Summary: Events of his fifth year startle Harry into practicing mental magic (far from mental math). While Harry's meditating, Ron accidentally breaks and he and Hermione have a nearly unforgivable argument. Harry, snapping out of his meditation, flashes Ron a scarring look– one Ron cannot forget easily. Retreating outdoors in bitter December, he is lost unto himself, but not to the Death Eaters that find him. A test of friendship, loyalty and both emotional and mental strength.
Author's Notes: Few stories emphasize the close bond between our three main characters without something leading to romance. I'm telling you right now: There is no love interests, nor is there meant to be any implication of lust in this tale. This is a simple story of strength of character and strong wills as our friends battle their most traumatizing battle yet– Without falling in love with each other.
Chapter One: Into the Abyss
How do you leave the past behind when it keeps finding ways to get to your heart? It reaches way down deep and tears you inside out 'til you're torn apart.
He would be dead for hours. Sometimes, Ron would sit right in front of him and just stare at him. Ron, too, would sit there for hours, just waiting for any sign of life. But Harry never awoke, at least not when Ron was there.
Ron often wondered where his friend had gone and who this stranger was in his place. Much to Hermione's dismay, Harry was neglecting his homework. He would go to class and pay attention and do the class work, but as soon as he returned to the dormitory, he was lost to the world. Ron wanted nothing more than to find him again.
The teachers didn't seem to mind it much. McGonagall too often turned a blind eye when Harry would be missing homework and confused classmates would explain how he would sit silent on his bed for hours on end every night. Hagrid gave a sad and wistful smile whenever Ron and Hermione explained why Harry could not join them in their visits to his cabin. And Dumbledore... Dumbledore encouraged it.
"Harry is working on tuning his mind," he explained to Ron and Hermione. "He was shaken by events of last year and he feels he needs to be ready for whatever the future brings."
And it was obvious to Ron and Hermione that Dumbledore agreed with Harry. He tried so hard to prepare Harry, although Hermione had pointed something out to Ron once.
"No matter how he tries, how often he preps him, I see the same look in his eye that I often saw in Oliver Wood's when he tried to pep talk his team before a match: Dumbledore knows he can try all he wants, but even the best trained soldier in the world can trip over a knot in the ground and crack his skull open."
It was true, Ron realized. Dumbledore would often pull Harry aside quietly and question him and though Harry's face was determined and Dumbledore's reassuring, there was a glint of fear in the old headmaster's eyes.
Ron wasn't too sure about Hermione or Dumbledore, or anyone else for that matter, but he was worried for his friend's sanity. Surely too much playing with mental magic would damage a teenager's brain?
"It's not playing," Hermione muttered one evening, hiding behind a war novel while Harry meditated by the fire. "It's a dignified practice and exercise at toning one's mental abilities."
"And what do you know about it, eh Hermione?" Ron snapped, almost accusingly. Hermione glared at Ron over her novel, her eyes narrow.
"It's a grueling task, and it takes a long time to master, but by the end of it Harry will be skilled in the art of not only Occlumency, but Legilemency as well. His senses will be magnified, his mind will be more aware, empathy and telepathy will become like second nature–"
"Telepathy?!" Ron cried, standing up. "Hell, I don't want Harry in my head!" Ron turned to the youth, who sat cross-legged on the carpet and oblivious. "I mean, no offense man, I trust you and all, but I mean honestly! The mind is nothing to be messed with!"
"Maybe your mind," Hermione said, coolly. "But I think it will be quite useful to him."
"Oh yeah?" Ron shrieked, his voice soaring into ranges he didn't know he had. Coughing, he continued. "Oh yeah? Well, I think he's wasting his time, frankly. I think he should get his head out of the past and into the present! If he thinks that doing this will bring Sirius back, then–"
Hermione slammed her book so loud, disturbed pigeons fluttered from the windowsill.
"How dare you so insensitively even think to say such offensive things about Harry, or worse, about Sirius!" she fumed, now standing.
"I didn't say anything offensive towards anyone. I'm just stating facts! Sirius is dead, and Harry knows that. Keeping his head in the clouds and not in this castle will not do him any good." Ron said this quietly, not wanting to wake up his companions in their dorms on a Friday night. But his temper rose steadily as he continued, as did his volume. "You say this will help him be more aware of his surroundings, and yet he has no bloody clue you and I are even talking about him even though he's sitting right next to us! You say he'll be prepared, but you've even admitted to me that even Dumbledore knows he's not totally safe!"
"Nothing will help him be totally safe, Dumbledore understands that!" Hermione said. "But this will help Harry, it will help him be ready for Voldemort– oh for heaven's sake, Ron, cut it out!" Ron had flinched involuntarily and Hermione was too fed up with his attitude to care. She continued. "It will help him be prepared for Voldemort's next attack, which will be directed towards Harry's mind because they are already psychically connected anyway. Harry and Dumbledore both know that."
"But what if he attacks tomorrow, eh Hermione?" Ron retorted, furious. "What if You-Know-Oh all right, what if V...Voldemort just suddenly broke into the castle and killed Harry when he was in one of these clueless trances? What if, Hermione!"
Hermione was stunned. She said, quietly, "I cannot believe you just said that. I cannot believe you just suggested... Voldemort in Hogwarts, killing... killing Harry!"
"Well it's a possibility, isn't it?!?!" Ron yelled at the top of his lungs. Hermione was taken aback. She fell back into her arm chair. She stared at him, dumbstruck and speechless, but a burning scorn blazed in her eyes.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," was all she could say, but she managed to say it quite bitterly.
"Sorry I feel that way?" Ron almost laughed. "Sirius is dead, You-Know-Who isn't, and Harry will die if he doesn't come back down to earth! Look, I bet he still doesn't know we're talking about him. 'Allo Harry!" Ron was hysterical. He waved his hands frantically in front of Harry's closed eyes. "Wake up, Harry! You there, Harry? You just won the Quidditch World Cup, Harry, what are you gonna do now?"
Ron turned back to Hermione, who was staring at Ron with what seemed to him as pitiful disgust. He ignored it. "You see?" he said. "Deaf as a post and blind as a bat. And if he doesn't snap out of it, he'll be dead as a doornail!"
The room was silent and all that could be heard was the crackle of the dying fire.
Finally, Hermione said, in a cold hard hiss, "You're wrong, Ron. You're disgusting and twisted and wrong. And that's all you'll ever be. Wrong."
Ron was bitten by Hermione's saber-toothed words. He smiled and was about to hysterically laugh it off when the fire suddenly and mysteriously died. Both pairs of eyes turned to the fire, and to Harry, who was now facing them both, his eyes wide open. He looked blankly from Hermione to Ron. His gaze lingered on Ron. And Ron, as if entranced, could not look away from those deep green eyes.
Slowly, Harry's eyes narrowed and his lips were closed and set in a straight line, although it seemed almost as if Harry were baring his teeth to Ron, invisible behind bleeding red lips. His stare was frozen and as sharp as a cutlass and that single look pierced Ron worse than Hermione's words ever could.
Without a word, he spun on his heal and marched out the portrait hole, down the hall, and didn't look back until he was in the bitter winter.
Angry and alone, Ron walked as far as his legs would take him. There had been a blizzard the night before, and the snow was still fresh and deep on the ground. The depth of it was unusual for the UK. Whenever Ron took a step, his leg would sink into the crystal white up to the middle of his shin. He wasn't dressed properly to be out in the cold, but he'd rather face the frozen winds of the outdoors then the frozen atmosphere of the Gryffindor common room.
By the time he got to Hogsmeade, his legs were soaked and he was shivering. But Ron couldn't care less. He was so blind with frustration and confusion.
Hermione. The nerve of her. But perhaps he shouldn't have been so harsh in his word choice. Perhaps he had been a little disrespectful... But he was just so angry, with her, with Harry, and maybe even with Sirius.
Sirius. That really was a sensitive subject.
"God damn it!" Ron cursed, kicking at the snow outside of an old abandoned store. "Why did he do this to Harry? Why did he do this to us?" The tears seemed to turn to frost as they trailed down Ron's cheek. They bitterly stung his face, but he quickly wiped them away with his sleeve. If Harry had only never had that dream... If Harry had waited a bit longer, shouted Sirius's name a little louder, would he have heard and come running to reassure Harry that he was fine? And if Sirius had lived, would Harry be killing himself with all this mental stress?
Harry was more of a brother to Ron than the twins, Bill, Charlie, or Percy ever had been. But these days, Harry barely said two words to Ron, let alone try and talk out his issues with him. And Ron knew Harry had problems. Everyday, he hid from them in meditation. And it was killing him. It was a parasite, eating him up inside and soon, he'd be just a shell and that shell would eventually crumble. And that was what Ron was worried about most, not Hermione, not even Voldemort. Ron was worried that Harry was doing himself irreparable damage. It was something a brother could sense.
But then, what was that look Harry had shot him? That parasite, glaring at him from the pits of what was left of Harry's soul? Or Harry's own frustration that he'd been disturbed from his beloved and distracting meditation? Had Harry indeed heard the unimaginable things Ron had said about his deceased godfather? Was he, like Hermione, angry at Ron for his sharp tongue?
Ron did not know what that eerily unnerving glower meant. And it was quite possible that he would never know.
Ron reached into the inside pocket of his robe and pulled out a valuable possession he always carried with him. It was a picture, taken two summers ago, in the living room at Sirius's house. Fred held Ginny back by her arms and she was fighting to get free while George was ready to pour a bucket of mop water on her head. Hermione pretended to be unaware as she continued to dust off the curtains. Harry was on the floor, already dripping with water, having been Fred and George's first victim when Ginny had tried to come to his rescue.
Best of all, standing in the doorway, refusing to get involved or even announce his presence and looking incredibly amused was Sirius.
Ron had taken that picture. And it was taken before everything started to go really wrong.
But the picture confused him now. When Hermione had seen it, she had once been afraid that the wrong people would see it, and discover Sirius. But it didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.
A cruel wind blew from behind Ron and sent shivers up his spine.
Drawing his wand slowly, he carefully turned to meet the black shadow before him. He looked up at his attacker with defeated eyes and didn't even try to shout a curse. He just fell limp before his captor.
"What were you and Ron arguing about?" Harry asked quietly. He stood over her as she cowered behind her novel in her arm chair. Her legs were curled under her and she refused to meet Harry's eye.
"...Stupid, really..." Hermione muttered as her eyes flickered back and forth over the pages.
"I don't care how stupid it is," Harry said, calmly, his shadow engulfing Hermione's reading light like a hungry moon eclipsing the sun. "I could feel you fighting through my training. There was a lot of negative energy coming from you two..." Harry paused and, keeping his eyes on Hermione, he tilted his head slowly down towards his chest and leaned in closer to her, putting his hands on the arms of the chair. She shivered. His presence had grown more commanding over their sixth year. She wondered how powerful it would be by the end of it.
"It... It wasn't about me, was it?" he asked her, his voice almost a whisper.
"Y-Your name m-might have come... come up once or twice, sure," Hermione said, still refusing to look up. Harry smiled.
"That was a lie. Even without my practice, I could tell. Don't stutter, Hermione, it gives you away."
Fed up, Hermione slammed her book shut for the second time that evening and stared into Harry's eyes with her own commanding gaze. They were inches away from each other.
"Alright, you're right, it was about you," Hermione said. "If you want to know the truth, he's worried about your... What do you call it? Training? And frankly..." Hermione faltered and looked away from Harry again. "Frankly... I am too... a little..."
Harry straightened. "Why?" he asked, confused.
"Don't get defensive about it!" Hermione said quickly, her face flushing. She rose to her feet and started pacing around the room. "I mean, I was defending you! I said that... that your meditation would help you, your training as you say will prepare you for things normal people wouldn't be prepared for, but honestly, Harry..." Hermione stopped pacing and looked directly at Harry.
"I really think you're too young," she whispered.
"Well, you've got to start young!" Harry said with a patient laugh, as though stating the obvious to a young child. "Your mind is still developing, and if it helps to develop these abilities when the mind is still growing because–"
"You said it yourself," Hermione said. "You're mind is still growing. You are still growing. Harry, your brain can only handle so much pressure. And you never relieve any of it either! One day, Harry... One day, I swear you're going to burst. Don't you want to be healthy? Because really, your health is more important than your meditation. And this is unhealthy!"
Harry was beginning to be bothered by Hermione. "There is nothing unhealthy about this," he said through gritted teeth.
"Oh really?" Hermione laughed and crossed her arms. "Constant practice, always right after school, ignoring your homework, for God's sake! You don't talk anymore Harry and we miss you!"
"Hermione," Harry said, eyes on the floor helplessly shaking his head. He looked up at her. "I just can't..." but he trailed off. His head snapped to the window. Hermione looked at him curiously. He turned back to her.
"Ron's gone," he uttered, his eyes wide.
Hermione crossed her arms again and rolled her eyes. "No, really? I was here too when he stormed out on us, Harry, did you forget?"
"No," Harry said firmly, staring at Hermione fearfully. "I mean he's really gone."