Chapter 1 - Ron Weasley Voldemorts
Ron Weasley didn't know what happened next, he wasn't sure about the next great adventure and whatever else dumbledore had spouted, all he knew and wanted to know as he stared at the dark robed figure, hooded with a veil that concealed his face, if he even had a face, and holding a giant scythe that seemed to suck the very light in this white place into it's dark metal;
"Where are Harry and Hermione?" He managed, emotions a whirling bundle of mess, he wasn't feeling as calm as Harry had apparently claimed when he was stuck in limbo, but, well, he supposed he wasn't in limbo, his death was sure and it had come to claim his life, there was not even a chance he could go back. And he wasn't sure if he even wanted to.
"Gone." The voice echoed around the strange white place as if his voice was speaking from everywhere, it chilled him to his bone and sung in his soul, only serving to further the fact that this was his domain, he controlled everything.
He sucked in a suprising breath, he was dead so why was there air? He assumed it was a trick of he mind and cut off that line of thought and asked, hesitantly, "What do you mean, gone?" He wasn't sure why he had asked, why he did not automatically assume that they had been brought into whatever came after this, maybe they were in a field of flowers and a shining sun waiting for him. With a moon that wasn't broken in half.
But something about this conversation seemed off, whether because of the emotionless voice that he had heard from Death, or his dark robe that concealed all parts of his body besides his hands, which were clutching the scythe, long and bony and he was pretty sure were missing the usual skin, y'know?
And why Death was holding his scythe, that glinted menacingly with its pure black handle.
He was pretty sure that the scythe was supposed to be used before he came here, right? That was the reason he was here when he and Harry and Hermione had sacrificed themselves to give the world a chance.
The scythe was used to claim their souls wasn't it? It didn't matter that they had did a spell- ritual, something that he didn't think had a name, that had burned them in a fury of white hot heavenly flame.
Death was supposed to claim them with his scythe, which he had, that was why he was here after all.
So why did he need it now?
Maybe he was overthinking it, Ron thought, what did he know about the afterlife and it's secrets? The closest who could say they knew something were Harry and ghosts, and he wasn't either of them. And yet why did it sound so unusually ominous when he had said "Gone." As if they hadn't just moved on?
He hadn't realised when he stepped back, a distance forming between him and Death. Steps that made no sound and stayed silent.
Ron Weasley, Second in Command to Harry Potter, Who could be considered a King- No scratch that, he was- upon the remaining magicals fighting against Voldemort in an effort to keep peace.
Slayer of many things and proud to say he had the final blow on the King of All Dragons.
Ran.
He knew many people who had run from Death, alot innocent and many just as evil, but not one had succeeded, and in the end Death's scythe had claimed their soul. As it had been for all eternity.
All expect one;
Voldemort- 'Flight from Death'
And Ron Weasley was decidingly Voldemort-ing the heck out of here.
Review? Maybe. will edit later. might continue this.
