Chapter Two: Breathe Deep
Don't breathe too deep, don't think all day. Dive into work, drive the other way. That drip of hurt, that pint of shame, goes away just play the game.
Bruised and broken, Ron lolled like a rag doll in a black chair covered in a cheap, chipping black paint. It was crudely made and quite uncomfortable. The only thing that kept him from falling out of the chair were his roped binds, which were as tight as death. The room was dark and all he could see was flickering shadows across the wall. There was an odd hissing sound Ron felt came from the shadows themselves. He was vaguely aware that he was shirtless, and that his trousers were still wet from the snow outside. He felt as though he had been knocked on the back of the head. Everything was spinning. Perhaps he had been drugged.
A sliver of light slithered like a serpent into the depths of Ron's cell. He heard a door close and once more, he could see nothing.
"You are in special quarters," said a voice Ron might have recognized. "Solitary confinement. We need you, Mr. Weasley."
"Need...?"
"Yes," said the voice. "But... don't take it personally, old chap. It is strictly business, after all."
"A businessman..." Ron muttered, seeming to understand.
"Yes..." said the Businessman, the smile evident in his prim voice. "That I am, Mr. Weasley. You will remain here only as long as you refuse to divulge the information we need. When we are through with you, we shall end this pointless suffering of yours. In the meantime, consider yourself my guest."
"This is how... you treat your guests?" Ron was panting, as if he'd just run five kilometers.
The Businessman was amused. "This is how we treat guests like you."
"Lucky me..."
"I would consider yourself lucky if I were you," said the Businessman, with an ominous hint to his tone. "If you do not give me the information we require, I may have to resort to... desperate measures." There was a hint of glee in his last two words. He wanted to resort to desperate measures.
"Now, Mr. Weasley, lets just see how tough you are."
Ron barely had time to brace himself before the ropes chafing at his wrists became the least of his pains.
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Mrs. Weasley stumbled through the door at ten o'clock in the morning, her arms full of grocery bags.
"Alright!" she called to the empty house. "I'm back!"
Remus Lupin came out of the kitchen, smiling. He took some of the bags.
"Thank you, Molly," he said, kindly as he walked into the kitchen. "The Order really loves your cooking. Things wouldn't be the same without it."
"It's almost Christmas vacation," said Mrs. Weasley. "My boys will be home soon. All of them." Mrs. Weasley grinned. Even Percy had agreed to come home for the holidays. She had invited him on a whim, and he had accepted, rather apologetically. But he kept his pride intact, of course. Percy always found a way to admit defeat without falling from his high platform of arrogance.
"Of course," said Remus. "And you have to have plenty of food in the house, especially when Fred and George get here." Mrs. Weasley laughed.
"I feel like making a big meal tonight," she said with a grin. "I feel like today is going to be good day and– Heavens, what's that?"
A tawny owl was pecking anxiously at the kitchen window. As Remus walked over to open the window, Tonks appeared in the doorway, with long, straight, shockingly purple hair, in her pajamas. She was yawning.
"What is that awful racket?" she complained. She saw the owl and glared at it. "That bird would not leave my window alone! It woke me up. I finally threw a book at it– oh, don't worry, Molly, I mended the glass shards of the window, it's fine now."
"Have you really been sleeping this long?" Mrs. Weasley said, looking appalled. Tonks looked sheepish and a bit guilty.
"Well, there was this party last night, and–"
"Uh oh, Molly," Remus frowned as he opened the window and took the letter from the owl's foot. "It's a black envelope– from the Ministry. That means bad news." He handed the black envelope to Mrs. Weasley, who noted the silver writing that hastily had her name scribbled on the paper. She opened the letter and read it slowly.
Mrs. Weasley read the paper in curiosity, expecting the worst. She continued to read the paper and her mouth went dry. Apparently, the worst wasn't bad enough.
"What is it, Molly?" Tonks asked. Remus took the parchment and read it over, with Tonks reading over his shoulder.
Dear Mum
This will come as a shock for you, so prepare yourself. I just received word at 12:03 this morning that something's gone awry at Hogwarts. Mum, please, do not panic. But at around ten o'clock yesterday night, December third, Ron stormed out of Gryffindor Common room. He was reported missing by Harry Potter, who has been practicing mental magic and suspected something was amiss. Dumbledore immediately wrote to the Ministry after checking that Ron was definitely not on the grounds. Normally, to file a Ministry Missing Wizard's Report there needs to be a twenty-four hour gap, however when mental magic is involved, it can be filed much sooner. Mum, Ron is now on top of a long list of missing wizards. But I can assure you that his case is of the highest priority. Dumbledore has seen to that.
Inconceivably and sincerely sorry
Your son,
Percy Weasley
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The Great Hall the next morning was silent. Students avoided Harry and Hermione like the plague. Even the staff table was hushed. Dumbledore wasn't even there. Hermione could barely hear the whispered rumors above the quiet clattering of forks on plates.
"I can't take this, Harry," she whispered. "I just... I'll break, I know I will."
"Things will turn out fine," Harry said, playing with his eggs.
There was a rush of wings and barely anyone even looked up to see if they'd received any letters from one of the army of owls invading the Hall. One swooped down in front of Harry, who calmly untied the letter from it's foot and looked at it, nonchalantly.
"It's from Mrs. Weasley," he said with a wan smile as he pocketed it.
"Aren't you going to read it?" Hermione asked him, watching him expectantly. Harry merely continued to try and eat his eggs. Hermione bit her lip and leaned across the table on her elbows.
"Can you... reach him?" she whispered, hopefully. Harry looked up from his eggs. Her eyes were desperately wide and she reached for his hands across the table and seized them. "Oh can you, Harry? Perhaps all your training has paid off after all, I'm sorry I doubted you, I really am, I know you're precocious, I just–"
"Hermione..." Harry said guiltily, pulling his hands away from her and refusing to look away from his plate. "I can't. I can't do it. Alright?"
"But are you sure?" Hermione asked, hopefully. "I mean, if you just try–"
"Ialreadydid..." Harry mumbled. Hermione frowned.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I said I already did!" Harry said, rather loudly, his silverware clattering onto the table. A few faces turned to look at him. He lowered his voice. "I... Last night, in the dormitory. I sat on my bed and I tried, I did, but... But I can't, Hermione. He's out of my range. I can't sense him at all." Harry looked down, defeated.
"That doesn't mean anything," Hermione said stubbornly. "It doesn't mean he's dead or lost or gone forever... he's just... out of your range..." Hermione trailed off. After a few minutes of silence, Dumbledore entered and walked swiftly to the staff table. What quiet gossip there was halted abruptly as he took his place at the staff table and called them to attention.
"Saturday morning and so many faces this early!" Dumbledore cried with a light laugh. "Well, it's good to see all of you early birds... I would just like to dispel a few rumors. Yes, it is true that the sixth year Ron Weasley is missing. No, it is not true that he was eaten by the giant squid, kidnaped by giants, dismembered by dragons or even stolen by Lord Voldemort. We do not know what has become of him at this point in time and I would prefer it if, for his friends' sake, speculation was kept to a minimum. Thank you."
And with that, he sat down and started serving himself some fruit.
Harry sighed, stood up, and walked furiously out of the hall. Hermione watched him, remorsefully, then stood up quietly and slowly followed him out.
When she reached the Entrance Hall, he was nowhere to be seen. She had just deducted that he'd headed back to Gryffindor Tower to do some more meditating when she saw that the oak door was ajar. She smiled to herself and went outside.
The morning was brisk and the sky was clear. The sun was out, and it was unusually warm for December, especially this quickly after a blizzard. The snow was melting, but slowly, and soon it would be slush. Sometimes, Hermione marveled at how quickly the weather could change. Or how quickly anything could change for that matter.
She noticed a black lump in the middle of the field and slowly made her way over to it. Harry lay, spread-eagled on the ground, a ed spot on a of a blanket of white. Hermione kneeled down next to him, but he wasn't looking at her, he was looking at the sky.
"Harry, don't lay there, you'll catch cold," Hermione told him, noting his saturated robes.
"I'm making a snow angel," Harry told her stubbornly, squinting up at the sun above him. "Can't you see it?"
"Yes, Harry, I can see your snow angel," Hermione said with a smile, humoring him.
"Better look now," Harry said. "It'll be ruined when I try to get up and look at it. Funny thing about snow angels. They're perfect when you make them on the ground, but you always screw it up when you try and admire your work."
"Harry, if that's supposed to be some sort of metaphor for what's going on right now, I must say I really don't get it," said Hermione. She offered him her hand. "Here, I'll help you up."
But Harry didn't take Hermione's hand. Instead, he reached for his wand in his pocket.
"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked him.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry declared, pointing distinctly at himself. He rose out of the snow and looked over his shoulder at his creation. "Hey, would you look at that, it worked."
"Harry, you know we're not supposed to use magic–"
"In the corridors," Harry said, still looking back at his snow angel. "But we're outside."
Hermione scowled at him. "I was going to say we're not allowed to use magic outside of ."
"Don't care," Harry said, airily, as he floated above the snow. "I should probably get down now. Hermione, take my hand."
But the second Hermione touched Harry's hand to lead him down, he fell in a clump and destroyed the snow angel.
"Tough luck," said Hermione.
"It was bound to happen anyway," Harry said, sadly. He sat up and leaned back on his hands. Hermione once more offered her hand.
"Let me help you up," Hermione said, insistently. Begrudgingly, Harry took her offered help and let himself be pulled to his feet. "Harry, I feel as though you're talking in tongues. A year ago, had I even have mentioned something metaphorical, you would have told me to stop beating around the bush. And now, you're throwing them out left and right and no one knows what you mean anyway!"
"That wasn't a metaphor, Hermione," said Harry. "It was a fact. Everything starts out perfect until someone screws it up."
"If you think you screwed this up then no amount of meditation will save you from your stupidity." Hermione touched Harry's arm, sympathetically. "Harry... Listen. You have got to stop blaming yourself for these things. I mean, really... You're hurting yourself more than you have to. If anything... If anything, I should be the one to blame," she said, sadly, withdrawing her hand. "I was the one who was arguing with him in the first place–"
"Defending me!" Harry said, adamantly. But his countenance softened and he sighed. "I suppose I really shouldn't be spending so much time on my practice."
"Come on," Hermione said with a soft smile. "Let's go back inside."