THE BRACELET OF APHRODITE
by tranquillitas
A/N: The idea for this story came from the brilliant mind of a friend of mine, trina-k, who also beta-read this. I just wrote the story and filled in the gaps. Hope you enjoy! Reviews (contructive criticisms, suggestions, the ocassional flame) are much appreciated.
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and co. don't belong to me!
.~*~.
Chapter 2: Into the Forest
"How could you do that?! Are you trying to prove how much of a git you really are?! Honestly, Ron! Think sometimes!" Hermione Granger fumed. Even though Ron Weasley was much taller than her, he was having a hard time keeping up with the irritated 16-year old.
"I didn't mean anything by it, honest! I was keeping things light and I was curious," he reasoned. "Note to self, keep food trap shut, locked and throw away the blood key," he muttered to himself.
"Are you mocking me, Ronald Weasley?" she questioned. Her brown eyes bore into his blue eyes. He could almost feel the fire of her anger pass from her to him. Regardless of their height, Hemione was the only woman, aside from Molly Weasley, who had the ultimate power of making Ron feel as small as a field mouse. He grinned at the thought of himself as a field mouse. Wrong thing to do.
"HOW DARE YOU GRIN AT A TIME LIKE THIS!!!??? I'LL HAVE YOUR CHEEK FOR BEING SO BLOODY INCONSIDERATE!!!" she screamed at him. He honestly didn't know whether to laugh out loud (he was definitely rubbing off on her) or quiver and stay silent (she'd never raised her voice at him like this). Being the wise young man Ron Weasley was, he chose the latter.
The little field mouse scurries around looking for its lunch, digging in the parched soil baked by the high-noon sun. His ears perk up suddenly at the beat of wings. Wings. Wings usually equaled trouble. The rodent is on full alert now.
The hawk is circling around her prey, her chicks will be able to eat after all. When the moment of opportunity comes, she swoops down, eyes on her prey, talons glistening in the sun.
"YOU'RE NOT EVEN LISTENING TO ME!!!" she pushed him back, shaking him out of his reverie. She trooped towards the Forbidden Forest, muttering incoherently but vehemently, her long brown hair bobbing madly.
Ron whacked his head with his wand, repeatedly, Catching sight of the long stick in mid-whacking, he muttered to himself, "Good thing she hasn't hexed me yet. Wonder what's holding her back. I am an absolute prat," he groaned and followed her into the forest.
He wasn't worried that one of his best friends had just ventured into the forest majority of the students feared, he knew exactly where to find her. The Forbidden Forest is not called such just for the flashy name. Creatures of all sorts and of various degrees of ferocity took their residence in the thick undergrowth and mesh of vegetation that make the forest the eerie and, at times, dangerous place that it is. That is, if you're the inexperienced wanderer type. But if you're Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger or Harry Potter, the Forest becomes a refuge.
Following the trail of plant life that they've designated as markers, he weaved into the forest until he reached a secluded area in the massive undergrowth. There she was, sitting on one of the three tree stumps they made for seats, her back to him, sniffling slightly. When she heard the twig snap that announced his arrival, she pointed her wand at him without even turning around.
"Don't you dare," she warned.
"Come on, 'Mione, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking," he began.
"You've certainly gotten that right. Five points to Gryffindor," she wryly interrupted, still not facing him.
"As I was saying," he continued, temper shortening. "Is it wrong for someone to worry when his best friend doesn't write back during the span of time when that someone's best friend was supposedly in a foreign country with somebody else who wasn't that someone or that someone's other best friend?"
"Why should you worry about me?" she asked, putting her wand hand down to face him, but keeping her head down. Her nose was red and her eyes were slightly bloodshot. She was wiping the stray tears with a handkerchief. "You had Harry for most of the summer. Wasn't worrying about him enough?"
"I worried about you because --- I," but he never finished.
"Please help me," a tired voice called from the edge of the Trio's sacred spot. A woman, balancing a little girl in her arms and trying to stabilize her standing position, was leaning against one of the large trees that surrounded the enclosure. Her hair was matted against her forehead with sweat; she was pale and weak; her lavender sundress dirtied and streaked with mud; every breath she took was ragged.
Finally, her arms gave way and the little girl slipped from her once tight hold. Ron, whose reflexes were honed through Harry's Quidditch practices, easily caught the child in mid fall. He noticed that the little one he had saved was too tired to even notice him. He glanced back to the person previously holding the toddler, probably her mother, and saw Hermione tending to her. She was now seated on the soft forest floor, leaning against the tree, breathing. Barely breathing, he noted.
"Are you alright?" Hermione gently asked the older woman. She saw the mother shake her head to answer. Ron held the child, now sleeping soundly, closer to him.
"How peculiar," the woman remarked, looking at Ron and the little child. "My daughter usually doesn't cuddle up to strangers right away with such ease. Her name's Gillian. Turned two today,"
"We must get you to the castle," said Hermione, raising her wand to conjure a stretcher. But the woman raised her arm to stop her.
"No need. There's no more time left for me. Just promise me this, take care of Gilian for me?"
Hermione shifted her gaze and looked at Ron.
"We promise," they said, simultaneously, sincerity evident in their eyes.
"Adligo aeternitas!" the woman cried. They had not seen her reach for her wand for the last time to cast the binding spell. Pale blue light enveloped Ron, Hermione and little Gilian. The caster laid her wand hand down, and drifted off to forever sleep.
.~*~.
Thank you for all the lovely reviews!
magges - I was wondering when somebody would notice that...when trina-k gave the ideas for the names and didn't know they were from Anne of Green Gables...have never read it, actually...definitely an HP fic...!
by tranquillitas
A/N: The idea for this story came from the brilliant mind of a friend of mine, trina-k, who also beta-read this. I just wrote the story and filled in the gaps. Hope you enjoy! Reviews (contructive criticisms, suggestions, the ocassional flame) are much appreciated.
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and co. don't belong to me!
.~*~.
Chapter 2: Into the Forest
"How could you do that?! Are you trying to prove how much of a git you really are?! Honestly, Ron! Think sometimes!" Hermione Granger fumed. Even though Ron Weasley was much taller than her, he was having a hard time keeping up with the irritated 16-year old.
"I didn't mean anything by it, honest! I was keeping things light and I was curious," he reasoned. "Note to self, keep food trap shut, locked and throw away the blood key," he muttered to himself.
"Are you mocking me, Ronald Weasley?" she questioned. Her brown eyes bore into his blue eyes. He could almost feel the fire of her anger pass from her to him. Regardless of their height, Hemione was the only woman, aside from Molly Weasley, who had the ultimate power of making Ron feel as small as a field mouse. He grinned at the thought of himself as a field mouse. Wrong thing to do.
"HOW DARE YOU GRIN AT A TIME LIKE THIS!!!??? I'LL HAVE YOUR CHEEK FOR BEING SO BLOODY INCONSIDERATE!!!" she screamed at him. He honestly didn't know whether to laugh out loud (he was definitely rubbing off on her) or quiver and stay silent (she'd never raised her voice at him like this). Being the wise young man Ron Weasley was, he chose the latter.
The little field mouse scurries around looking for its lunch, digging in the parched soil baked by the high-noon sun. His ears perk up suddenly at the beat of wings. Wings. Wings usually equaled trouble. The rodent is on full alert now.
The hawk is circling around her prey, her chicks will be able to eat after all. When the moment of opportunity comes, she swoops down, eyes on her prey, talons glistening in the sun.
"YOU'RE NOT EVEN LISTENING TO ME!!!" she pushed him back, shaking him out of his reverie. She trooped towards the Forbidden Forest, muttering incoherently but vehemently, her long brown hair bobbing madly.
Ron whacked his head with his wand, repeatedly, Catching sight of the long stick in mid-whacking, he muttered to himself, "Good thing she hasn't hexed me yet. Wonder what's holding her back. I am an absolute prat," he groaned and followed her into the forest.
He wasn't worried that one of his best friends had just ventured into the forest majority of the students feared, he knew exactly where to find her. The Forbidden Forest is not called such just for the flashy name. Creatures of all sorts and of various degrees of ferocity took their residence in the thick undergrowth and mesh of vegetation that make the forest the eerie and, at times, dangerous place that it is. That is, if you're the inexperienced wanderer type. But if you're Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger or Harry Potter, the Forest becomes a refuge.
Following the trail of plant life that they've designated as markers, he weaved into the forest until he reached a secluded area in the massive undergrowth. There she was, sitting on one of the three tree stumps they made for seats, her back to him, sniffling slightly. When she heard the twig snap that announced his arrival, she pointed her wand at him without even turning around.
"Don't you dare," she warned.
"Come on, 'Mione, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking," he began.
"You've certainly gotten that right. Five points to Gryffindor," she wryly interrupted, still not facing him.
"As I was saying," he continued, temper shortening. "Is it wrong for someone to worry when his best friend doesn't write back during the span of time when that someone's best friend was supposedly in a foreign country with somebody else who wasn't that someone or that someone's other best friend?"
"Why should you worry about me?" she asked, putting her wand hand down to face him, but keeping her head down. Her nose was red and her eyes were slightly bloodshot. She was wiping the stray tears with a handkerchief. "You had Harry for most of the summer. Wasn't worrying about him enough?"
"I worried about you because --- I," but he never finished.
"Please help me," a tired voice called from the edge of the Trio's sacred spot. A woman, balancing a little girl in her arms and trying to stabilize her standing position, was leaning against one of the large trees that surrounded the enclosure. Her hair was matted against her forehead with sweat; she was pale and weak; her lavender sundress dirtied and streaked with mud; every breath she took was ragged.
Finally, her arms gave way and the little girl slipped from her once tight hold. Ron, whose reflexes were honed through Harry's Quidditch practices, easily caught the child in mid fall. He noticed that the little one he had saved was too tired to even notice him. He glanced back to the person previously holding the toddler, probably her mother, and saw Hermione tending to her. She was now seated on the soft forest floor, leaning against the tree, breathing. Barely breathing, he noted.
"Are you alright?" Hermione gently asked the older woman. She saw the mother shake her head to answer. Ron held the child, now sleeping soundly, closer to him.
"How peculiar," the woman remarked, looking at Ron and the little child. "My daughter usually doesn't cuddle up to strangers right away with such ease. Her name's Gillian. Turned two today,"
"We must get you to the castle," said Hermione, raising her wand to conjure a stretcher. But the woman raised her arm to stop her.
"No need. There's no more time left for me. Just promise me this, take care of Gilian for me?"
Hermione shifted her gaze and looked at Ron.
"We promise," they said, simultaneously, sincerity evident in their eyes.
"Adligo aeternitas!" the woman cried. They had not seen her reach for her wand for the last time to cast the binding spell. Pale blue light enveloped Ron, Hermione and little Gilian. The caster laid her wand hand down, and drifted off to forever sleep.
.~*~.
Thank you for all the lovely reviews!
magges - I was wondering when somebody would notice that...when trina-k gave the ideas for the names and didn't know they were from Anne of Green Gables...have never read it, actually...definitely an HP fic...!