Chapter Three: Don't Let Go

Just tighten those shoulders, just clench your jaw 'til you frown. Just don't let go, or you may drown.

Harry sat on his bed cross-legged and looked at Mrs. Weasley's letter long and hard.

My Dearest Harry,

I can only imagine what you must be going through, dear. It's so quiet here. And Tonks's attempts at a casual joke only result in an increased amount of silence. Recently, she's stopped trying, poor dear. Every time Remus walks through the front door he seems to have one more premature wrinkle, one more gray hair, and one more scar on his soul. But his eyes hold something strange, an unbreakable determination to stop all this tragedy. He's been working with Percy at the Ministry every day since he heard. He comes home later than Alastor, and you know that old workaholic. If only you could see him, dear, he wishes so much to see you... He loses more sleep than I do over this. I never realized just how much he cared about my son. That man has a lot of heart.

Arthur says hello, dear, and to be strong. You need courage, now more than ever. You are a very strong boy, and you need to display that strength. I'm sure you are. I'm so proud of you, and so worried about you...

Percy says that Ron's case is of top priority, but I don't know if he's just saying that to reassure me or not. He and Arthur have both been telling me of disappearances all year, of Ministry officials and their family members. And I never told you this, but even more recently we've even lost a member of the Order. Hestia Jones disappeared about a week before Ron did. Percy says the list has grown quite long. To think that Ron is at the top of it is just being stupid...

My heart aches to think of you in this situation. No one deserves this pain, Harry, least of all you.

Your concerned guardian,

Molly Weasley

There were a few things in this letter that interested Harry. For one, Mrs. Weasley signed the letter as his guardian. It made him smile and something warm rose from the pit of his stomach and filled his face. He knew she wanted to put something less formal. Second, like Mrs. Weasley, Harry was quite surprised by Lupin's attitude towards the whole thing. But he did understand that 'unbreakable determination' Mrs. Weasley had seen in his eyes. Lupin had been through plenty of hardships in his life. Harry had seen him lay back and take Sirius's death like it was nothing, and it had made him angry at the time. But, Harry supposed, Lupin was sick of stepping back and letting all these things happen. He wanted them to stop, just as Harry wished they would stop. But he didn't feel like they would.

Thirdly, Harry noted the valuable information Mrs. Weasley had unintentionally given him in that letter. Immediately, he pulled out a new piece of parchment, and began to write.

Percy–

I have an urgent and possibly unethical request to ask of you...

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Alone in his coffin, Ron was left to his thoughts. He hadn't stood up in days and he felt as though his legs were dead. For company, all he had were the hissing shadows on the wall, which sneaked about as though whispering to each other about this strange redheaded boy.

Healed and open scars scattered his chest, and Ron couldn't bare to look down for right above his stomach, there was an unusual bump, something protruding almost through his skin. He could feel it rubbing up against him from the inside. His rib was broken, though the Death Eaters made sure that his lungs were not punctured. They would torture him to the brink of death and then leave him for a day or two only to heal slightly. Once, the Businessman had gotten a little carried away and administered a curse which could have killed Ron, although he realized this and immediately healed the boy enough to keep him out of death's grip.

But Ron knew that eventually, they would stop healing him.

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Harry was looking quite ill, in Hermione's eyes. Pallid and gray, he would make his way to everyday blindly. She had worked out his routine. Every morning at the same time, he would wake up, go to , come back to the common room, do his homework, and then meditate for the rest of the evening. Except on Wednesdays and Fridays when he had Quidditch practice, and weekends when he would work on projects or talk to the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Hermione was happy to see him become more involved in his school work, but it was almost as if he'd been to war and back again. He did everything half-heartedly. She didn't think he put effort into anything anymore.

At eleven o'clock at night, Harry was writing a letter by the fire when Hermione came down to check on him.

"Harry..."

He looked up from his writings and smiled wanly at her.

"Hey," he said in a small voice.

"Who are you writing to?" she asked him. Harry looked at his letter and sighed with frustration. He took the letter, tore it into pieces, and threw them into the fire.

"Ron," he said with a sigh, staring at the leaping flames. Hermione looked curious. Harry noticed her looking at him and explained. "I mean, sometimes... Sometimes, it helps to say the things you couldn't say before, you know?" Harry sighed and slouched in his chair. Suddenly, he straightened up, his eyes wide. "Hey! Hey, wait! What if I sent him a letter?"

Hermione looked confused. "Harry...?" Harry leapt out of his seat and balled his hands into anxious fists.

"What if I write a letter and got Hedwig to deliver it to him?" Harry's face was agleam with excitement. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner. "I mean, all this time we've been thinking magic, but what if we just use the simple homing skills of a talented bird–"

"Harry!" Hermione grabbed the hysterical boy by his shoulders. "Calm down. Don't you think that if the solution were that simple Dumbledore would have done it by now?"

Harry's shoulders slumped. Hermione did not let him go.

"If you can't reach Ron, what makes you think Hedwig can?" she whispered, sympathetically.

"But... But Hedwig knows Ron, she knows his scent and what not. She'd know where–"

"Listen, Harry, Hedwig needs at least some idea of where she's going. It's not that easy," said Hermione.

Harry sighed, defeated, and fell into a chair.

"I just don't know what to do..." he whispered.

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Ron was becoming anxious. He had not seen life in what seemed like three days and he felt like it was driving him insane. The shadows began to speak to him. They became his comrades. But Ron could draw little comfort from their stygian words.

"What are you waiting for?" they'd ask him. "You know they will kill you eventually. Why does it matter how long it takes?"

"The longer it takes, the more weary they become," Ron said. "If I can hold out long enough, they'll eventually kill me out of frustration and get nothing from me."

"What is it they want," asked one shadow, in curiosity. "Why are they so keen to pull it out of you. Does it have to do with Harry Potter?"

"They think I know things," Ron said. "They think I can tell them things about Harry. They want to use me to get to him. But they don't know..."

"What?" hissed another shadow, anxiously. "What do they not know?"

Ron looked away from the shadows and thought of his friend. He would not tell these betraying shadows what he would never tell his captors.

"They don't know," Ron repeated, shaking his head, drawing power from his knowledge and strength from his friendship. It was a dismal little secret, but it made him smile. A new hope was born and the seeds of a new determination took root. "They don't know."

"What? What?" hissed the shadows.

"They will never know," Ron said. "Never."

The door opened and she shadows retreated to the farthest corners where the light could not reach. In the door stood a gigantic silhouette of what Ron could only guess was a man. He stepped into the room and closed the door.

"I have been informed that you are being difficult," said the strange man. "I have been called in by my superiors to try and teach you a lesson. Now, for a basic introduction. What is your name, boy?"

Ron said nothing. He merely kept his eyes closed. He knew if he looked at the man, he would be enveloped by fear, and fear makes people do stupid things. He could hear the man rhythmically walking around his chair. He was standing right behind Ron.

"I said what is your name, boy!" Through his eyelids, Ron saw a flash of light and felt a searing pain on his back as though he had been whipped.

"Ron Weasley," he groaned.

"That's better," said the man, sounding quite satisfied.

"What is your name?" Ron asked, daringly. He still refused to look at him. The man laughed, a deep and loud, menacing laugh that came from his chest.

"You may think of me as your judge, jury and executioner," he said. "You've got guts kid."

"You aren't much of a judge," Ron said. "You won't hear my side."

"Do you have something to say in your defense?" The Judge was interested now. Ron could tell that he was listening intently.

"What do you want from me?" Ron asked, nearly out of breath. The Judge leaned in so close to Ron's ear, Ron could feel his disgusting moist breath on the side of his neck.

"Your spirit," he whispered.

And then there came the pain. That horrifying agony, which rose above him like a towering, merciless beast, milking his heart of the valued life energy. It's terrible eyes bored into the depths of Ron's soul like a powerful drill, burning him from the inside. It's teeth ripped at his flesh, the venom seeping into his blood. Its cry was the pounding of blood in his ears, rendering him deaf to anything else, even the sadistic laughter of the Judge. It's claws tore at the fiber of his being as it hissed threatening words into his ear. It slowly drove him mad with it's horrible hissing.

And then, the hissing halted and there was deafening silence. Ron was leaning as far forward in his chair as his binds would let him. Slowly, the shadows came into focus. They were watching Ron, anxiously, muttering to themselves.

"Are we ready to talk yet?" asked the Judge, amused.

"I'll talk," Ron panted. "I'll talk. I'll talk about... my sister. You know, Ginny's a very talented girl, she–"

There was a quick slapping sound and Ron's head began to spin. The Judge had struck him across the face.

"Tell me, Ron," said the Judge. "About your relationship to Harry Potter."

"Never heard of him," Ron said, breathlessly. Whack! Another slap.

"Everyone's heard of Harry Potter," the Judge said. "And you are especially close to the boy, are you not?"

"I've seen him around, if that's what you mean," said Ron. Finally, he looked up at the shadow of the Judge. "But he doesn't talk to me. Nope, hasn't said anything substantial to me all year."

The Judge had pulled out his wand to torture Ron again but Ron pleaded with him. "No, I mean honestly! He really hasn't told me what's on his mind!"

The Judge put away his wand. "And why has he been so closed with you, his best friend?"

"I don't know," answered Ron, honestly.

"Tell me, Ron," the Judge said. "How has the death of his godfather affected your friend, Harry?"

"What, you mean that Black fellow?" Ron said. "Harry barely knew him. He knew Black had been a close friend of his father's and all, and they were friends but... Not that much. I mean, sure, he was affected, but Harry isn't one to get emotionally attached to people. Hey listen, I have a favor to ask of you. See, I have a broken rib, and it's really killing me, I was wondering, could you–"

The pain shot through his body like a lightening bolt as every muscle in his body screamed and the anguish squeezed his heart with ice-cold hands. His head pounded with agony and he heard the blood rushing in his ears like waterfalls. He screamed louder than he had ever screamed in his life. He wanted to die, he wanted it all to end…

And then it did. Ron's head was hanging down again, and his hair was covering his eyes.

"Don't lie to me, kid," the Judge said, angrily. "I can tell a lie."

"I hate you," Ron spat in utter disgust, staring at his feet. "I would never tell you anything."

"I see we have reached our limit for today," said the Judge with a sigh. "We'll see you some other time, Ron."

The door opened and light crept in. The Judge left and the door closed and all was black again.