Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

A/N: Last of the memories. Happy Holidays!

Chapter 22: Soul Complete

"Ron Weasley took care of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger when they were too busy taking care of the rest of the world to worry about themselves."

-Solemyswearr

Part 4 of Memories lost: Coming Back

Pius Thickness stood at the head of them. Pristine as ever, Robes a brilliant burgundy against the black robed, white masked Death Eaters. Appearing out of thin air, the muggles who'd been unsettled by Ron's presence now began to flee in earnest. Screaming and dragging their children behind them, heading for the exits.

Ron stepped forward, picking up one of the abandoned café drinks outside of a shop, the man had even left his suit case. He took a sip as he walked forward, it tasted a little like coffee, but more like caramel, sweeter than the disgusting cappuccino Hermione liked. It tasted pretty good, actually. It hurt a little though, hot against his cracked and bleeding lips. Nothing like the cool, easing water.

A muggle woman slowed down enough to tug at his arm. When he met her eyes they were urging him to leave. They didn't know who these Death Eater were, didn't know why they were here, but they could sense, on some level, the amount of danger they were. She was a heftier woman, with the bearings of a mother. She reminded him of his own mother, probably taken to carrying the clock around again as her children fought a war outside her doors. The moment startled him into speech.

"Go. If you stay, you'll die," Ron told her.

The woman tugged at his arm again, her fingers close to the gaping wound across his wrist. She glanced at the men then at him.

"Sarah!" A man called, grabbing the woman's arm. "We have to go."

"Come with us!" She urged.

"They'll just follow. They're here for me, not any of you, this is the end of the line for me."

The man stared at him a moment, before grabbing his wife around the waist and hauling her in the opposite direction.

"I'm sorry," the man said.

They were soon gone, with the rest of the muggles. Ron wondered how long it would take for the damage to be fixed after Harry defeated Voldemort. He wondered how many minds would have to be wiped and if it were even possible to remedy it. He remembered the muggle headlines he and Hermione found about the huge pile up of cars caused by Death Eaters hunting Harry. The muggles called it an 'unexplained phenomenon.' Some called it a terrorist attack, others claimed it was a natural catastrophe, something in the earth. None of the stories matched up and only the craziest of theories had anything close to the truth.

Is that how his death would be seen?

Was there, at this very moment, battles going on just like this one? Survivors. Rebels. Muggleborns. Half-bloods. Purists. All fighting on the streets and in alleys, in stores and in homes, on every front there were casualties taking place.

They never knew what happened to Gideon and Fabien Prewitt. They're bodies couldn't even be found. The only confirmation they had was of some Death Eater piece of shit under Veritaserum stating that he and five other Death Eaters had ambushed them after they'd broken the taboo on Voldemort's name.

Last words and thoughts.

Last actions.

Last brotherly stand.

They were only known to the Death Eaters who had murdered them.

Harry and Hermione would never know how sorry he was, how much he loved them both. They would never know what happened to him or how much he regretted his decision. They would never know about the Shadow or of Abagail and Mary. They wouldn't know anything about Rose.

'Will you help me? One more time?' Ron asked the shadow.

Ron didn't have to look down to know his veins had begun to turn black. A wet sensation ran down his cheeks, black dripping onto the lid of his stolen drink. A Death Eater with a porcelain mask of an elf shot a spell at him. He dodged, finding himself further in the center of the Train Station. Pius Thickness held out his arm, stalling them.

"Ronald Billius Weasley," Pius declared, holding out a paper with Ron's face upon it, "You are hereby sentenced to death for the murder of Westerfield and Dolohov, for resisting questioning in concerns to the location of the number one most wanted wizard Harry James Potter, for assisting the number one most wanted wizard Harry James Potter in attempting to overthrow our savior the dark one, for destroying a dark mark in Hogsmeade, for assisting in the escape of several wanted wizards and witches…"

Ron took another sip of the warm drink, letting it trickle down his throat and warm his insides. Then he set it on the ground. The lid showed lips marks, like what Ron witnessed on women's cups, lipstick. Only instead of the pink or bright red of gloss it was the red of blood and black of infection.

"Surrender," Pius was still talking. "The dark lord will show lenience if you declare your loyalty."

Ron pulled out his deluminator. Hoping it out before him, almost casually.

"I think it's time that the snakes die in the darkness they so love," Ron called.

"And what is that?" A Death Eater chuckled, stepping forward to stand beside Pius. "A toy from your brother's shop?"

Ron smiled and clicked the deluminator.

Thrown into complete darkness, Pius and the Death Eater's scrambled to cast Lumos spells. A few tried to relight the Train Station to no success. Just as Ron predicted. They would be forced to choose between Lumos and offensive spells. All the while those light spells would do little good, since the Shadow was now completely wrapped around him. They wouldn't be able to locate him even with their magic.

Picking up the discarded coffee Ron tossed the latte as far from him as possible, the cup smashing across the ground, followed by at least a dozen curses in its general vicinity. Silencing his footsteps, a bloody good spell he'd learned from Charlie for working with dragons, Ron moved as fast as possible towards where the curses had come from. Feeling no regret at all, Ron non-verbally slashed his wand forward in the deadly Avada Kadavra before throwing himself to the left.

The same moment he felt the heat of a curse inches from his feet, he heard a body drop.

The thing about being alone, surrounded by the enemy, was that Ron didn't need to worry about friendly fire or harming an ally. There was only himself to worry about. Here he was, again, by himself in the middle of a Death Eater raid. Only this time Ron wasn't running from the shadow or the voices in his head.

He was welcoming it like an old friend.

Full circle. At least that's what it felt like to Ron. People screaming and running for their lives. Death Eaters falling upon him. It seemed only appropriate to return the favor. The shadow, like some twisted, cracked shield, hovered over his skin like a second, living breathing skin. It would give him time he needed to perform the spell that could wipe out all these bastards. The spell whose instructions had been slipped to him by Dumbledore himself shortly before the man's death.

Ron started in on the first diagram, of eight, dodging rather than bringing his wand up to defend. Black threads lifted from his skin, blocking the random spell to get through.

There was something entirely too freeing about facing death. It no longer became a game of taking chances and strategy. More than anything else, it was a dance for fire brimstone. He was absolutely calm because he knew the outcome. There were too many of them. Yet… here he was, doing more for Harry and Hermione than he had when he was with them.

He'd gotten Rose to safety.

He was going to take out Death Eaters. Not one or two. All of them. He knew just the spell for it. Something he and Hermione had come across during their research to destroy hocruxes. Best of all, it had been right up Ron's alley. Ron pulled all of that freedom and determination into the first diagram, completing it.

"No, Ron," Hermione had hissed. "I know your good at fire spells, but this one… its far too advanced. It can't be controlled. Even Headmaster Dumbledore would have difficulty with this one."

"But it can destroy them," Ron had snapped. "We don't have anything else yet that can do that. I can do this. I can perform the spell. I can destroy them!"

"You could," Hermione said slowly. "But you would also be killing yourself in the process. This spell work is meant to destroy forests and armies. It's meant as a last resort."

Ron moved into the second diagram, watching as the last of the muggles escaped up the stairs. He just had to contain it to this one area. He had to make sure that it didn't go any further than that.

A thrill of excitement went through him. He was torn up and falling apart from his toes to his destroyed fingertips, but he was going down helping. For once in his miserable life he honestly felt as if he were going to make a difference. He forced those emotions into the diagram, taking a step left, dodging an Avada Kadavra at the same time.

The third diagram formed as easily as child's play. He drew up all of his hatred for the Death Eaters before him. Some he recognized before the lights went out, some he didn't, but all of them had the crimes they committed etched into their faces. The death of Hannah Abbots mother, the abduction of Olivander, the deaths of his late Uncles Fabien and Gideon… he remembered every radio broadcast announcing the names of the dead. He remembered the terror in Mrs. Cattermole's face as he led her out of the Ministry with all the other muggleborns. Finally, he remembered Abagail and Mary as they were slaughtered. He forced all of those hot, burning, hate filled emotions into the third diagram.

The thing about fiendfire, was that it was crafted by emotions. Much like a patronus, but fiendfire required eight, distinct emotions placed inside eight diagrams to fuel the beast of a spell. It didn't matter what they were, they just needed to be powerful.

Ron moved into the forth. The black threads around him shielding him from three separate slashing spells. He ducked down behind a pillar harboring a clock on its front. Guilt. Guilt for his attitude while they searched for Hocruxes, for making Hermione choose, for the words he'd spoken to harry, for leaving, for being incapable of saving Mary and Abagail. For not being good enough to help anyone. He slipped it all into number four, feeling both relief and aching sharpness as it left him.

The pillar fell.

Ron raced forward, dragging his wand through the air, drawing the fifth diagram as he did so. Little thought for this one. Love. Ron loved Hermione Granger. Ron loved Harry Potter. He loved Ginny and Fred and George and Percy the prat and Charlie and Bill and his mum and dad. He loved them all from his very core and fiber. He was in love and loved by and loved for a great many things and even though at times he doubted the people around him liked him very much, there had never been any doubt about love.

Ron dove behind a trash can, fire now spreading around him even as he moved into the sixth diagram. If it weren't for the shadow, he would have been dead ten times over already. But it held strong, slushing through his veins and organs, filling his with its dark infection, spreading the ache he was so familiar with until it blossomed into something far more terrible.

After love came loyalty. His need to protect all those he loved from harm. He pushed every moment he'd ever failed or succeeded in protecting others. Protecting Hermione from the Troll. Protecting Harry and Hermione from the chess set. Failing to protect Ginny from Tom Riddle. The determination to not ever let her hurt like that again. Failure to protect Harry from the tournament, aiding in hurting him. Failure to protect anyone at the Department of Mysteries. Even himself. Protecting Ginny and Hermione at the Battle of the Astronomy Tower. Protecting Tonks and Harry while traveling to Aunt Muriels. Trying to protect them from himself.

Seven. Joy. Dancing with Hermione. Teaching Ginny how to hover on her broom. Hands guiding her as his sister's eager smile shined just for him. Handing Harry his presents, watching the ever surprised warmth in his best friend's eyes. His mother's hugs. His father's chatter. Those moments when Fred or George pulled him in for a secret. Feeling included. As if he were important.

Eight. Hope. Harry would be an Auror. He would conquer over Voldemort and his best friend would finally be able to live. Hermione would be brilliant at everything; at law, at gaining rights for muggleborns and elves and whoever the fuck else she decided to free. The future would be bright. No Voldemort or Death Eaters. Lucious Malfoy and Greyback and Beatrice and all those monsters would be dead or behind bars. His family would live. Thrive. The world over would know their name and know their victories and no one would ever stand against them again. There would be peace.

The fiendfire roared its approval as it came into being.

Fiendfire formed according to the creator's magic. For Dumbledore the fire beast had formed a Phoenix, for Crabbe, before it went berserk and spreading out like an ocean of death, it had been a serpent. For Ron Weasley, the creature before him was a Boston Terrier crup, its forked, long tail swishing back and forth, burning the floor beneath it.

The Train station was thrown from darkness to light.

Ron pulled his final trick out, an idea he'd been toying with for the entirety of his captivity. He flicked open the deluminator, but rather than allowing he light to return to its norm, or taking the fiedfire into the container, he drew it out, creating one long strand of light. He guided it forward, looping around the Dog Fiendfire, like a leash.

At the hellish sight of one Ron Weasley, shadow possessed, wielding a leashed fiendfire, most of the Death Eaters fled. The remaining took a weary step back, but did not retreat.

"Do you like my toy?" Ron rasped.

The floor began to melt under the fiendfire's paws. First white hot then a curling black ash. With a flick of his wrist it pounced. One Death Eater screamed, the flimsy water shield he pulled up doing nothing against the fire beast. He was consumed, the mask becoming a part of his body as it melted against him.

The others were more prepared. Reinforced shields being thrown up and fixed as quickly as they were being destroyed. It was hard. Reining the fiendfire in. Diverting it from the stairs and the train tracks. Like digging his fingers into ice to get at the dirt underneath. It stung and was only marginally successful.

Pius was the most successful. The man saw Ron's tactic, his avoidance of the muggle tracks. The man was keeping close to the rails, shooting off spells at him from far off. Ron had to concentrate on keeping the fiendfire under control and was incapable of using any other spells while the fire raged from his right hand with the wand and the deluminator's leash in his left hand. He could only doge and rely on the shadow to protect him.

The terrier growled, leaping forward and attacking shields left and right, two went down, one Death Eater escaping and rushing up a set of stairs while another had no chance to scream, his body blackening and crumbling even as the man tried to crawl away.

One by one they fell.

Until a different sort of light entered the area.

The headlights of an incoming train filled the Train station, illuminating Ron and the Death Eaters. It was accompanied by the automated voice of a muggle, informing them all that the E-line was docking. Ron cursed. The lights revealed Pius Thickness, staring at the approaching train with glee. It roared along the tracks, metal and glass, filled with innocent muggles.

Ron urged the fiendfire to desist, to retract, pulling his wand back with all the force left in him. The leash, deluminator light, sensing his intentions, began to retract.

But it was too late.

Pius Thickness pointed his wand at the incoming train and spoke the most unexpected of spells.

"Accio Train ."

Glass shattered. Metal contorted. And the train came. Wheels screeching and crunching against metal as it was forced out of its designated lane and onto the Train Station's small underground platform. Ron never saw the people inside, but he heard them. Voiced falling into sync in one chilling wail of fear.

Heading straight for him.

Ron closed his eyes, forcing peace and acceptance into his heart. Willing his fiendfire, at least, to not make this worse. He felt it fade away from his magic. A smallest flicker of fire extinguished.

Idly, he wondered what the unknown Pius had down before he became a puppet to the dark lord, before he hunted down innocent people and killed on a whim. It was an odd thought. Certainly not one Ron ever imagined would be his last ones.

He was spent though.

He was ready.

The train was a roaring monster. A flashing, thundering, roaring, flipping metal made contraption that blinded him and warmed his body as it pinned him in his corner. But the metal never touched his skin.

Out of nowhere a figure had him in his arms.

They were spinning.

The last sight of the Train Station Ron saw insignificant.

A shoe, crashing through glass, a flash of skin.

When he hit the ground next to the portkey, an empty latte cup, Ron threw up. Everything seemed to spill out before him; coffee, blood, black goo, water. And above him stood a man he knew, hated, despised. The instinctive need to spit in his face was overwhelmed by only one thing.

Passing out.

"Truly, Weasley, you do enjoy proving me wrong," a slow drawl echoed in his head, bouncing around like some slimy maggot. He recognized the voice instantly. That slow, condescending pronunciation. That 'mightier than though- you will all conced to my ridiculous demands.' That wretched fucking traitor.

"Snape," Ron growled.

Or intended to growl. It came out like a wad of dry spit, sounding somewhere between 'rape' and a gargling noise.

"To think," Snape said slowly, greasy hair framing his face like horns. "that you could somehow be more stupid than you've already displayed in six years."

Ron shifted, the movement pure agony. He croaked out a scream before settling down. Snape remained standing, he offered no aide, just stared at him, unimpressed.

"Moving is a bad idea," Snape deadpanned.

'Always fucking brilliant, aren't you?' Ron thought, trying to force those words into the look he sent his once Professor.

"Somehow you've managed to have more dark magic in your veins than actual blood," Snape told him. "I've healed your life-threatening injuries, but this cannot be undone. You will die."

'And why do you give a flying fuck?'

"I care," Snape sneered, as if he could read Ron's thoughts, "because you are one of three people who have been entrusted with saving our entire country. It's to be expected that I would have to clean up after your dismal display today. Destroying an entire muggle Train Station, revealing magic to an unknown, mass number of muggles, and abandoning your post with Potter and Granger."

'FUCK YOU! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!'

He felt Snape begin to pry into his mind and with savage delight forced the words straight into the bastard's head. Snape flinched. Glaring down at Ron with beady black eyes. Then, raising an eyebrow at him, revealed a potion in his hands.

"It is lucky for you," Snape snarled as if they had not just gone to battle mentally, "that I am such a good Samaritan and that Dumbledore has gifted you his most prized possession. If not for your position in aiding Potter, I would never dream of bothering."

He was too pissed to consider what Snape was saying or what it meant. He was in too much pain to comprehend, really, the truth behind this moment. He wouldn't understand it fully until much later.

"This potion will burn through you," Snape softened, just a touch, the first signs of humanity showing through. "It will feel worse than anything you can imagine. It will not save you. But. It will give you time. It is the same potion I gave to Dumbledore when the fool put the Hocrux on his finger. It will feel as if your skin is peeling from your body, as if you are being hammered with nails of salt into your wounds. It will be excruciatingly painful and you will want to die. But. It will push the dark magical infection back. It will temporarily seal it away."

Snape lowered himself to the floor.

"I will give you this choice only once, Weasley. Listen carefully," Snape hesitated, before continuing. "The infection will kill you within the hour without this potion. If you want me to, I will kill you, I will end the pain you are in."

Ron didn't try to speak or think, rather, he stared blankly at the man who had taught him for the past six years.

"Or," Snape said softly, "I can give you this potion. I tell you right now, Weasley, it is not worth it. The pain is far more terrible, more unspeakable than I can describe. The extra year or so that you will gain will be remembering this moment. Dumbledore himself, a man far greater than either you or I, had nightmares every night until the moment I killed him. Once it begins, I will not kill you, no matter how much you beg. This is your decision, and I will help you honor it!"

He would be able to help Harry and Hermione. He would be able to tell them about the Taboo. He would be able to help destroy the remaining Hocruxes. He could tell them about Rose. He could tell them about the Snatchers.

For Ron, it was no decision at all. When he felt Snape prying at his mind, trying to see his answer, Ron pushed all of those thoughts and feelings forward. He stared at Snape, willing him to see his resolution.

Snape faltered, for a completely different reason, his eyes unreadable.

"Perhaps," Snape said slowly, as if the words tore at his throat, "all that stupidity hides someone truly splendid and brave."

Ron was so shocked even his natural instincts to fight were subdued as Snape gripped his jaw and poured the potion down his throat.

It was the most horrific three hours of his life. Beyond torture or the experimentation. Beyond any and all pain Ron would ever be able to put into words. He screamed and sobbed, not quite demanding Snape kill him, but bashing his head in the wall hard enough to have the man restrain him with chains.

It was days before he woke.

And when he did finally awaken it was to a wand directly in his face. Severus Snape altering his memories, maintaining only the most important facts. But most of all: removing all memories of the horrors of the potion, removing the knowledge that he would die, giving Ron one year to fight alongside Harry and Hermione. One year of no knowledge or torture or experimentation or death.

One year to live normally.

He placed them all inside of the deluminator and put the small device in Ron's hands.

"As usual, Potter is too dense and too focused on what he has lost, to recognize what he has right in front of him," Snape muttered. Then the double agent left the shack, black robes billowing out behind him. Within the hour, Ron Weasley arrived on Bill Weasleys door steps.

When Ron gasped and shot up into the arms of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, the first words out of his mouth surprised them both.

"He's still the biggest asshole I've ever met."

"Ron!" Hermione threw herself at him.

"Who?" Harry asked.

"What?" Ron asked, staring at Harry.

"Whose an asshole?" Harry asked.

Ron blinked, looking around the manor, the roar of walls weakening and Inferi being cut down nearly overwhelming.

"What are we talking about?" Ron asked.

"You!" Harry said in frustration.

"Me? I'm an asshole?" Ron said in bewilderment.

Harry sighed.

"Yes, you are. Let's go."

"I don't understand what's going on," Ron muttered, glancing at Hermione.

"I don't either, but you're awake!" Hermione kissed him, hard, despite an unspeakably massive headache and every fiber aching.

"Do you two have to pick the worst times in the history of existence to do that?" Harry shouted in exasperation. Hermione broke away long enough to give Harry a grin and point at herself.

"Next time it's my turn to pretend to be dead."

"No, no, let's not do that," Ron muttered.

They helped him stand. Their arms reaching around his waist and across his shoulder's until he wasn't sure whose hands belonged to who.

"Did you see where Wormtail went?" Harry asked.

Ron shook his head.

"Not Wormtail. It's Press, a French Ambassador, he made a deal with Wormtail. He wanted to switch places with him, be the 'Dark Lord's' right hand man. Wormtail just wanted to escape. Unfortunately for the them the ritual they were trying to perform didn't work. Only one of them transformed into the other."

"I only got about half of that," Harry admitted.

"How about I tell you later and we get the fuck out of here?" Ron bargained.

Harry looked fit to argue, but then he just rolled his eyes.

Iron rang out against marble.

Hermione whirled, her eyes wide as she stared down the path to the double doors they'd been meandering towards. Both were wobbling on the marble floor, bodies piling up on time, smoking as if blown there by a vicious spell.

"Marvelous idea," Hermione snarled, near hysterical, her mouth working its way into the closest thing to a curse either boys had seen. "Let's open the doors to where Antea and Ron are. Nothing could go wrong with that!"

"Antea?" Ron's head snapped up. "Do you know where she is?"

"I say we look for her while going in the opposite direction as them!" Harry called, a tad panicked, kicking away the broken, shattered remains of his broom.

Would Harry ever own a broom that didn't end in splinters?

The Inferi were in the manor. Crawling all over one another, random legs and arms dragging over each other to pull themselves further into the buildings entrances. Press must have lifted the protective enchantments before he fled. All the doorways were flooded with the creatures, snapping jaws and meat hanging bones, jerking and twitching their way into a mob-like infestation of human body parts.

"The prison cells upstairs have reinforced doors," Ron told them.

Hermione shifted her hold, her fingers tightening around his waist and pulling him closer to her. The sweat on her forehead wiping against his shoulder. Their height difference had never appeared so dramatic or ridiculous as it did in this moment, with Ron's entire weight leaning against her, his feet dragging as she urged him to move faster than he was capable of. The manor groaned around them, chunks of masonry dropping from the ceiling as they navigated towards the cells.

"The cells have a balcony the Death Eaters used to dump bodies from into the mass grave," Ron told them as they made their way up. Harry and Hermione grimaced. "We can use it to get out. Transfigure the vines into ropes or something."

"Can you get down from something like that?" Hermione asked, skeptical.

"Not a chance in hell," Ron said honestly. "You'll just have to levitate me down or something. Toss me off the side if you have to."

The joke fell on deaf ears.

"I'll tie you to me," Harry said.

"I'll go first, make sure there's nothing at the bottom to attack you while your arms are full," Hermione added.

"I thought we agreed plans are bad?" Ron joked again, but his voice cracked at the end and Hermione shushed him. Exhausted, Ron agreed to be quiet, but only after urging Harry to check all of the cells for Antea.

Then a memory slipped in. One that wasn't muddled in all the new memories swimming around in his head. One of Press, permanently transfigured into Wormtail's replica.

"She's outside."

"What?" Harry asked.

"Press said he tossed her outside with the Inferi because she was being too 'annoying.' We should still check the cells, but…" Ron trailed off in dread.

"Of course we will," Hermione snapped.

The manor creaked eerily.

"We should hurry," Harry said, pulling a bit more of Ron's weight onto him as they moved up the stairs. Ron gave them directions. The memories falling into place like waterlogged puzzle pieces. They checked the cells, each empty block ringing the ball of worry deeper and deeper until they arrived at the last one. It too was empty.

Press had never lied before.

But Ron had still hoped that they would find Antea shivering and miserably, but relatively okay inside the cells. Shaking, trembling, breaking apart walls were all that greeted them though.

Images of the dark skinned Irish woman torn apart appeared in his minds eye. Ron had wandered the Inferi infested grounds for awhile while looking for the castle. He'd had his wand, as useful as that proved to be, and Harry's cloak (still wrapped around his shoulders, causing random body parts to disappear and reappear as it swished back and forth). Ante had nothing out there. What were the chances they'd passed each other by? That he'd missed her along the way?

What were the chances that there was nothing left to miss?

"I'm sure she's safe," Hermione murmured, her hand rubbing his back as he stared into the last cell.

"Mate, Ron," Harry said slowly, gazing at the reinforced doors. "She's not here. We need to go."

The before it's too late was left unsaid.

Ron hesitated in turning away anyways. This wasn't just the last cell. This cell had belonged to Mary Salen. Across from this one was his and Abagail's cell. This was the last place they'd been together before Abagail and Mary had died. The empty cell held more than just Antea's fate.

Hermione tugged at his fingers.

Harry tugged at his waist.

Together, as always, they dragged him from the brink of his dark thoughts and towards the light.

The balcony was a place Ron had avoided thinking about while in the cells. He'd avoided looked at the bodies dragged by and what lay at the bottom. It was a part of the cells more horrific even than the experiment room Press kept him in. It was the end of hope. The place where those who had not escaped the Death Eater prison were taken.

The edges of the balcony were stained red.

When Hermione saw it, she buried her face into his chest.

"You were always the best at transfiguration," Harry told her, gesturing towards the thick vines. "You handle those and I'll get Ron ready."

She nodded, pulling away from him reluctantly.

Then Harry was there. The boy who lived, who survived and conquered, tearing his jacket apart with his wand and transfiguring them into ropes that twined around the redhead. Ron kept himself steady by bracing his hand's on Harry's shoulder's. If they hindered his work, Harry didn't say anything, and Ron was grateful for that. Admitting that Harry was the only thing keeping him standing at the moment would have been humiliating.

The shout of an Auror sounded below.

A 'bang!' loud enough to rattle teeth sounded from the building. The floor morphed. Contorted. Harry grabbed at the ropes around Ron. Hermione took hold of Harry's arm, her wand pointing forward.

The building imploded.