Chapter 6: The Traitor.
Hermione sat down with her back against a tree and closed her eyes. Ron collapsed on the other side of the small fire. They had spent hours walking in the mud, making their way up and down through the thick forest and wading through icy creeks. All to advance a few miles he did not know quite where.
Ron watched Hermione. He could still see the look of surprise and horror in her face. Obviously, the Avada Kedavra was not directed at her. But still, how could he do something so horrible... and so stupid?
He wanted to apologise, but what could he say? It was better to forget it and end the day before he managed to make another mess.
"You are exhausted."
"As you are." Hermione cut in.
"Yes. We'd better get some sleep... Can I trust you not to try to escape during the night?"
Hermione looked back at him in disbelief and contempt.
"No, I suppose not." He pointed the wand at her.
"What are you going to do?" Hermione tried to look strong but this time she could not stop her voice from sounding frightened.
"Nothing. I'm just going to make you sleep through the night".
"Don't you dare do anything to me..."
Ron did not let her finish. "Do you think that after walking around all day with mud up to our knees, I have the strength or even the desire to have a roll in the hay?... Stupefy!"
After tucking her with a couple of blankets that he had transfigured earlier, he dropped by the fire. He had something important to do.
He opened the bag and took out the wands. Keeping only one wand was dangerous, but Hermione getting hold of one was even more so. With that thought, he decided to throw all of them into the fire.
He watched them sizzle and spark as the flames consumed their magical core. It was going to be a long night. The first of many, probably.
The room was enormous, with high ceilings decorated with frescoes, marble walls carved with complicated motifs, and the floor covered with mahogany. At one time it must have been a luxurious hall dedicated to dances or parties, now it was nothing more than a large dusty room in a half-abandoned palace.
A large fireplace adorned one of the walls. Lord Voldemort strolled in front of the fire, and around him, a dozen Death Eaters waited in silence.
A house-elf appeared in front of one of them and whispered something. The Death Eater turned to his Master.
"He has arrived, my Lord."
"On time. Show him in."
"Yes, my Lord." He gestured to the house-elf, who disapparated with a crack.
Seconds later, the doors of the hall opened, and through them entered a figure dressed entirely in black with his head covered by a hood, followed by two Death Eaters.
Facing the newcomer, the Dark Lord said: "Well, well... What do we have here?"
The figure knelt and removed his hood, revealing a thick mane of red hair and a pale, freckled face.
"Ah! Young Weasley. To what do we owe the... pleasure... of this visit?"
With his head still down, Ron Weasley replied, "My lord, I am here to offer my services to your cause."
"So my informant was right" He glanced sidelong at one of the figures, who shuddered slightly. "And what makes you think I won't kill you right here? What reasons can you give Lord Voldemort to respect your insignificant life?"
"I bring you a gift, my Lord. A gift, a plea... and this." He lifted his fringes showing a black tattoo, two snakes crisscrossing over and over, piercing his forehead from temple to temple.
Voldemort's eyes opened in surprise. "A Raknarok curse. It had been a long time since I had seen one... But do you think you can scare Lord Voldemort with that?"
"Of course not. I know my Lord is too powerful to suffer any harm. If my Master wants to kill me there is no way I can avoid it, but even if this spell is unable to reach my Master, I doubt that any of his followers here would survive... I only beg that this humble servant be heard."
The Death Eaters stirred restlessly. Voldemort looked around with contempt. "Yes, it would be inconvenient to have to replace them... although in some cases I would be for the better..." he seemed to ponder for a few seconds. "All right speak up. What do you have to offer the greatest wizard of all?"
"The gift, my lord, is a gesture of goodwill to demonstrate the sincerity of my offer." Before anyone could speak, he began to recite what he had no doubt spent much time memorizing.
"The only one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord approaches. Born of those who have defied him three times, he will come into the world at the end of the seventh month. And the Dark Lord will point him out as his equal, but he will have a power that the Dark Lord does not know. And one of them shall die at the hands of the other, for neither of them shall live while the other lives."
"The prophecy!" This time Voldemort's eyes were open with real interest.
"Dumbledore believed that the power of which prophecy speaks is love."
"Very much like that old fool..." Voldemort stood still, no doubt thinking about the prophecy. A few seconds later he came out of his self-absorption and began to speak as if nothing had happened. "Make your plea."
"Yes, my lord. My plea is more like an offering. Harry Potter's life for my family's. Potter will never suspect his best friend. I will lead him into an ambush in exchange for my family's lives."
"Are you offering me a deal? I think you have made a mistake, you're not Lord Voldemort's equal. You're nothing but a worm, and Lord Voldemort doesn't make deals with worms." He raised his wand threateningly, green sparks coming from its tip.
Ron bent his head even lower and spoke as fast as he could before Voldemort decided to use his wand. "Of course, my Lord! I would never dream of doing such a thing! I'm only offering you the chance to end up with a traitor like Harry Potter once and for all... I only beg you to spare the life of your servant's family."
He looked up slightly. Voldemort seemed to have calmed down momentarily. Perhaps he had a chance. He hurried off to talk further.
"I know they're all blood traitors, but it's all that bloody Dumbledore's fault. He poisoned their minds with his stupid lies. I do not ask for their forgiveness or their freedom, just give them some time, just enough time to get rid of Dumbledore's poison and realize their mistake. I know that deep in their hearts still beats the pride of the pureblood."
"Your family has committed great crimes, Weasley, and they will not go unpunished... But on the other hand, there are not many pureblood families left in the Wizarding World. It would be a pity to lose one more unnecessarily... All right, Voldemort will hear your plea... within reason."
"Thank you, my Lord."
"Raise your head and look straight ahead. Lord Voldemort must confirm the truth of your words."
All the memories of his years at Hogwarts cluttered in his head: The rivalry with his brothers, who were always better than he was; The continual arguments with Hermione; The frustration of watching her achieve everything effortlessly while he failed again and again; The envy of Harry's popularity, of his new clothes, of his latest broom and his elegant pet; jealousy of Krum's broom skills, of his fame and his relationship with Hermione."
"A mudblood!" A huge sarcastic laugh echoed through the room. "Rejected by a mudblood!... Pathetic! You should thank her."
"It was a moment of weakness of which I am most ashamed of. My lord, I beg you, if she were to survive the war, let me show the mudblood her place."
Voldemort seemed almost amused by the request. "Do you want a Muggle slave?"
"Leave her to me and in a few months, I'll teach her to serve her Master with more devotion than the best of the house-elves."
"Devotion? That Muggle scum will always be foolish and treacherous, but if that is your wish... Serve me well and you can play with as many Muggle slaves as you wish."
"Thank you, my lord. I will not disappoint you."
"Goyle! Bring the prisoner."
A few minutes later, the Death Eater returned to the room, dragging a young woman who must not have been more than twenty years old. He shoved her at his master's feet.
"Well, Weasley. Show me your commitment to the cause".
Ron raised his wand without hesitation. "Crucio!" The girl writhed on the floor, crying, and screaming in pain. After a few minutes she stopped writhing, Ron lifted the curse.
Voldemort kicked the prisoner, the only response being a faint whimper. "Tell me, Weasley. Do you always leave jobs half done?"
"I'm very sorry, Master. It won't happen again." He raised his wand again.
"No." With a wave of his wand, Voldemort threw the girl's body into a corner of the room. "Take that rubbish away."
As Goyle rushed her out of the room Voldemort smiled with satisfaction. "Well, it looks like you might be of some use after all".
"I only wish."
"Yes. And you will. No doubt about it... Kneel and show me your forearm".
Ron obeyed immediately.
"My Lord!" One of the Death Eaters had knelt. Behind his mask fell a lock of blond hair.
Voldemort turned reluctantly. "What is it, Lucius?"
"Will you give him the mark, my Lord?"
"Do you want to decide what I should and shouldn't do, Lucius?" As Voldemort's voice spoke, it lost the mocking tone with which it had begun, and grew harder and harder, until it almost shrieked.
"But my lord... He is... He is a blood traitor! I beg you not to trust him. Our victory is certain, he only wishes to save his life."
"Trust?" A burst of laughter echoed through the room. "Malfoy... Lord Voldemort need not trust anyone. And yes, he probably just wants to save his life, but how many of you here have denied me to save yours?" Voldemort looked around the room.
"NOT ME, MY LORD!"
"Yes, my faithful Bellatrix. You have always remained faithful, but what about the rest?" All the Death Eaters remained silent as Lestrange raised her head in pride.
"Young Weasley will be tested over the next few months before he is truly accepted."
Voldemort approached the prostrated figure, who still had his left arm outstretched.
"Serve me well and you will be rewarded beyond your imagination, betray me, and wish for death."
An incredibly cold hand gripped his wrist as the wand ran down his forearm like hot iron, drawing the dark mark. He clenched his teeth as a wave of pain and nausea invaded his body.
Ron opened his eyes. He was panting, sitting by the fire. He pressed his hand against his forearm. He still could feel his Dark Mark hurting.
It was starting to get light in the woods. Lying on the ground on the other side of the fire, oblivious to the world, Hermione slept peacefully.
As always, my gratitude to my beta reader, Gja03.
Of course, Ron didn't kill Hermione. This is a Romione fic, even if right now they aren't very friendly.