Stripped Bare

Chapter 36

Luna stepped into the room to see Ron twisting and turning on the sheets. His arms and legs were bound to the bed by heavy magical bonds. She bit into her bottom lip. 'Oh, Ron…' She thought sadly as she eyed the dark red skin. It twisted over the light scarring that the brains from the Ministry of Magic left. Luna stepped into the room and closed the door gently behind her. The redhead on the bed never even stirred.

"He's had a bad day," the nurse whispered quietly. Luna nodded in understanding though her eyes never left Ron's sickly face. His freckles were more prominent; his lips were chapped and cracked; and he was shivering. "Have you known him for long?" The nurse asked.

"Since fifth year at Hogwarts," Luna answered politely as Ron shifted to face her. The nurse stood at the foot of Ron's bed for a few more seconds before she gave up trying to get answers out of the woman. Luna didn't even look up as the nurse left. She simply reached into her bag and pulled out the latest issue of her father's paper. As she waited for Ron to wait, she read. As she turned the pages, a familiar face stared up at her; Neville Longbottom wrapped his arm around his pregnant wife's waist in a loop. Luna smiled slightly. 'I need to go see Neville next…' She thought as she read his article. It spoke of the incoming baby, names, and their jobs. Clearly, her father had been thinking of her when he published it; in fact, the entire issue seemed to be directed toward her. It made her feel badly; she hadn't picked up the Quibbler once since she had started to travel. Before she could get lost completely in her thoughts, a groan from the bed alerted her that her friend was waking up.

The first thing Ron was aware of was the stinging in his eyes. He blinked many times to clear the blur and saw that the halo he had been seeing was actually light, light blonde hair. His heart lodged in his throat. His first thought was of Lavender, but as his vision corrected itself he saw it was Luna.

"What are you doing here?" He croaked. Luna ignored his tone and smiled cheerfully, as she had all those years ago on the carriage back to Hogwarts.

"Visiting you, of course," she said airily as if he were lying in a bed in the mental wing.

"Yeah…" Ron drawled. "I can see that. But why?" Luna smiled slightly.

"You are my friend, Ron," she said simply. They sat in silence for a moment. Ron studied her intensely, wondering if anyone had said anything to her about what he had done; but she gave nothing away. She simply moved things about on his desk and look around the room. 'Probably looking for Nargles or something…' He thought. A small amused smile ticked onto his lips. It faltered when her blue eyes met his. He swallowed and looked away.

"Have they told you what I've done?" He croaked. This time, it wasn't because his mouth was dry. It was his shame. Luna chewed her bottom lip; instantly—even though he tried not to—he thought of Hermione. He clenched his eyes shut tightly and tried to block out the malicious whisper.

"Yes," Luna sighed grievously. Ron looked away from her; his eyes fixed on the wall.

"Do…do you think she could ever forgive me?" He asked quietly, so quietly that Luna almost missed it. She chewed her bottom lip again and thought long about it. She knew Hermione; the curly headed woman had more than likely already forgiven Ron.

"I think…she's afraid of what's happening to you, but she's not afraid of you," Luna got to the heart of his true worries. "As far as forgiveness, I have no doubt she already has." Ron rolled his lips together and nodded.

"I want so badly to believe you." He confessed, "But she hasn't been to see me since I was admitted here…" A small silence—hardly nine minutes—passed before Ron continued, "And what if she never does?" He jumped and swiveled his head over to her as she placed her hand over his—which had fisted the white bed sheet.

"She will," Luna reassured him softly.

XSTRIPPEDBAREX

With a slightly heavy heart, Hermione left Penelope's office and returned to Spencer's apartment. She wasn't sure what she was going to do, but she knew that she couldn't hang around the BAU for the rest of the day. She needed to be doing something; just what that something was, she hadn't figured out yet. She grit her teeth in aggravation before she started pacing in front of Spencer's bookshelf again. She knew all that she needed to do.

Ron was more than likely waiting on her to visit him and kicking himself every second she stayed away. She didn't want to him to wallow in that guilt anymore, but she wasn't confident enough to visit him just yet. What if she set another episode off? What if he was doing better and she just set him back again? She stopped abruptly in front of Spencer's bookshelf. She fisted her wild curls and groaned aloud in aggravation.

"You're being a coward, Granger!" Hermione scolded herself harshly. "Just pull up your big girl panties and do it!"

She stood there on the hardwood floor and tried to calm herself enough to pull off a successful apparition. Once she was certain, she apparated inches from St. Mungo's front doors. She marched inside, refusing to listen to the quiet whispers of caution and fear. This was Ronald Weasley. He had been her best friend since she was eleven; they had been through hell together; she owed him this. She ignored the nurses greeting her and headed to the ward that Ron was being held in.

She stopped just at the doorway to his room and took a deep, calming breathe. She tried to quieten the pounding of her heart.

"Get away from me, Mudblood." She sucked in a sharp breathe. The violence he committed against her the night that she left him followed those venomous words. Hermione bit deeply into her bottom lip and shook her head roughly.

"No," she whispered, "Ron, the real Ron, isn't that man." The words sounded hollow to her, empty. She had heard them, read them, many times. They were the words an abused woman would often use to excuse her partner's actions. "Ron. Is. Not. That. Man." Hermione repeated forcefully. "This is different…" She added quietly as she worked to gather up all of her courage. She sighed and pushed open his door.

The tension in her shoulders drained as she looked toward the bed. Ron was sleeping; he looked to be completely at peace. She smiled softly, but it faltered as she took him in. He looked so tired; and he had serious bruising underneath his eyes. These bruises and his freckles were made all the more prominent by the paleness of his skin. His lips were cracked. She moved her eyes away from his face. The skin of his wrists and ankles were deeply bruised from the restraints. She chewed her bottom lip. Should she wait for him to wake up?

"Miss?" She heard a nurse call quietly as not to wake up Ron. Hermione turned and immediately heard the nurse gasp. She smothered her embarrassment at the look of wonder and admiration in the woman's eyes. "Miss. Granger…" She breathed. Hermione waited patiently for the star-struck nurse to compose herself. The woman blushed deeply and then smiled almost regretfully. "Visiting hours are over now. You'll have to come back tomorrow." She informed Hermione regretfully. Hermione pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and looked over her shoulder at Ron's still sleeping form. "If it helps," Hermione turned back to the nurse, "he'll probably sleep through the night…he's exhausted." The nurse sounded completely sympathetic and concerned. Hermione smiled.

"Thank you," Hermione muttered as she followed the nurse outside the room. "Um…" She started, looking away from the nurse, "how..." She licked her lips. "How is he doing?" The nurse sighed; the sound made Hermione's stomach drop. The complete sadness in her tone told Hermione all she needed to know, but she wasn't going to cut the nurse off. She would hear what she had to say no matter how emotionally destructive it was.

"There's more time between his episodes now, but…when he does have them they are more violent. You'll have to speak to the doctor in charge of his case to learn the specifics…" The nurse said regretfully. Hermione smiled tightly.

"I understand," she whispered. She forced a friendly smile onto her lips and told the nurse, "thank you for all of your help. I'll be going now…" She vaguely heard the nurse bid her goodbye as she hurried down the hallway and toward the front door. The doors hadn't even fully swung shut before she apparated back into Spencer's apartment. She stood in front of his couch, just staring at the faded brown couch.

She had went to see Ron, but…she hadn't gotten to talk to him. She had ran like a coward at the first opportunity. That familiar tightness constricted her throat. To relieve it—if only momentarily—she gave a small gasp that lead to a sob. Soon, tears were streaming down her cheeks. Hermione covered her face as she broke. The years of holding back the pain over Ron's infidelity—denying herself the mourning of a relationship lost—and the stress of recent events bubbled forth. She sobbed noisily as she sank down onto the couch. She curled inward; her forehead touched her knees and her unbound curls feel like a curtain around her face.

After a few minutes, Hermione leaned back against the back of the couch. Her tears had slowed; the pain in her throat had only dampened just a little. She wiped her tears away; it was a futile act because her tears were still coming. She bit deeply into her bottom lip and focused on her breathing. She knew from experience that if she breathed normally, the pain in her throat would fade and she would calm down. She stared up at the ceiling and counted her breaths. Still breathing, she closed her eyes and tried to think of something that would help to calm her down.

Her subconscious chose Spencer. He rose to the forefront. Their moments together—their conversations those first few nights, their kisses, that dance at the club, and their first night together—played out in her mind. The pain in her throat slowly faded as she focused on her breathing and the memories. With a final sigh, she dipped her head down and wiped her tears away with the backs of her hands. She had cried herself out; she was just so exhausted now. She pushed off of the couch and made her way to Spencer's bedroom. She pulled the covers back. She dropped her jeans and climbed into bed on Spencer's side. She curled up tightly under the covers, attempting to imagine that the warm surrounding her was Spencer's. She closed her eyes and sighed.

In minutes, she was asleep.

XSTRIPPEDBAREX

"It has come to my attention that some of you are faltering. You do not believe that I am as well a leader as Lucis," Sting preached, pacing the room. His dark eyes lighted on each of them, glaring and measuring. He was watching for anyone to look away. Presley was certain not to. Sting passed him over to stare at Pansy. "Lucis was a coward." He hissed, making certain to keep eye contact with Lucis. "And a liar." He curled his lip at her. "I," he punctuated, stepping back from them all, "am different. I will not make the same mistakes Lucis or Voldemort did." He looked at each of them in each measure again. "I will not have wavering subjects." He smiled sickly at all of them. Presley knew what this was about now. Sting planned to test them. "Now, it is time to weed out the wavering from the solid." That was the only warning he gave before raising his wand quickly and pointing it at Pansy—the first in line. "Curcio!" Pansy gave a sharp scream before her knees fell out from underneath her. Presley bit a small piece of skin in his cheek to keep from reacting. If he reached for Pansy or moved for his wand, Sting would see it as a challenge to his authority. Not only would Presley seal his own death warrant, but Pansy's as well. He numbed his ears to the sound of Pansy's screams and tried to fight the bile that threatened to rise from his throat. After four minutes, Sting stopped. As Pansy sat up—tears cascading down her cheeks, he turned his wand to Presley. Presley let go of his cheek as Sting raised his wand again. He uttered the Unforgiveable Curse again. Presley felt his knees go weak as the pain slammed into his senses. He clenched his jaw tightly to smother the screams that wanted to rise as the curse danced the conga along his nerve endings. He hit his knees, but didn't fall to the floor as Pansy had. He stayed upright even though his body convulsed. His legs shook and jumped as did his arms and torso, but he did not fall. He was determined not to give Sting the pleasure of seeing him that low; it was bad enough that he was on his knees. After four minutes of this torture—like with Pansy, Sting let up. Presley couldn't stop the panting as he rose to his feet again. His entire body protested standing, but he forced himself too. He could not appear weak here. Weak meant you were prey to the bigger, older members. He had enough to deal with just being Presley.

Sting looked toward the next in line. It was a man with light greying hair and deep brown eyes. Presley knew that he was one of Voldemort's original followers. He hadn't had any standing; he wasn't one of Voldemort's favorites—most trusted. In fact, he had had no real talent. This man flinched. "I was Voldemort's follower and after that Lucius'," the man stated, "you don't have to test me, Sting. I am loyal to you."

"Then prove it." Sting pressed. The older man set rolled his lips and looked toward the one beside him and then to Presley. Presley grit his teeth, knowing that the man was about to sign his death warrant. Unlike the older members, Presley did not underestimate Sting's resolve.

"I am loyal-" Sting sighed as the man once more tried to convince him. He looked at him—almost remorsefully—and raised his wand. The man took a step back and opened his mouth as if to plead, but not a word escaped before Sting shouted:

"Avada Kedavra!"

x

Hours later, Presley apparated into his flat. The moment his feet touched the floor of his living room, his legs fell out from underneath him. For a few seconds, he laid there, shaking and twitching. His muscles were tired from the torture and his pride. All he wanted now was to sleep, but he didn't think he could make it to his bed. He moved his head to look at the couch. That would be his destination. That is where he would sleep. He pushed himself up painfully and stood on his quivering legs. He collapsed on the couch once he got close enough.

It wasn't sleep that took him, not really. He had passed out due to the pain in his limbs.

On the couch, shivering, was how Draco found him later. The blonde looked down at his friend and gritted his teeth. He could only imagine what Sting had put his friend through. He had been there after all in the later days of Voldemort's reign. The things Voldemort had done to the older men in the circle…it was awful to witness. Draco had never wanted to watch, but he knew if he looked away Voldemort would kill him too. So, he had fought against the urge to throw up and watched. He knew it must be the same for Presley.

He looked down at his friend, uncomfortably sprawled onto the couch. He frowned and gently shifted his friend's limbs into a more comfortable position. Presley didn't even wake, which spoke to the ordeal he had been through. Draco felt the familiar swell of anger rising in his chest as he rose from his kneeling. Presley had always been a generally light sleeper; so, the fact that he could touch him and he wouldn't wake spoke to just how tired he was. Draco whipped out his wand and took the blanket and pillows off of Presley's bed; he levitated them into the room, put the pillow underneath Presley's head, and draped the blanket over his body. Draco then eased himself into the armchair opposite his friend and waited. He leaned forward and took a book from the coffee table to bide his time.

(A/N: I'm truly sorry for my long absence on this story. I hope this may make up for it.)