Hello! Welcome to the Extended Universe! At some points during the main Crownless plotline, there will be scenes that are not relevant to the narrative, but that still need to have their moment centre-stage. This is that series. This is for my wonderful Alphabet and enabler Canttouchthis, who deserves all the love in the world. If you all want a fantastic completed Dramione AU that will leave you reeling, please check out her fantastic creation Finding Kallipolis.
Without further ado, please enjoy this short moment in time!
But he, that dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose.
- Anne Brontë
20:25 pm, 13th of September, 1999 - Somewhere in the Scottish Highlands
Ron pushed aside the flap of the tent, his eyes searching. The space outside of command was busy with the frenetic hubbub they'd become accustomed to. People rushing back and forth, their cloaks trailing, their boots sinking into the mud. The air was rich with the scent of burning wood, the shouts and voices of the camp's inhabitants carried through the smoke.
The night sky slowly darkened as the heavy clouds that had crept over the valley, filtered the pale moon from view. In the centre of the space, was a small circular seating area, surrounding a fire. Stones had been moved to make benches. Ron had taken to sitting in the circle when Command would become a little too much, the burden on his shoulders a little too heavy.
Through the mesh of harried boots, he saw the hunched form of Daphne curled on a rock. Ron released a quick breath and swallowed heavily, his tongue thick in his mouth.
He couldn't - not today. Knowing that Malfoy was out and about was enough to cause his teeth to grind, but to see him walk into Command like he owned the place, the way the twit had looked at 'Mione as if he owned her too…
His temper burned. He shook out his arms as he began to cautiously cross the space, attempting to shift the acid from his veins. He had no idea what the deal was with Malfoy.
Yes logically he knew that Daphne and he were friends, she had already chastised him several times over his thoughts on the hearing. Hermione was a thing of mystery; Ron had no idea what was going on between her and the Death Eater, but he knew for certain, that he sure as fuck didn't like it.
But for all the times that Daphne and Hannah had made him promise over the last few days that Ron would be more tolerant of the wanker, he knew that those words had been empty. As he eyed Daphne's still form, he knew that whatever this change in her was, it had been caused by Malfoy.
Always fucking Malfoy.
So yes, he was thirty seconds away from fucking it all to Merlin's Grave and stringing the blonde twat up by his balls.
Ron huffed a suring breath, forcing the tension from his chest as he rounded the stone benches. He knew that he was right, he knew that trusting Malfoy had never - and will never be - on the cards.
And yet everyone around him, the people he trusted the most, seemed to be telling him otherwise.
They're wrong.
"What did he do?" Ron said as he lowered himself onto the stone next to Daphne, who was staring unseeingly into the fire. Her smooth skin had paled to an ashen white, leaving the flame to cast long, stark shadows over her high cheekbones.
"It's Pansy," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ron frowned, his eyes narrowing at the unexpected answer. "Okay," he said slowly, drawing out the word as he gathered himself on to the new thought track. "What did Pans-"
"She's dead."
Ron stilled, his mouth hanging open on his forgotten words.
"What?" His voice croaked; it felt as if the world had tilted slightly, and he was unsure of where to place his feet to regain his balance.
While on the one hand, he had never cared to Pansy Parkinson - she was as much of a hindrance and pain as the rest of the Snakes - Ron had been comfortable with the fact that they would always be them, waiting in the shadows to enact their evil plan of the week.
He hadn't really considered the possibility of one of them dying.
He'd hoped, sure, but death was always different when it was real.
And then there was Daphne, a Snake he had learned to… like. Ron watched the flames dance in her glassy eyes as a single perfect tear slipped down her cheek.
"How?" he asked. A hush had fallen over the firepit as if the night sought to protect their moment from the frenetic activity of the camp.
Daphne sniffed delicately and cleared her throat. "She was killed protecting one of her kids."
Ron's brows shot up. "She had kids?"
Daphne gave a watery chuckle, her dark eyes flicking to him. "She sort of adopted a small army a while back, though she never admitted it." Her lips pulled into a sad smile, bittersweet happiness crinkled her eyes. "She always said that they were Blaise and Theo's project, but then she'd tell me about the wardrobes she had bought them and how the youngest had learnt how to tie their own shoe-laces."
Her smile cracked, lowering at the corners as the light faded from her eyes.
Another tear spilt over and onto her cheek.
Ron leant forward, catching the drop with a gentle finger.
"Is the kid alright?" he asked softly. Daphne nodded as her small hand caught his. Carefully, holding Ron's gaze, she entwined the fingers, locking their hold.
"He's in St Mungo's with Blaise and Potter," she choked, tightening her grip.
Ron nodded, filing away the knowledge of Harry's presence for another time as he swiped his thumb over hers. He marvelled at the difference between their hands: her hands, though dirtied by the mud that pervades everything, were long and delicate, elegant and soft - the hands of royalty; his worn callouses caught on her silken skin as his large grip held her.
Soft and rough.
The princess and the pauper.
Ron looked into Daphne's dark eyes that filled with yet more tears and the last of his temper drained away.
His heart thumped once in his chest.
He tightened his jaw and nodded decisively.
"What do you need me to do?"
The corner of Daphne's lips pulled into a small smile as another tear broke free.
"This," she whispered, running her thumb against his knuckle. "Just this."
Thoughts?