~ Chapter 21 ~
Daybreak
She had slept fitfully the past few nights. Even when she knew she must have dozed off for awhile because an hour or two on the clock went missing, she didn't feel at all refreshed or rested when she awoke. In fact, she didn't feel like she had slept at all.
Rolling onto her side, her face became buried in the masses of her own wavy, copper-colored hair on the pillow and she had to lift her head to pull her hair away from her face with one hand. Most of the night she had spent tossing and turning in her four-poster, wondering, as were a number of people now waiting fretfully at Hogwarts, where some of the most beloved people in her world could be-her brothers, her friend Hermione, and-Harry.
Another thought of them didn't take her by surprise. But the depth of the voice in her mind did.
*Hey, Gin. I don't know if you're getting this. It's really weak and I have to push really hard-something's in the way. But I had to try.*
"Ron?" she said out loud, not caring a whit if she awoke one of her slumbering dorm mates. "Where are you?"
*Good, you are there. We're still in Ireland-can't tell where exactly-but we're by the ocean,* Ron's voice explained.
Ginny remembered how it felt when he had connected with her before, but this felt much, much weaker, and a bit surreal. She wasn't entirely sure if the voice was coming from Ron's connection with her, or if it was just a product of her own exhaustion and worry. Swinging between extremes of depression and wishful thinking for the third night in a row had worn down her sense of reality, and she wondered if her own psyche wasn't trying to send her words of comfort disguised in his voice. Soon it would be dawn-perhaps the line between reality and fantasy could then be drawn more definitively.
*Are you all right?* Ginny thought to him.
There was a very long pause. *What?*
The voice didn't even sound much like Ron's anymore-it must have been an hallucination, or a dream. She repeated her question. *Are you all right?*
Again the length of the pause unnerved her. *Yeah,* came the thought weakly, sounding very defeated. *We-miss you, Ginny-and everyone else, too. Tell them-tell them all-just in case...*
No, he wasn't all right. Something was very wrong. Oh, please, please don't really be Ron, she found herself wishing, afraid to think anything to him and interrupt his thoughts flowing into her mind. Because if you are-and you're saying what I think you're saying-
As if speaking through a very thick fog in her mind, the voice made one valiant attempt to sound strong, but the poor connection weakened its valor. *Tell them all-we miss them...* And although the voice disintegrated before she actually heard the last seven words in her mind, she believed all her life that she'd felt them instead: tell them all -that we love them.
Now Ginny found herself feeling very afraid. Even though she knew and loved her brother well enough to realize that all of those feelings were always there inside of him, she knew just as well that he never, ever spoke about them in that way. It was so unlike Ron to say that he missed or loved his family at his age (even though it was more than evident that he did); he might as well have been running a red distress flag up the pole.
Ginny shoved her hand across her face, the tears that she pushed away replaced in an instant by rivulets of more racing down her cheeks. What do I do? she thought. What if that really wasn't Ron connecting with me? Should I tell the Grangers and Sirius, and worst of all, the rest of my family, what I 'thought' I just heard Ron say? What if I put them through all that, then the whole group turns out to be fine?
All of her closest friends and confidantes were among those who were lost. Who could she talk to about this? Ginny felt the weight of her own loss fall upon her.
Just then the alternative launched itself into her brain. How much worse would it be if she didn't mention anything to anyone, and it turned out that what she'd just heard from Ron was really "goodbye"?
# # #
Around the edge of the cloth covering the window, a fine line of deep gray morning light became noticeable. It wasn't much to go on, but it made Ron feel better, all the same.
Nothing had happened. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but something told him that if they made it until daybreak, that everything would be all right-at least maybe they'd have a chance.
The dark mood, the fear pressing in on them, the inability to think of any way to improve their situation, had pushed each of them into a somber, silent place within themselves. The five of them had been sitting for some time, staring into their laps or at the floor, but avoiding each other's eyes. They especially avoided even a glance toward the wall where the reddish substance was starting to dry into grotesque colors befitting the Dark Mark that was drawn there.
At one point, the urgency of their situation had prompted the twins to begin discussing the Portkey again, and they had gone as far as to get it from Fred's rucksack. But their post-panic fatigue after the incident with Valeria, and the Mark glaring at them from the wall caused them to apathetically drop the orange fishing hat to the floor, and dully leave it there.
The thought of using his telempathy to reach Ginny had been eating away at Ron as they all sat contemplating their future-but now their situation felt more desperate than it ever had before. He knew he had to try.
The telempathic connection still hadn't seemed to work very well-it had been so weak that it felt more like a dream. Something was still blocking his way-but this time it hadn't been able to block him out entirely. He'd told Ginny what he'd been feeling at the time-he wanted their families to know that his brothers and friends in Ireland hadn't been off playing some silly game, but had been trying diligently to get home with what little they had to use. He wanted them all to know... just in case something happened.
Valeria was stirring for the first time since Ron, Harry, and Hermione had arrived back at the cottage with the wands. Ron looked around at the others, who hadn't seemed to notice. He grasped his wand inside his robe pocket, and watched the girl sitting under the Dark Mark carefully.
Pushing herself from the bed with her arms, Valeria sat and blinked uncertainly, trying to focus on everything surrounding her. Grabbing at her shirt as she looked down, she gasped. She finally noticed her painted clothes and body, yet was unable to understand how any of it had occurred.
Unaware that anyone was watching her, Valeria turned on her bed, visually following the trail of reddish goo to the wall. Her eyes climbed from the bed upwards and her face went pale. Once she had taken in all that the image on the wall symbolized, she clapped one hand over her mouth in horror. There was no doubt that she realized it was she who had drawn it there.
Still staring in terrified awe, Valeria rolled onto her knees and crawled backwards off of the bed, kicking over the bucket of the leftover substance she'd used as paint. She was unable to ignore her own curiosity as to what was covering everything, including her. She reached down and dipped two fingers into some of the spilled stuff, first rubbing it between her fingers, then bringing it to her nose.
Ron thought he could see a slight expression of relief on her face, though he couldn't imagine why. Anyone who was relieved to find themselves covered in blood had to be completely mental.
Feeling his eyes on her, Valeria turned to face them all, though Ron was the only one watching her directly. She seemed to register the suspicion in his gaze.
"It's mud," she said quietly, the sound of a voice startling the rest of them out of their stupor. A tiny, fleeting, embarrassed smile crossed her face. "The reddish stuff from the riverbank-it's only mud."
Ron looked a bit relieved himself. "But that doesn't change what you painted with it." He looked back at the wall briefly, and she followed his gaze with her eyes.
The twins, Harry, and Hermione were now joining in listening to the conversation with guarded interest, slipping their hands onto their wands inside of their robes, as well.
The dark-haired girl now realized that they were all focused on her. She pointed back at the wall as she faced them. "I had to let you know some way. He wouldn't let me tell you. I had to let you know what you're all up against-especially you-Harry..."
Ron noticed that Harry looked drawn and haggard, as if he'd aged once more. Aside from that, it was difficult to tell from the outside that anything was even bothering Harry. But Ron knew what kind of anguish was tearing at his best friend from within.
"So Voldemort isback again, is he?" Harry asked calmly, almost eerily so. "Found his way out of the mountains all right, it seems."
Valeria suddenly appeared to think of something and gasped again. "It's still dark, isn't it? It's still night?" She glanced toward the windows, but before she could register that there was now a slightly brighter edge of light around the window cloths, Ron answered.
"No, it's daybreak. The sun will be up soon," he said.
"Oh, no- then it's time. It's why they woke me," she said, suddenly shaking and panicked. "Look-look outside-toward those big rocks where you stayed! Now!"
"Why?" Ron asked slowly and suspiciously. She didn't seem to be possessed by the dementors at the moment, but he still wasn't ready to trust her with his back turned. Something about the way she looked made him think of his earlier nightmare. "Are the dementors coming-in your mind?" He had another sickening thought. "Or is it-?"
"You'll see -go-please-" Valeria begged.
Ron looked at Harry and they both stood, wands out. "Stay ready in case she does anything-especially if she goes after Harry," Ron told his brothers, nodding at Valeria.
Valeria sat wide-eyed as Ron glanced at her quickly. He wasn't certain how she'd react to knowing he was so distrustful of her-but she seemed to understand why he would say such a thing.
Hermione continued to sit in worn silence, tensing as she watched her two best friends stand and prepare their wands. Though she ordinarily would have joined them, creating the wandless light had exhausted her-she'd only managed a few minutes of sleep and little real rest since then.
Harry and Ron walked through the door and into the chilly morning air. They turned together to look up the hill toward the cluster of enormous white granite boulders-and what they saw there struck dread into their hearts.
In the deep gray stillness of the morning, the granite reflected what little light there was and the light stone faces stood out against the darkened hillside. But the dark of the hillside could not compare with the blackness of the tall, eerie forms that stood on the boulders, their intimidating outlines in stark contrast to the white of the rocks. Their tattered robes blew lightly in the early morning breeze, as they appeared to be waiting patiently for a sign.
There had to be ten of them or more, though it was difficult to visually separate one dementor from the next. Like dark angels of death, they stood nearly motionless, the gaping holes in the hoods of their black cloaks all focused in the same direction-toward the little stone cottage there below them.
Ron's mouth went dry immediately, and he was guessing Harry's had, too. He had to swallow twice to even speak.
"You don't suppose they're just watching us, do you?" Ron said tensely without taking his eyes from the black-cloaked group.
"I don't think so," Harry said solemnly, also staring at them, transfixed.
The standoff continued in silence for another minute or two.
"Do you think they'll stay up there if we don't back down?" Ron asked.
Harry paused before replying. "I really don't think so."
As if the dementors had heard his words, the evil-looking black forms on the rocks began to squirm and move, the few nearest the outside of the group beginning to float from the ground.
Harry and Ron went pale as they watched in horror, because another fifteen seconds gave them the answer they had dreaded. Ever so slowly, but very determinedly, the black-cloaked figures started to float down the trail toward the cottage.
The dementors, themselves, were coming.
Taking one last glance at each other, the two boys rushed into the cottage.
"They're coming-the dementors are coming-here," Harry tried to say calmly.
"Was there anything-?" Hermione began, having to stop and swallow, "Anyone-else?"
"No, not that we could see. Not-yet," Harry responded, apparently trying not to become absorbed in the true meaning of those words. "Fred, George-have you two ever cast a Patronus?"
Fred and George looked at each other. "We studied the theory, but we never got in any real practice," George said.
"The Defense Against the Dark Arts professors always made it extra credit to try and come up with one," Fred explained.
"And naturally, you guys were too busy," Ron said accusingly.
"Look who's talking, Ron!" Fred complained. "When did you ever-"
Hermione suddenly stood up, throwing off her weariness to interrupt. "Gentlemen, those are real dementors out there-and they're coming here now. You can discuss who's teacher's pet later!" Hermione said tensely. "What do you think we should do, Harry? You're as close as we've got to an expert on dementors here."
"I think we should try and take them on outside. That way we aren't as likely to get trapped," Harry said. "Plus they'd get through the windows anyway."
"But Harry-maybe you should stay in here and we'll protect the door-" Ron started.
"Are you mad, Ron?" Harry interrupted. "Unless you can conjure one up, I may be the only one here who can cast a Patronus-if I'm that lucky-and you think I should be sitting here inside? You can forget that!"
"But you're the one they want, Harry!" Hermione said.
"And they're dementors, Harry-you know what they do to you," Ron reminded.
Harry set his mouth in the stubborn way his friends had seen many times before. "I'm going out there with you-that's all there is to it."
Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. They both knew the discussion about protecting Harry was over. But seeing into Hermione's eyes brought a different thought to Ron as well.
"Hermione-maybe you should stay in the cottage and guard Valeria, since it doesn't look like the dementors are in her mind now, just outside. That way you'll be sa-" Ron stopped himself mid-word and turned away, hoping that if she couldn't see his face, she wouldn't be able to read from it what he had almost said.
"That way I'll be-what?" Hermione said, narrowing her eyes.
Ron slowly turned back to face her. Bloody hell-I thought maybe she'd got past being angry with me. Guess not. Well-might as well dive right in with it then-maybe if she sees that I only want to protect her- Ron took a deep breath and moved closer to speak softly to Hermione so that everyone wasn't privy to the conversation. "Look, I know that you're really tired from casting the Light Spell, and I just thought maybe it would be better for you to stay-"
"Stop it, Ron!" Hermione said loudly, causing Ron to blink in surprise and pull back from her.
Startled, everyone turned to look at the girl with fire in her eyes, but she didn't seem to care.
"How dare you!" Hermione said, stepping up in Ron's face. "How dare you think that just because we-we-" she looked around at the other faces aimed in her direction. She glanced down for a moment and began to blink rapidly, then looked up again and continued forcefully. "You have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do! I'll be out there with my life on the line just like the rest of you!"
Hermione tossed her head and walked to wait by the door, wand at the ready.
"Is Expecto Patronum!the only spell that works against dementors?" George asked.
"If you blast away at them-you might be able to stall them-as long as you keep at it," Harry said.
George looked at his twin with a darkly sarcastic expression. "Oh, this sounds good."
"We'll need to keep them in a group when they come. Even if only one slips away, that can be the one who sneaks up on you from behind," Harry advised. "And as you already know, it only takes one."
"I don't know if it helps any, Harry. But I don't think the dementors will kill you," Valeria said.
Harry snorted. "I know. Voldemort's got bigger plans for me. How lucky can I get?"
Ron realized they'd have to do something about Valeria. "You'll just have to stay out of the way-in here, I reckon."
Valeria looked a bit dazed by it all. "Ron, I think you'd better make sure they don't make me help them. I guess the dementors did something to stop that Leg-Locker thing."
"It wasn't the dementors, they can't do magic. The only one in your mind to know the countercurse would have been-," Ron stopped as the realization came to him who they were actually dealing with and who had undone the very curse he'd cast the night before. "But you're right-it didn't work."
"Do you have anything to tie me up with, then? Otherwise, they might take me over, and make me attack you from behind. It's the only thing I can think of to do."
Ron didn't have time to worry about Valeria, but he felt an instant of sadness for her; it had to be hard for her to tell others to restrain her because she had no control over her own actions. She may not have been able to banish the dementors from her mind, but for a Muggle who'd been thrown into the ugliest part of the magical world, she had shown some remarkable spirit.
"Are you sure?" Ron asked Valeria.
She nodded.
"George, tie Valeria to that beam over there," Ron said, pointing at the thick post that was part of the stone room divider.
"Ron, I don't want to be inside. I don't want to be hiding. You're all going to fight them, aren't you? Let me show them I can fight them too-please?" Valeria requested. "I still want you to tie me up because I'm afraid of what they might make me do to you. But I want them to see that I'm not afraid of them. Not anymore."
Ron closed his mouth, which had fallen open slightly, and stared a moment at this new Valeria. He answered quietly. "Right then. There's a tree out there. The dementors are coming from the opposite direction right now, and that will put us between you and the dementors. But I'm not sure how well we can protect you-we may not do very well ourselves."
"You're the only friends I've ever had, and even if I can't help you in any way, at least I'll be out there with you. Then if something happens and you don't make it, I'll just end up going with you. At least I won't die alone," she said with the courage of someone who had faced down death before.
Ron felt his eyes get warm and tingly a moment, but he forced himself to ignore it; he knew they were running short on time. "Erm, okay. Outside, then," Ron said.
The six of them piled out of the door into the brightening morning light.
"I'll take care of tying up Valeria," Fred offered, preparing to swish some magical ropes out of his wand.
George shoved his way in front of his twin to get next to the dark-haired girl. "The hell you will!" George said in a strange, determined sort of voice. He gently guided Valeria to the tree by her elbow, then moved closer to tie her hands carefully, yet firmly together around the trunk.
Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Fred looked up the hill and found the dementors had already closed the distance from the granite outcropping by half. Another minute and the gruesome beings would be close enough to start affecting the psyches of the teenagers, making them feel depressed, hopeless, and defeated.
The five friends tried to prepare themselves for the bad feelings that would pour in on them. But their senses of logic told them this was an uphill battle even before the first dementor came near. They were already outnumbered and sensing they were ill-equipped to cope with the power of the dementors even using their magic. They were feeling ever so young and inexperienced.
Attempting to fight the rising tide of fear and insecurity in himself, Ron realized that the dementor's attack had really begun hours ago. The more powerful element of their assault had been the simple act of letting the fear and despair seep into the five friends as they contemplated what the dementors and Voldemort would do to them and the rest of their world. Those thoughts served to eat away at their courage and muddle their minds far more effectively even than watching the dementors themselves glide down the trail-that move was only the final blow.
Grim looks on their faces, the four friends spread out around the front of the cottage with Harry in the center of the group. George finally lined up with them against their oncoming opponents. They couldn't afford for any of the dementors to work their way around behind them and get close. They all knew that for dementors, close was good enough.
"How many of them do you think there are?" George asked.
"I don't know," Ron answered. "But we'd better count when they get closer. We'll have to keep track of all of them."
From the outset, it was easy to tell that the dementors were focused on Harry. The queue coming down the path was the most concentrated in the center, their nucleus aimed directly toward The Boy Who Lived.
Ron watched the tall black cloaks approaching. Flashing rapidly through his mind were all of the fears he'd been dealing with since this had all started half a year ago: the connection with Ginny in Snape's class; that first dementor he'd felt with her and Malfoy in the library; Valeria as 'the screamer'. He remembered his poor luck with a Patronus, even if his telempathy had eventually taken care of the boggart.
But the practice sessions were long ago and far away. This was real. Ron glanced quickly at Harry, who was the only one standing with the solid and determined look of a seasoned warrior on his face. Harry had been here before-he'd already tasted evil like this many times-in fact, dementors held only a fraction of the Darkness Harry had been forced to deal with in his young life. Though obviously reluctant, Ron could tell his friend was setting himself to cast his Patronus: wand poised-concentrating-jaw set.
"Ugly bastards, aren't they?" Fred asked anyone who would answer. No one did.
In the face of the oncoming struggle, the teenagers clung desperately to their sense of self, their confidence and their hope. In truth, those were the only real weapons they had.
Ron began to feel the sadness nibbling at his mind; the dementor sickness was starting. It made him wish he was at home in the Burrow, safe under his parents' roof. He began to doubt himself, almost wishing he had never left home. The blackness and despair grew deeper with every foot the dementors gained.
Not far from him, Ron heard Hermione begin to chant quietly. Fred and George joined in with their own separate incantations several moments later. The battle had begun.
"Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!" Harry chanted next to Ron. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron could see the beginning of a silver glimmer from the end of Harry's wand.
The dementors were within one hundred feet now.
"How many do you get?" Ron asked George, counting.
"Eleven."
"Me, too."
Ron looked toward Hermione, who was standing with wand poised. She was too far away for him to read her lips from the side, but if her concentration was any indication, her curses should hold strong-if they could just hold out for Harry's Patronus!
Where's your Patronus, Weasley? You've at least got to try! The weight of the sadness on him told him he'd better start now, before it was too late. Good thoughts, he told himself. Good thoughts! Being sixteen, Hermione, the Quidditch team, smacking Malfoy in the face-one punch after another!
Ron's concentration on his spell stopped him from paying as much attention to what was going on around him. Helping Valeria-being a telempath and -I'm only one of a few!...
Using a Banishing Charm, George was having some luck repeatedly setting two or three dementors back a few steps when they got too close, but Ron knew that all his brother could do with the spell was buy some time.
Fred cast a Hex-Deflection Curse, hoping it would protect him a bit from the feelings the dementors created in him. That failing to help, he was now experimenting with "Impedimenta!", flying pieces of firewood into the paths of the dementors. It was working for the moment, but again, all it would do is buy time.
Hermione's Obliviate Spell confused the dementors for a few minutes at a time. As it changed and erased their memories, they would stop, bewildered, while she tried to work on her first Patronus long enough to pull one together. But it seemed that the dementors had some sort of collective consciousness that replaced the memories after a short while, so that they remembered their goal again far too soon.
Ron watched a silvery wisp trail from the end of his own wand. It's working! Come on, good thoughts! "Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!" he chanted.
Next to him, Ron watched Harry focus on his stag Patronus as it began to emerge from his wand, but Ron saw he was having trouble. The dementors were too close, and the sickness always got to Harry first. Ron prayed that his friend hadn't waited too late to start his spell.
Ron's excitement at the creation of his own Patronus was weakened by the realization that Harry might not pull through with his. The silvery form at the end of his friend's wand stopped growing, beginning to look limp and lifeless. Ron could feel his blood turn cold-Harry's silver stag Patronus was the heart of their hope.
Without breaking his concentration, Ron tried to see how bad things were becoming. Hermione was shaking her head, apparently trying to clear it. His brothers were doing the same. The dementor sickness was getting to them.
The three dementors that George had been battling were catching on to the Banishing Spell-they moved forward faster during the times that the spell wasn't setting them back, gaining ground toward George each time they broke through. They'd given up on pursuing Harry for the moment, intent on ridding their path of George first.
Something caught Ron's attention from the corner of his eye and he looked skyward in time to see several pieces of firewood that Fred had fired at the dementors flying back toward him and his brother.
"Fred! Get back!" he shouted. Ron jumped out of the way of two, but a third caught his left arm, a sharp branch stub slicing through his shirt and into his shoulder.
Glancing quickly at his own oozing injury, Ron heard a sickening thud. He looked to his side to see Fred stagger, blink, then return to his chanting, looking bleary-eyed and dazed, but fighting on nonetheless. A large chunk of firewood lay on the ground next to his brother's foot-Ron couldn't even afford the time to stop and see the blood running from the nasty gash above Fred's left eye.
Dementors can't do that! How did that wood come flying back at us? It couldn't be-
Ron squinted into the woods at the side of the trail in time to see the shadow of a short figure as it dashed behind a tree, the figure flashing a quick glint of silver in the emerging sun. It certainly wasn't a dementor, but it didn't look impressive enough to be You-Know-Who either, or at least what he knew of him from what Harry had told him.
As he swung his head to the left to look for the figure in the woods, he heard Hermione's frantic shout.
"Ron-nine!" Hermione called out quickly, maintaining her focus straight ahead at her own dementor opponents.
"What?" he said.
"Nine-only nine are there-where are the other two?"
Ron took a deep breath and looked around himself frantically. Oh, gods, no! He'd have to work on his Patronus later. If he didn't find those two dementors before they found Harry, anything the rest of them did might be useless anyway.
The missing dementors could be with Valeria, but it doesn't look promising,Ron thought. She was standing next to her tree, still tied up. She appeared to be pleading with someone, although no one was visible nearby. He couldn't tell if the two dementors had gone to invade her mind or not, but she didn't look yet like she was struggling to get free.
Where the bloody hell could they be? Ron thought frantically.
Then, in an instant, Harry slid to the ground. Two dementors, their cloaks still sliding from the sills of the cottage windows a short distance behind Harry, were nearly upon him. Wood from the pile had rolled down on Harry from behind, knocking his feet out from under him.
Harry's Patronus had disappeared. Ron could feel the dementors take heart in its departure and in Harry's fall. He could hear Hermione and his brothers pick up the speed and urgency of their chanting in response to the dementors, who were now closing in faster and with more confidence. The black-cloaked beasts started to make gurgling, squeaking noises in their eager anticipation of feeding hungrily upon the young, fresh, spirited teenage souls. Though the dementors might have known that Potter and the black-haired girl were off-limits, the other four were up for grabs, and each dementor looked anxious to make sure they were the first to get their share.
Ron felt the terror pouring in on him, on top of the despair and the black feelings of defeat. He wasn't going to be able to save them-they weren't going to be able to save themselves. He was only sixteen, and he was going to die.
But then he felt something familiar-something strangely comforting.
Ron felt rage-the same rage that had caused him such misery with others, the same that had put him in heaps of trouble at home and school, the same rage that had nearly caused him to lose some of the most precious things in his life. But it felt good-it was hisrage-he possessed it and knew how to use it-and he knew it was going to give him the will to fight now.
The adrenaline raced through his veins, helping to clear Ron's mind a little. I'll be damned if I'm going to let these bloody monsters do anything to my friends and family!
He rushed to Harry, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him to his feet. Harry's head lolled from side to side-the dementor sickness really had hold of him now.
Struggling to hold Harry up with one arm wrapped around his friend's chest, Ron turned to the two approaching dementors, pointing his wand directly at them. "Come on, you bastards! Come and get me! You're not getting him until you've sucked my soul dry first!"
The two dementors slowed their forward movement and floated from side to side, their empty hoods pointed toward Ron and Harry. They weren't leaving, but they weren't coming any nearer either.
"Come on!" Ron shouted, flicking his wand at them to urge them into taking on his spell. Whatever that might end up being, he thought uncertainly.
The wariness of the dementors gave Ron a split second to think about Harry. He glanced into his best friend's face, only inches away. He could tell Harry was fighting to come to the surface, but he was drowning in the dementor sickness. Ron shuddered to think what Harry was hearing right now-his mother's screams, his father's shouts, Voldemort laughing evilly. "Come on, Harry," Ron pleaded quietly in Harry's ear. "Good thoughts. Find them-they're in there."
Then it hit him. OF COURSE!
He remembered Hermione's spell. Pointing his wand at each of the two rotting creatures in turn, he shouted, "Obliviate!"
The two dementors became disoriented, drifting a few feet here and there, but they were no longer focused on Ron and Harry for the moment. Glancing behind him swiftly, Ron could see his brothers and Hermione looking worried, but still fending off the other nine dementors nonetheless.
"Keep fighting! We're not done yet!" Ron shouted encouragingly.
Knowing he had only a few minutes, Ron took deep breaths, forcing himself to close his eyes and concentrate. He'd been there before, and it wouldn't be pretty going in, but he hadto find Harry's mind.
Able to hear the sounds of an attack going on in the distance, screaming and shouting, evil laughter, a baby calling his mother, Ron thought he'd better start trying from here. He couldn't see, but could feel a black cloud growing in the distance, enveloping all that was good and positive in Harry's mind, trying to snuff out any good feelings as if they were candles in some dark night.
*Harry! I'm here-you're not alone. We'll fight together-there are good thoughts in here-you know it, too. Think of Sirius-he's waiting for you-you're going to live with him soon-think how great that will be! You have friends who love you, and you know you're an adopted Weasley-Mum and Dad would kill me if I left you here!"*
*Ron?*Harry thought groggily to him.
It's working!-At least he knows I'm here!
*Which way are you-can't find you-*
*Stay there-I'll find you,* Ron thought back. He was going to have to get closer to all those horrible things in Harry's mind for his friend to feel his presence, but Ron knew what he had to do before he tried. Glancing at his brothers and Hermione still fighting ever more feebly with the other dementors, the rage returned at full-force in him once more. The adrenaline gave him the strength and the courage to go further.
*We're still fighting them, Harry. But we can't go on much longer without you. We need you, mate!* Ron moved closer to the darkness and evil that he could feel in his friend's mind. The dark cloud no longer felt like it was growing, though.
*Remember all the great things we've done together? Remember when we had to fly the Ford Anglia to get to Hogwarts? Then we landed in the Whomping Willow and all, but remember how wicked everyone else thought it was when we did it?*
Harry grunted a little in response.
*Remember when we managed to save Sirius and Buckbeak, all of us together-and get them both out of Hogwarts to safety?*
Harry opened his eyes wearily. *Yeah,* he thought. *That was pretty great.*
The excitement of seeing Harry awake again caused the adrenaline rush to swell in Ron even stronger. He could barely feel the dementor sickness in himself now-and bringing back Harry was feeling so good that the Darkness didn't stand a chance. *The second task-remember the second task? We saved Fleur's little sister together-well, I sort of helped-a little-*
Harry gave a little snort and Ron felt his friend take some of his own weight onto his legs. From this close, Ron almost thought he saw the corner of Harry's mouth tilt up a centimeter. *Yeah, right-a very little.*
Yaahaa! Harry's back!
*Crikey, Ron!*
Harry complained in his mind.*Yeah, I'm here. Stop shouting so loud-my head!*
*Okay, okay-but we need you, mate. Think I can help you with that Patronus? You do the spell, I'll push the good thoughts-we'll blast these bloody bastards back to You-Know-Who- in pieces, if I have anything to do with it! Ready?*
*Let's do it.*
Still unsure as to whether Harry was ready to stand fully on his own, Ron left his arm behind Harry's back to stabilize him, but he turned both of their bodies to face the two closest dementors. The Obliviate Spell Ron had done earlier was beginning to wear off, and the dementors were acting as if they remembered exactly why they were supposed to be there.
"I'm going to say it out loud now," Ron said. "Maybe it'll help Hermione and the twins. But I'm not leaving your mind until these-things-are out of here. What shall we blow these two away with? Quidditch?"
"Why not?" Harry said quietly but firmly, just before he pointed his wand straight at the two dementors who were moving closer again. He began to chant "Expecto Patronum!"once more.
Ron could feel that Harry was encouraged just because the two of them were together. They were both becoming more confident that Harry's strength was returning, which increased the good feelings in them both, which made them stronger against the dementors. The cycle was going theirway now-the momentum had changed.
"Remember when the Slytherins thought they were winning the whole game since they'd stayed ahead by ten all day, then you went and grabbed the Snitch right out from under Malfoy's nose?" Ron pointed his wand at the dementors as well, wondering if it would help focus the power of their dual thoughts at all.
Just after Ron's hand went up, Harry's wand hand began to shake as he held it in front of him. A wisp of silver began to smolder from the end of Harry's wand, weaving itself into thicker and thicker threads, winding and twisting into the beginning of the Patronus itself.
Harry and Ron didn't break their concentration on what they were doing, but the connection made them aware that they were wondering why his hand was shaking. That had only happened once before-when Harry's wand was locked with Voldemort's. This shaking was different in a good way-it was the fusion of Ron's and Harry's strength causing it now-but Harry's instant recollection of the struggle with Voldemort reminded them both of the gravity of their situation.
The two dementors stopped floating forward, and their hoods began to turn away, as if they had to force themselves to face something that was coming from Harry and Ron's direction. The black-cloaked beings started to move from side to side again in frustration, but began to act oddly, as if they wanted to abandon the whole idea of moving in on the two boys.
Ron kept talking, Harry kept chanting.
*Can you walk?* Ron thought to Harry in between his lists of good thoughts.
Without missing a syllable of his chant Harry thought back to him. *Yeah.*
The two of them took a step together, moving closer to the dementors. The dementors just as quickly swung away. Acknowledging to each other in their minds that that was quite wicked, Harry and Ron took another step. The dementors floated away twice as far as they'd gone before.
Ron glanced behind him to see who was having the most trouble fending off the other dementors. George, Fred, and Hermione all looked equally worn, weak, and sick. But Ron knew whose mind, together with his and Harry's, would make the three of them feel invincible.
*Keep the good thoughts flowing, Harry. If nothing else, think of how scared we've got these two. I'll be back in a few seconds-I'm going for Hermione,* Ron thought.
Finding her was easy-there were lots of emotions there to work with: fear, hatred, anger, frustration. Watching her from a distance as he found and entered her mind, Ron saw Hermione flinch physically. Her concentration on what she was doing was so strong that she was very sensitive to any changes at all, inside or out. Within her mind, the dementors were slowly winning with their despair, but she was pushing them away with all her might, even if she knew it was a losing battle. Ron watched her for an instant as she resisted them bravely and strongly, fighting as much with her will and her courage as with her spells.
No wonder the Sorting Hat made you a Gryffindor, Hermione! he thought. You'd never give in- they'd have to fight you to the bitter end. Gods, you're amazing!
And Ron decided thatwould be the first good thought he'd send into her mind.
*You-are just-* Ron started, before realizing that what he felt for her right now was even too powerful for him to describe inside the connection. *You should feel it yourself-there are no words to tell you how you look to me right now, but-feel this.*
Ron let some of what he was feeling spill forth and out of his mind into hers. He couldn't possibly have explained it, and was so thankful for the connection that let her experience it for herself. If they never got out of this alive-at least she'd know once how deeply he cared for her.
Even through her concentration straight ahead and on the spell that was keeping the dementors at bay, Hermione's mouth fell open slightly as she took in a sharp breath of air and shivered. Her eyes opened wide as she felt the power of the emotion Ron was sending her. It was easy to tell that his feeling had strengthened her-she stood straighter and acted less weary immediately.
*Now you know better why you're fighting so hard-because that's part of what you and I are fighting for,* Ron said. *Harry and I are coming your way-watch for the dementors behind you-we're chasing them back to the others,* Ron thought.
*They're moving-away-from you?* Hermione thought to him in surprise. The three dementors in front of her were alternately trying to find a space to move in closer. She had been unable to see any of what had happened after Harry fell.
*Yep-he's bringing the Patronus-I'm bringing the good thoughts- we're bouncing these black-hooded monsters back where they came from. Just a second-* Ron paused a moment, *-okay, we're all three connected now. They were much more afraid of our good thoughts with two of us, Hermione-think what it'll be with three. Help us think of all the great stuff we've done together. Ha- these dementors don't stand a chance!*
*Like when it took all three of us to figure out how to find the Sorceror's Stone? But we did it anyway-and we were only first years!* Hermione thought to them.
*Exactly-that's it, Hermione! Keep going! Harry's chanting-he can't talk-but I don't think his Patronus is far away!* Ron thought. He looked in front of him at the glistening silver figure emanating from Harry's wand. It was now over half the size of both of them together, the proud antlers and powerful forequarters of the mighty stag were taking shape.
"Ready, Harry?"
Harry was strong enough to stand and walk on his own by now, but Ron left his hand on Harry's shoulder. It was easier to keep the wands focused that way, and, even though Ron's wand was not contributing to the Patronus directly, it seemed to add strength to Harry's wand because they were focused on fighting the dementors together. Harry nodded to Ron.
*Then let's chase these ruddy black beasties back to their flock,* Ron said.
Moving first in tentative steps toward the two dementors near them, Harry and Ron picked up speed and length in their steps as the dementors began to float in the opposite direction. At first the dementors still faced them and moved backwards, but as they became more intimidated by the emerging Patronus, and the two wands pointed at them in unison, they turned their backs and began to hurry away even more quickly.
Guiding the two dementors by moving their wands, Harry and Ron pushed the two dementors around Hermione and circled them into a group with the other three in front of her.
"Touch Harry, Hermione," Ron said. "Focus your wand with ours."
Harry swung around so that he was between Ron and Hermione.
Hermione felt confident enough to take her eyes from the dementors in front of her for the first time since she'd begun to fend them off. She glanced into Ron's face, then Harry's, then hooked her arm through Harry's as she pointed her wand straight ahead.
"You don't know how good it is to see you two," Hermione said to both of them, giving a little sigh of relief.
Now that the three of them were together, it felt almost certain that everything was going to be all right.
"Let's trade off-good thoughts, then helping Harry," Ron said. For some reason, just hearing one another's voices felt pretty good, too. "On with the good thoughts-have one, Hermione?"
"Ah, yes-summer at the Burrow," she offered. As the three of them thought about all of the great times they'd had at Ron's home in the summer, they started to chant in time with Harry.
The three voices mingled with one another as they spoke out, "Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!"
Harry's wand hand started shaking so violently that it was difficult for him to hold it steady. Ron and Hermione pushed their own outstretched wand hands up against his to help him hold it still between theirs.
Instantly, in a blinding flash of light that gave them spots before their eyes, a glowing silver-white animal sprang from Harry's wand, landing firmly on its feet before the five dementors.
Muscles rippling through its shimmering body, the stag stood at attention. It stared for a minute at the stunned dementors with disdain, as if their sort of life form had no business existing in the same world with the stag itself, or with the teenagers standing behind him. Pawing the ground restlessly with a hoof of opalescent light, the stag lowered its impressive set of antlers and charged.
The dementors moved about nervously within their group, wondering who would break and run first. It turned out that they all started to float away quickly at the same time, their movements becoming more animalistic as they picked up speed to avoid what appeared to be the power of an oncoming train.
As the ground shook beneath the hoof beats of the stag, the animal reached the slowest dementor of the group, tangling the figure's robes in its antlers. The stag bowed lower and scooped the dementor's body into the crook of the set of vicious points. Lifting its mighty head and tossing it, the dementor was thrown into the air, falling some feet away and well into the middle of another group of three dementors that had been trying to overcome Fred.
The four dementors scrambling from near the ground by Fred seemed to communicate with one another in some way, then moved quickly away. Their path took them near the last group of three who were battling with George, then all of the dementors grouped at once and reluctantly turned once more to face the stag and the teenagers behind it.
"Fred! George! Join us-think good thoughts-everything we've done together-the more people we have, the harder it is for them!" Ron said. He, Harry and Hermione had followed in the path of the stag as it moved between the front of the cottage and the foot of the trail that the dementors had come down. The three of them stood, wands still pointed in unison at the dementors, pouring good thoughts through their minds and their wands, touching to show their unity. Fred and George, now able to abandon their dementor struggles, ran to join the trio. With one twin on each end, Ron reached even farther with his mind and stretched the connection to include them-they held up their wands to point with the other three.
Five wands, five minds, and five hearts were all united by the memorable and amazing experiences they'd had as friends. Ron was right-the dementors didn't stand a chance.
Leaving reluctantly as if they realized something awful was waiting for them at the end of their journey, the dementors turned back a little, one at a time, then floated up the path from which they came. They refused to even face the stag and whatever force was emanating from the end of the united wands, but something seemed to be troubling them, even as much as they apparently wished to leave.
"Wait a minute," Hermione said, looking intensely at the group. "There are only ten. Where's the other one?"
All five friends started to look around quickly, trying to avoid breaking the train of good thoughts, even though they felt nothing of the dementor sickness that should have been affecting them with the beasts still this close.
"Erm-look," Ron said, pointing at the tree where Valeria had been tied. The tall girl was crumpled on the ground, groggy or worse. She was slumped against the tree, her face pushed up on one side, her eyes closed. Her hands hung loosely where they were tied around the tree.
A lone dementor stood staring at her. As if in frustration, it kept reaching its claws out toward her, then pulling them back, as if it was trying to keep itself from attacking. It seemed oblivious to the rest of the activity that had gone on around it.
"Oh, gods, you don't suppose-" George started.
"No, I don't think so. If her soul was already gone, I don't think it would look so anxious to have her," Hermione reasoned.
As if feeling all of the eyes on it somehow, the dementor's hood turned. It did not seem to sense the presence of the other dementors anymore, which caused it to act in a rather panicked way. It backed away from Valeria.
But it was obvious the Patronus didn't feel like waiting to see if the dementor would leave. The stag trotted to the lone dementor, lowering its head and shoving the dementor away roughly with its antlers. The dementor quickly floated away as the rest of its group gave some sign to let it know where they were.
The stag Patronus trotted after the group of dementors, standing guard and watching them until they were well up the side of the mountain, heading toward the castle ruin.
The magnificent animal then trotted back towards the group of five students who stood wearily together, bloodied, gasping for air, exhausted, and still leaning on one another for support in front of the little stone cottage.
The stag stopped at the edge of the path near a particularly dense wooded area. It looked back at the students, then bowed its head as if in salute. The shimmering animal seemed to recognize the power of the friendship and unity that had brought it into existence once more and allowed it to force the dementors away. How the five friends could surmise all of this from the gaze of the stag was unknown to them, but since they were still mentally connected, what one felt, they all felt together.
As Harry's protector first and foremost, the stag studied the friends, apparently able to feel their dedication toward saving each other, and especially, toward protecting Harry. The animal seemed at once grateful and pleased that Harry had found such a brave, strong and resourceful group of friends to defend and look after him whenever the stag Patronus couldn't do it himself.
Harry had been watching the stag carefully, as he had each of the several times he had managed to produce it. The stag returned the deep gaze into Harry's eyes, but it was waiting for something. At once, Harry seemed to realize what that was. He smiled a small, weary smile, and weakly lifted his hand to wave once-the stag acknowledged his efforts with a dip of its head-then it bounded into the trees and out of sight.