Hello, friends. It's been a while. I've missed the fanfiction community, and with summer now in full swing, I thought I'd take a crack at some more fics!
I've had this one-shot written for a while, and after some fine-tuning, I think it's ready for the light of day. I'm a huge fan of missing scenes-so here's one from Goblet of Fire, from the moment Harry returns from the graveyard to the moment he falls asleep in the hospital wing. Ron's POV, because Ron fascinates me.
Inspired by the line, "Ron and Hermione were looking at him almost cautiously, as though scared of him."
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, and all recognizable dialogue is taken from J.K. Rowling's fabulous work. Enjoy!
In their four years at Hogwarts, nothing had quite reached this level. Not Quirrell, not giant snakes, not dementors. Looking back, Ron knew that the past four years had just been the rehearsal. The training.
Not that anything could train them for this. None of that was real. This was real. This was reality, and it felt like the icy slap of a tidal wave.
When he'd seen Harry appear on the grass outside of that maze, somewhere, deep in his gut, he knew what had happened. Fred and George had sometimes talked about this sixth sense, when the other twin was in danger or hurting. Harry was Ron's brother, and when Ron saw the other boy unmoving on the grass he innately knew that he had failed. He had let his brother, one of his own, fall.
There was a rush of activity, pressing bodies, screaming. Ron knew he had to get to the front of the crowd, get to Harry before he was crushed, kneel beside him and help him to his feet and tell him that everything would be fine—that everything would be okay and maybe they should go out for a Butterbeer to celebrate this whole Tournament being over. But Ron couldn't shove past the bodies, and he couldn't see Harry being taken away. For the second time that night, he felt useless.
"Hospital wing." Hermione's cracked voice broke through the crowd, her lips close to his ear. He nodded dumbly. Tears were pooling dangerously in her eyes.
They began forging their way backward, toward the castle instead of inward like the rest of the students.
"Sorry," Ron mumbled. He wasn't sure anyone could hear him. A ringing had descended and was spinning the world around before him. "'scuse me…"
He was knocked roughly back by a figure that parted the crowd easily—Albus Dumbledore, looking taller and more fierce than Ron had ever seen him. There was a fire behind his eyes, and nobody dared stand in his way. Trailing behind him, looking rather white in the face, was Professor McGonagall, and behind her strode Snape.
A sort of hush came over the crowd, voices diminished to murmurings and questions and the searing rush of rumor. Ron pushed all of the voices out of his mind, focused on the buzzing in his ears and the one thought he could cling to: Harry is always okay. He always makes it out okay.
Somehow they managed to make it through the remaining crowd, breaking through and instinctually quickening their paces in the open space beyond. In the distance, the castle door closed with the swish of a cloak.
"What d'you reckon that's about?" Ron said, motioning forward and trying to keep the fear out of his voice. "With Dumbledore and all?"
When Hermione didn't answer, Ron looked over. She was biting her nails even as they walked, her eyes wide and vacant. Ron swallowed.
Madame Pomfrey was already in the hospital wing when they arrived, and she did not appear surprised to see them there. As they approached, she attempted to smooth down her apron, which was wrinkled where she had been clutching at it.
"Where's Harry?" Ron grunted.
"I don't know," Madame Pomfrey said bluntly. "The last I saw of him, he was being taken back to the castle by Professor Moody. I expected them to come back here, but—"
"He's alive." Ron swayed, a portion of his adrenaline fading to numbness. "He's with Moody, he's—"
At that moment, the door of the hospital wing burst open. Snape strode in with brisk, sharp paces.
"Poppy," he said. His face held the sort of intensity usually reserved for scolding Harry, Hermione, or Ron. "Dumbledore's asked for you up in Alastor's office."
"Alastor?" Madame Pomfrey said. "What's—"
"I'm afraid we've been in the midst of an imposter," Snape said crisply. "The real Alastor Moody is locked up, and he requires your services."
Madame Pomfrey uttered a quiet "Oh, dear" before scurrying to the door. Before Snape could exit, Ron made a step toward him.
"Professor," he said hastily. "Is…is Harry alright?"
Snape paused, looking back to Ron with his unreadable dark eyes. "He's alive," he said finally, "and that's more than most can say after being abducted by the Dark Lord."
Hermione let out a terrified squeak, and Snape turned to exit.
Abducted by the Dark Lord.
"You don't…you don't think…" Ron sputtered after finally finding his voice.
"You-Know-Who," Hermione breathed.
They looked at each other, frozen in each other's gazes, the unspoken fears cracking the air around them. Ron swallowed heavily again.
For the second time that night, the hospital wing door flew open, and in trotted Mrs. Weasley and Bill. Mrs. Weasley looked around, face flushed, gaze finally resting on Ron and Hermione.
"Is Harry—"
"We don't know," Ron said dully.
Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth as if to say something more, but paused instead to regain her composure. After a few deep breaths, she swept across the floor to the two teenagers and drew them into an embrace.
"Thank goodness you two weren't involved," she said. "Thank heavens you're alright. What, with the Diggory boy dead—"
This new piece of information hit Ron with the force of a thousand stunning spells, but he was already too numb to feel the pain of the impact. At that moment Madame Pomfrey returned with a hovering Mad-Eye Moody in tow. The would-be professor was gaunt and waxy, devoid of his magical eye and wooden leg, and his hair grew in unhealthy chunks. He was unconscious and moving, but as Madame Pomfrey lowered him onto a bed Ron could see his chest rising and falling.
"He'll be alright," Madame Pomfrey said out loud, though whether or not she was speaking to them was unclear. "Just needs rest."
She bustled about for a few minutes. The group of Weasleys and Hermione waited, watching, unable to speak.
Finally Madame Pomfrey appeared to be satisfied with her work, and she turned back to them.
"He's been locked away for many months. He's weak, but I expect a full recovery." She looked at the huddled group expectantly, as if that would satisfy their curiosity.
"If he's been locked up, who's been teaching us all year?" Ron said.
Madame Pomfrey's mouth twitched. "I'm not sure that that is something you should—"
"Alright, you won't answer me that," Ron said. The heat was rising to his face. "What about this: where's Harry? Why isn't he down here yet?"
Bill's hand squeezed his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.
"Mr. Potter is in the safest of hands, I assure you."
"Yeah, well, it seems to me he hasn't exactly had the best luck with trustworthy people tonight," Ron continued. "How do we know—"
"He's with Professor Dumbledore," Madame Pomfrey snapped back. "I think, Mr. Weasley, that you can trust him in those hands."
Ron snapped his mouth shut, and for a while they were satisfied with that response. Mrs. Weasley fretted, busying herself in whatever way she could, fussing over the unconscious Professor Moody. Eventually, however, the angst returned and the room buzzed with their impatience.
"He should be here by now," Hermione said, wringing her hands. "Even with Dumbledore, he should be here…"
"I assure you, Ms. Granger," Madame Pomfrey, looking thoroughly harassed as the group descended upon her once more, "if there was any reason—"
She was cut off as the door of the hospital wing opened once more and three figures entered.
Ron knew what he should expect—they knew now that Harry had been kidnapped and potentially seriously hurt—but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of his best friend walking through that door.
Harry was covered head to toe in dirt, grime, and dark blood. His clothes were torn, ripped particularly bad in one leg and one arm, and blood seeped through the gashes onto the once-pristine fabric. His hair was ruffled, his face scraped. But what scared Ron the most, what stopped his breath and forced him deeper into the cutting edges of reality, was the hollowness of Harry's eyes. Once green and bright, now they stared ahead with unfathomable exhaustion and heaviness—in the course of a single night, the boy Ron had known had aged into far more than he should have.
Beside Ron, Mrs. Weasley let out a sort of muffled scream.
"Harry!" she said. "Oh, Harry!"
She ran forward, but Dumbledore, who had been gripping Harry's arm, moved forward.
"Molly," he said, holding up a hand, "please listen to me for a moment. Harry has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. He has just had to relive it for me. What he needs now is sleep, and peace, and quiet. If he would like you all to stay with him," he added, looking around at Ron, Hermione, and Bill too, "you may do so. But I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer, and certainly not this evening."
Ron and Hermione nodded dumbly. Ron kept his eyes fixed on Harry, but his best friend did not look up.
As Mrs. Weasley shushed Ron, Hermione, and Bill unnecessarily, Ron watched Harry take weary steps forward to the hospital bed. The Boy Who Lived, the boy who could conquer anything, was trembling; he walked with extreme heaviness, stiffness, with his hand clutching weakly at Sirius's dog fur, as if that would ground him. He followed the orders given to him, disappearing behind a screen to change out of his filthy clothes. Ron fidgeted outside the screen, reluctant to let his best friend out of his sight for another moment.
Finally Harry was settled in bed, and the Weasleys and Hermione took their seats around him. He looked even smaller in the striped pajamas, lost and empty in the cot. He looked breakable, too fragile to touch.
At last, after his prolonged silence, Harry's eyes met Ron's. Ron tried not to flinch.
"I'm alright," Harry said. "Just tired."
Mrs. Weasley smoothed his bed covers, and Madame Pomfrey returned with a sleeping potion.
"For dreamless sleep," she told him.
Without another word, without hesitation, Harry took a mouthful of the potion, then another. Before he could finish, his eyes clouded and his eyelids fluttered closed. Madame Pomfrey snatched the rest of the potion before it could fall out of Harry's now-limp hands.
Ron stared at his friend's grimy face for a bit longer, but the sound of footsteps and murmuring made him turn. Dumbledore was striding out, talking quietly with Madame Pomfrey.
"Professor Dumbledore," Ron said hoarsely. The tall wizard turned and regarded him heavily. "Will Harry be alright?"
Dumbledore was quiet, and it seemed to Ron in that moment that the same weight that had been in Harry's eyes was now reflected in Dumbledore's. At long last, the old headmaster spoke. "He's been through quite an ordeal," he said. "Torment is Lord Voldemort's greatest weapon, physically and emotionally, and I'm afraid Harry has suffered a great deal of both tonight. But Harry is no ordinary boy," he continued. "He has demonstrated courage and strength beyond anything I could have imagined, and for that I do believe he will find the will to continue on."
Hermione sucked in a breath, her voice small and frightened. "Is it true, sir? Is…is You-Know-Who back?"
Dumbledore dipped his head. "I have heard Harry's account, and the evidence is unquestionable. I'm afraid we now must face the moment that we have been fearing." The heaviness now seemed to dominate his entire being. "Now, I must bid you goodnight. There are pressing matters to attend to."
With that, he swept around and disappeared through the doors.
Ron swallowed, and he could feel the others frozen beside him, afraid even to move.
Lord Voldemort has returned.
Slowly, he turned back to Harry, at last at peace in his dreamless unconsciousness. Ron didn't know what the future held, how they would deal with the events of this fateful night. The world was changing around them; he could feel the very essence of it in the air. Nothing would be the same from that night, Ron knew. Nothing would ever be the same. A spark had been struck and it had found its kindling.
For now, Harry slept. He slept, and when he woke he would be forced to face the crushing memories and the physical aches that had lurked behind his green eyes. But he would fight past the damage, and Ron wouldn't leave his side. He wouldn't fail him.
They were brothers, after all, and brothers were there till the bitter end. Ron sat there and breathed, praying that the dawn would come quickly.
Thank you for reading! As always, if you like what you see, or if you have suggestions, kindly drop a review. I'm always taking requests for fics as well, so hit me up through a message or through my tumblr pennflinn!
Till next time,
Penn