Author's Note: I own nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Zero.
Interlude: Breaking Free
Some have said that waking up from the effects of a long term spell is like fighting your way up from drowning. All you can see is a thin shaft of light above you, penetrating the crushing darkness around you.
And with what precious breaths you have left in your lungs, you fight. You expend what little energy you have left, kicking, thrashing against the overwhelming force pulling you down.
She fought madly, savagely, even, to keep from being pulled down by the effects of the spell again. Pulling every bit of her will together, she battled against the overwhelming undercurrent of magic, before she managed to break free of it and return to consciousness.
Light – there was light everywhere. It burnt her eyes immediately, so much that she had to close her eyes and take refuge in the darkness behind her eyelids. Long moments passed before she dared to open her eyes again.
She was in a completely white room, so much that its blandness was the first thing that struck her. The walls were a greying shade, the linens she was resting on were completely white, and so was the gown she was dressed in.
She was in the hospital, she realized.
She sat up, alarmed, but then swayed slightly as she was overcome by weakness. Steeling herself, she noticed for the first time the different tubes which were connected to bottles hanging from the head of her bed. She'd never liked needles ever since she'd pricked herself while learning to sew, and every single one of the tubes was connected to her body by one.
Why am I in a hospital? She thought, while trying to fight down the rising panic within herself. The last thing she remembered was –
All traces of weakness seemed to vanish from her, and she sat up, completely alert. She couldn't remember anything, not beyond Tom Riddle and his death...
"Mum?" she called out, but her terror rose when the word came out garbled, and not at all like she'd meant it to sound.
"Mum?!" she tried again, and the result was still not intelligible. She panicked in earnest this time, screaming the word out again and again, but in vain.
A terrible thought entered her mind, but she pushed it down. She tried again and again, refusing to believe the truth.
She tried out different words, not feeling even slightly foolish as she tried to spit out different words like 'cat' and 'rat'. In the end, she gave up, and merely screamed, trying to vent her anger, and frustration, and sheer terror.
The noise brought people crashing into the room, to find her shaking on top of her sheets, yelling for all she worth. She found no traces of her parents amongst them, and her fear only rose.
What was going on? Where was she?
Breathing heavily, she looked around at the people in the room, trying to catch her breath. They were obviously Healers, judging from their robes, which matched the sterile white colour everywhere around her.
They were speaking all at once, amazement showing on their faces, when she realized that their voices were coming in and out of focus, like someone was playing with the volume dial on the Wireless.
She tried to make sense of what they were saying, but then, the sounds stopped altogether.
Silence. It was everywhere.
The mouths of the healers moved, they gesticulated wildly, but she couldn't hear any of it. Her eyes widened, and this time, she could almost feel a burning in her throat as the fear rose in her with the force of vomit.
She screamed, and screamed and screamed.
And then she broke down crying, because Ginny Weasley couldn't hear herself scream.
...o0oOo0o...
Others have compared the feeling of breaking through the effects of a curse like pulling yourself through mud, fighting against the sludge, inching your way forward until you're finally free.
He fought and thrashed, trying to clear the viscous layer from his mind. He felt fatigue set upon him despite his best efforts, but he snarled.
He was not about to give up.
Images flashed through his mind, of a compartment in a steam engine, of a giant chessboard, of an underground chamber, and a broken shack. He redoubled his efforts, reaching out to those emotions from within the walls of his consciousness.
Friendship. Loyalty. Brotherhood.
He fought with everything he had, uncaring of the consequences. He had failed his friend once, and he was not about to do it again.
But the magic was unrelenting, bent upon pulling him back down into its dark depths. For a second, he entertained the thought of giving up, of letting go. He knew that the magic wouldn't harm him in the long run, only mould him into someone different...
No!
He wouldn't be controlled. He wouldn't sit back and allow this course of events to develop, he wouldn't skive off and let go when he could have done something about it.
He roared in anger, fighting off the crushing fatigue. He knew it was all in his mind, that he was only imagining it – but then again, everything feels real in a dream.
He could see it before him, only inches away; he could smell the freedom, reach out and taste it. With one last almighty roar, he pulled himself free –
And Ron Weasley awoke on his bed, gasping and drenched in sweat. Memories came rushing back to him, of the year gone by, and of events before that, and he groaned, putting his head in his hands.
Who did this to me? He moaned as a wave of pain passed through his head. Someone had wanted him to stay away from Harry, to make sure that he deserted his best friend in his time of need.
But who?
Lord Voldemort.
The answer came to him almost at once, and it sent a thrill of foreboding down his spine. He'd heard only hushed rumours about the Third Task, now that he was no longer Harry's best friend – he grimaced – and he'd also heard whispered conversations about the house.
His first instinct was to go down and talk to his parents, but he stopped himself short as he was putting on his slippers. Even to his own mind, the idea of Voldemort cursing him sounded weak and flimsy, like it was nothing more than an excuse for his terrible behaviour.
He grimaced once more at how he'd acted – it would be a miracle if Harry ever accepted him back as his friend.
Harry had spent the entirety of his last year alone and friendless, up against a Tournament renowned for its Death Toll more than anything else. He cursed himself – how could he have been so weak, to remain under the influence of the spell, and stand by and watch his friend face his greatest challenge alone?
But no, he told himself, he wasn't weak. He'd finally broken free of the spell, and he was going to make it up to Harry if it was the last thing he did.
And till then, he would behave no differently than he had been for the past few weeks – sullen and moody, he realized, grimacing.
And he would definitely keep his eyes open.
...o0oOo0o...
And finally, they say that waking up from a trance is like coming out from a dark place into the light.
He followed the gentle light leading him back to the real world, highly alert for any signs of trouble.
Two seconds later, he opened his eyes and smiled ever so lightly. The ritual had been risky, but it had been worth it.
Lord Voldemort could feel the weakness from his new body wash away, and his red eyes gleamed in the dark as everything came into perfect focus. He could see the broken edge of the table where somebody had scuffed it with a quill, he could hear the sound of the miserable waste of space that was Wormtail make his way down the stairs with crystal precision.
The ritual was a substitute for the one his followers – suitably punished for their failure, of course – had messed up, and he congratulated himself on successfully modifying it to his needs. Once more, he had proven that he was the greatest wizard alive, by taking something the so-called foolish Light Wizards had invented, and twisting it for his own purpose.
And the benefits – the side benefit was a definite added bonus. He had seen his soul, and he was not afraid of it. He had no remorse for what he had done, and he was perfectly at peace with all his acts – his acts of greatness.
His lips now curved into a lipless smile in earnest, and with no sign of any magic taking place –
Where Lord Voldemort stood there was now a huge grey wolf with blood-red eyes, grinning cruelly at the world.
Author's note: Well, it's the gap between the practical and theory examinations, so an Interlude update for you. Review, you know you want to after all these mysteries!
They will be solved, of course...
All in good time, my readers. All in good time.
