went black.

Ron paced up the long, steep carriageway to the front of Hogwarts castle. The great front doors stood wide open, ready to welcome the students back from their day of freedom and fun in Hogsmeade. He did not so much as glance at them, or at any feature of the gothically beautiful castle, as he passed into the lofty entrance hall. He kept his eyes on the path he would take and his hand on the large, scruffy, grey rat in his pocket.

It would be so easy, he thought, as he started up the main staircase. Walk in, take what he needed, walk out. Smile at his friends—friends who would envy his state of utter peace and purpose, if they only knew of it. But they would not. They must not. The voice whispering in his head told him so, and he trusted the voice implicitly. So long as he listened to the voice and followed its instructions, he could do no wrong. All would be well.

He kept climbing in the same unfaltering rhythm. Past the first floor, where Madam Pomfrey bustled about her domain, mending the hurts of the less fortunate. Past the second floor and the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Past the third, fourth and fifth floors. Up and up, 'til he reached the seventh floor and the Gryffindor Tower.

He stopped in front of the portrait and grinned at the Fat Lady. She simpered for him and asked, "Password?"

"Laughing Hyena."

She giggled—a strange sound coming from so large and venerable a face—and swung open to let him inside.

Ron stepped into the common room, still without looking to either side. The voice told him that he was to climb the stairs to his dormitory and retrieve the necessary item immediately. He obeyed without hesitation.

"Ron?"

He took another step toward the circular staircase.

"What are you doing back so soon?"

Answer him, the voice whispered.

Ron stopped and turned, a sheepish smile on his face. Harry sat before the cold hearth, books spread all over a low table and nearby sofa, his hair standing up in a way that told Ron he'd been pulling on it in frustration. Poor Harry. Too bad he couldn't relax, let the worry go, let someone else decide what he should do, the way Ron had.

"Forgot my money," Ron said, rolling his eyes at his own stupidity. "I save every Knut for that pair of Quidditch gloves, then I go off without the money. How daft is that?"

"Oh." Harry frowned at him for a moment, then shrugged, letting his eyes slide back toward his books.

Say something, the voice prompted. Don't let him suspect.

Inspiration came to Ron, born on the current of peaceful certainty inside him. "Where's Malfoy?" he asked, all curious innocence.

Harry's frown darkened into a scowl. "Down at the Quidditch pitch."

"I thought you were going to spend the day with him."

"I can't. I have piles of homework to do, and Draco is in such a foul mood that he won't help me."

"Peeved that Dumbledore won't let him leave the grounds?"

"Peeved doesn't begin to describe it. I think he wanted to do some flying, shake off his sullens."

Inspiration struck again, and Ron said, lightly, "You should leave off studying and go practice with him. That'll make both of you easier to stand."

With that, he turned for the stairs again, letting the whisper in his head guide him upward in a dream of mindless content. He had done just as he should—allayed suspicion better even than the voice could guess—and gotten the last bit of information he needed. Now the voice would be pleased with him, and the peace inside him would go on forever.

The dormitory was unlocked. Harry's trunk stood open with a litter of parchment, pens, ink bottles and books all around it. Ron carefully closed the door behind him and bent over the trunk. He rifled it expertly, checking every corner, but did not find what he needed. Still serenely confident, he moved to the nightstand. Nothing. Then the bed.

There it was, folded neatly under Harry's pillow. Of course, Ron realized as he lifted the soft pad of silvery fabric, he should have looked here first. Harry always kept it under his pillow, ready to hand, so he could slip out to meet Malfoy any time the urge took him. Except today, when he had so much work to do and Malfoy was feeling so grumpy.

Tucking the Invisibility cloak under his arm, beneath his robe, Ron glanced in the mirror to be sure no unsightly bulges would betray him. Perfect. Stuffing his right hand into his pocket, he clasped the rat huddled there and heard the voice say, Go, now.

He strolled back down the stairs again, waving to Harry as he went past. "Bye, Harry! See you at dinner!"

Harry only grunted from behind a large book.

Ron stepped through the portrait hole and retraced his steps to the entrance hall with the same steady, unruffled sense of purpose that had carried him this far. He passed out through the wide doors, but instead of taking the carriageway back down to the gates, he turned to his right and made his way around the castle, toward the Quidditch pitch.

He spotted Malfoy long before he reached the stands. The Slytherin was flying fast and high, a furious mote of black and flashing silver against the clear afternoon sky. Ron moved between two sets of bleachers and stopped just inside the pitch. Beside him, the bright hangings that shrouded the stands flapped gently in the wind. He plunged his hand into his pocket once more, slid his fingers around Scabbers' body and the wand tucked under it, and lifted them both out.

Malfoy turned abruptly, streaking toward Ron's end of the pitch at breathtaking speed. He looked as though he were about to crash into the goal hoops, but instead, he threaded an impossible path between them, then whipped up and around, flattened his body against his broomstick, and shot through the tallest ring.

Under normal circumstances, Ron would have gasped. Today, he simply smiled and let his hand fall straight at his side. His fingers opened, letting rat and wand drop to the grass at his feet. Before Draco had shed the momentum from his incredible stunt and swooped around in a more sedate turn to face Ron, the rat had scampered under the stands, dragging the wand in its mouth, safely hidden behind the hangings.

Ron lifted his right hand in a wave, grinning up at his suicidal friend. His left arm remained tightly clamped to his side, holding the cloak against his ribs.

"Are you trying to break your neck?" Ron shouted, as Malfoy came into range.

"Maybe."

Malfoy still looked as though he'd like to strangle someone, but Ron could see the beneficial effects of hard flying in the flush of color in his cheeks and the smug light in his eyes. Another turn around the pitch would have him smirking and sniping like his old self. Too bad they didn't have time for that.

The Slytherin climbed gracefully off his broomstick, automatically lifting a hand to straighten his hair.

"Give it up," Ron quipped. "You look like you stuck your head into a hurricane."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Maybe I'll conjure one up for you to play with, Weasel." He swung his broomstick up to his shoulder and peeled the heavy, gauntleted glove off his right hand—just the sort of glove he had meant to buy for himself in Hogsmeade today, Ron mused, perfect for protecting the hands from friction burns and blisters. "Why aren't you playing footsie with Granger at the Three Broomsticks?"

Ron shrugged. "I got bored. Thought I'd come see what you and Harry are up to."

A telltale ripple in the fabric behind Draco's shoulder distracted Ron, so he missed the other boy's answer. His eyes watched, with distant curiosity, as a small, furtive, suspiciously rodent-like figure in patched robes flung aside the hangings and advanced on Malfoy, wand raised.

"What's the matter with you?" Draco demanded, turning to look behind him.

"Stupefy!" Wormtail hissed.

Yellow sparks spat from his wand. Draco crumpled to the ground, his broomstick still clutched in his crystalline hand. Ron stared down at him in what would have been bafflement, had he been capable of feeling anything of the sort.

"The cloak," Wormtail snapped, his ratty eyes darting about fearfully.

Ron obediently pulled the invisibility cloak from under his robe and offered it to Wormtail. The Death Eater snatched it from his hand and flung it open with a snap. Thin, silvery folds drifted down to cover Malfoy. Suddenly, the Slytherin was not there.

"Stay where you are," Wormtail said, then he ducked under the cloak.

A moment later, he emerged with Malfoy's wand, which he stuffed in his pocket along with a few things Ron recognized as the other boy's possessions. Wormtail shot him a nervous, slanty-eyed look, then smiled to show his yellow rat's teeth. "When I pick him up, you make sure the cloak covers us both. Then do as you're told."

Ron nodded. He waited for Wormtail to hoist Malfoy's slight body over his shoulder, then he carefully adjusted the folds of the invisibility cloak to hide them both. When Wormtail and Malfoy were reduced to the sound of heavy breathing and the musty smell of rodent fur, Ron began walking toward the gates.

Around the castle, down the drive, and he saw Snape standing at the gates, looking surly and suspicious. Reaching into his pocket to clutch the silver Sickles he'd tucked there that morning, he strode confidently up to the gates. Snape raked him with his cold gaze, then flicked it to either side, as if hunting for a sign of someone else lurking at his shoulder. Perhaps he suspected Ron of smuggling Harry out of the grounds under his cloak. Little did he know…

"Remembered your own head this time, did you, Weasley?"

Ron assumed the downcast, rather sullen look he usually wore in Snape's presence and lifted the handful of silver as proof of his errand. He made a show of sloping through the gates under Snape's eye, but paused just as he stood astride the wards to fumble the coins back into his pocket. Snape watched this with a disdainful smile, utterly oblivious to the invisible Death Eater who scurried past Ron with his precious burden.

Safely outside the wards, with Wormtail shuffling along beside him, Ron stayed on the road until the sweeping curve had taken him out of sight of the gates. Then Wormtail muttered, "Turn here, into the trees."

Ron obeyed, stepping off the road and into the dense copse of trees. He wove a path through them, following Wormtail's instructions, until he reached a small clearing at the center of the copse and abruptly halted. Wormtail came panting and wheezing up behind him. With a shrug of his stooped shoulders, he tossed Malfoy to the ground and disentangled them both from the cloak. Ron looked dispassionately down at his friend, then up at the wizard who had captured him, then around at the trees.

As if conjured by his eyes, black figures materialized around the clearing, stepping from between the looming trunks to cluster around the three new arrivals. A woman leapt eagerly forward, her wand in her hand, and fairly pounced on Malfoy's still figure. Ron recognized her wild black hair, gaunt face and ferocious, heavy-lidded eyes, but in his current state, he couldn't be troubled to come up with her name. He watched her prod Malfoy with her foot, laughing derisively, then wave her wand at him.

"Rennervate!" she snarled.

Malfoy stirred and opened his eyes. He looked up at the tall woman, his eyes going wide with fear. As Ron watched, bemused, Draco pushed himself onto his elbows and tried to scramble back, away from the woman looming over him. His glazed, panic-stricken eyes did not move to take in the other figures around him. They remained glued to the woman's face, until he bumped into someone's leg and realized that his escape was cut off.

"Auntie Bella," he whispered through bloodless lips.

"Yes, little worm, it's your dear Auntie, come to take you back to Mummy."

Draco reacted instantly, whipping up his adamant hand to point at her, but Bella's wand was already aimed at his chest.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Her wand spat magic at Draco, and he went completely rigid. Only his eyes still lived, and they followed his aunt's movements with unguarded horror. She searched Draco's clothing, then, when she found nothing in his pockets, rounded on Wormtail.

"His wand, rat! Where is it?!"

"I will give it to the Master," Wormtail whined, cringing away from her. "He put the boy's capture in my hands, and I will deliver…"

"Silence, rodent. You'll do as you're told, and nothing more." She pointed at Wormtail's silver hand. "Is that monstrosity stronger than adamant?"

"No." Wormtail whipped his hand behind his back, frightened by her sudden interest in him. "Nothing is."

"Hmph. We'll just see. Come, Wormtail. Help me." She turned to another Death Eater. "And you, Macnair."

"Hadn't you better leave it for the Master to do?" a third Death Eater asked.

"Leave it?" Bella sneered, then she laughed wildly. "Of course I won't leave it! Don't be such a child, Dolph. It's only a hand. How much damage can it do?"

"Why don't you ask Lucius?" Dolph growled.

"Lucius was an arrogant fool who couldn't see past the end of his nose. I am the Dark Lord's most trusted servant. I will carry out his orders to the letter."

She snapped her fingers and pointed to a spot just beside her. "There, Wormtail. When I release his arm from the binding spell, you will pin his hand to the ground. If he moves it, you will die exactly one second after I finish with him. You, Macnair, will hold his arm. And remember, he can crush your puny head like an overripe melon with those pretty fingers of his."

"Just stun him," Macnair grumbled, as he stepped over Draco and took up his post at the boy's shoulder. "He can't do magic if he's unconscious."

"He can't feel anything, either," Bella retorted, with a wolfish grin, "and this needs to hurt."

To the silent, watching figures, she snapped, "Stand clear! He may be able to manage non-verbal spells!"

The Death Eaters drew off to either side, now eyeing Malfoy's stiff figure nervously, leaving a wide, empty swathe of trees to his left. Ron gazed down at Malfoy through the mist that shrouded his senses, wondering why his friend had a look of such murderous rage in his eyes. What was there to be angry about? Or afraid? He, Ron, had followed instructions, so everything would be fine.

"Now!" Bella cried, as she leveled her wand.

Once again, magic shot from the wand to strike Draco, but this time it was aimed at his arm. The instant he could move, Draco whipped his wrist out of Wormtail's grasp and reached for the Death Eater's throat. Wormtail ducked and rolled, carrying him safely out of Draco's reach. Draco sent a spell burning from his crystalline finger toward Macnair's head, but the Death Eater was ready for him. He sidestepped the spell and stamped a foot down on Draco's forearm, pinning it to the ground. Draco's second spell flew harmlessly into the trees. At that moment, Wormtail scrambled back into the fray to lock silver fingers around adamant.

Howling orders and imprecations at the top of her lungs, Bella once again raised her wand, and Ron saw that it now had a blade of glittering light at the end of it. She stooped and hacked. Draco screamed.

Except, it wasn't Draco screaming. Draco was in a full body bind and couldn't do so much as whimper. But Ron distinctly heard a scream—a terrible, animal howl of pain and rage. And as he watched the blade fall again, watched Bellatrix Lestrange grab Draco's adamant hand and twist it grotesquely, he drew in a great, sobbing breath and screamed again.

"No! No! You can't!"

The Imperius Curse broke, the shell of peace and acceptance shattered. Ron Weasley found himself standing standing in a shaded clearing, surrounded by faceless figures in black robes, watching a madwoman chop Draco's arm off and laugh as she did it. Fury burned through his body like a curse, and he flung himself across the clearing, toward the knot of Death Eaters and the hideous thing they were doing to his friend. Hands grabbed him, wrestled with him, while he fought and flailed and yelled, "Stop! Draco!"

"Silence that brat," Bella snarled.

Dolph—and in his newly-awakened state, Ron knew that it must be Bellatrix's husband, Rodolphus—stepped menacingly toward him, wand raised. Ron stumbled back, tearing free of the clutching hands, and fell against a tree trunk. He lifted his head to stare up at Rodolphus' pale face inside its deep hood. The man appeared to have black holes for eyes.

A crow of triumph from Bellatrix made Ron tear his eyes away from Dolph and turn them on her again. She stepped back from Draco's body, casually flicking the blade from her wand in a shower of sparks. Beside her, Wormtail staggered to his feet, cradling something bright and beautiful across his hands. He caught up the hem of his robe and started to wipe at it, but the instant Bellatrix saw what he was doing, she struck him hard in the side of the head.

Snatching the trophy from his grasp, she snarled, "Imbecile!"

"I was just cleaning…"

"I don't want it clean, you infernal rodent!"

Then she held it up. Ron took one look at the thing shining in her hand, bowed his head, and vomited into the grass. Bella's laughter, mixed with the deeper chuckles of Rodolphus, Macnair and the others, rang sickeningly in his ears.

"Lovely," she cooed. "I wonder if Potter will react the same way as his blood traitor friend?"

"Harry will kill you," Ron gasped, his stomach heaving again and his mouth filling with the bitter taste of despair. "And if he doesn't, I will!"

"I am so hoping he tries," Bella retorted. Then she flicked an dismissive hand in Ron's direction. "Put him with the others."

Rodolphus hoisted Ron away from the support of the tree, giving him a shove to start him moving toward the edge of the clearing. As he stumbled into the trees, dropping to his knees at the Death Eater's command, he saw that he was not alone. His friends and fellow students were sprawled all around him, lying and sitting, awake and unconscious, trussed up in magical bonds like so many smoked hams. He heard Bellatrix shouting more orders and twisted around to peer back into the clearing, even as Rodolphus fired a binding hex at him and ropes looped around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He saw Bellatrix flick her wand at Malfoy, and his body rose several feet in the air. Draco's left arm, the only part of him not frozen by Bella's spell, hung limp from his shoulder. Blood dripped steadily from his empty sleeve.

Ron groaned and turned his head away, only to find himself staring into a familiar pair of brown eyes, now swimming in tears. Hermione could say nothing, but the look she gave him was enough. Ron knew exactly what she was thinking, exactly what he had done, and exactly how much trouble he had started. For all of them, but especially for Harry.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, and to his horror, the tears began to spill from Hermione's eyes. "I'm so sorry!"

"Shut it, you," Rodolphus snarled, and the world went black again.

To be continued…