Remember When
Chapter Two: The Meeting
Curfew had passed, but Ron didn't care. Nothing and no one could be of comfort for the horrible feeling that was wrapping itself tight around his heart. He ran, and didn't stop. Left, Right, up and down the marble stairs, Ron didn't know where he was going, nor was he very concerned. All that mattered was that he get as far from the once reassuring Gryffindor Common Room as was possible.
Ron stopped suddenly, unaware as to which part of the castle he had strayed to. His steps made footprints on the dusty floor. Perhaps he had strayed to one of the more deserted parts of the giant castle. He stole softly to a mysterious stairway he'd never seen or heard of before. It was carefully concealed behind a large purple tapestry. He knew, and was relieved, that no one would find him here. He was not sure, nor did he care where these steps might lead him.
Two years! he thought, cursing, as he began to climb the steps. Two years of a maddening heartache, and all in vain! Never once had she cast her eye on me, not while she was with him!
As his thoughts turned to his two now former best friends, Ron cringed, and hurried up the secret stair even faster. The winter chill was arctic. The steep walls were illuminated by moonlight filtering through from a wide doorway at the top of the stair. One hundred steps, now two hundred... the stair was carved crudely of stone and draped with a fine layer of dust. Ron sneezed and slipped on the musty steps, crying out as his shins came in contact with the rock. His shout echoed shrilly against the high walls. However, his physical pain was futile against the excruciating agony writhing snakelike around his heart.
Ron couldn't help but run his finger over the rough edges of the stair, through the layer of dust. They seemed ancient, nearly as if no one had passed here in years. It was oddly quiet. It seemed as if he could scream something dreadful into the silence, only for it to stay trapped between the walls for a thousand years. He felt a cold stab in his fingers as they inadvertently brushed against the icy, jagged edges of stone. Ron felt along the tips of his fingers. A fine trickle of crimson red blood seeped in incredible contrast over his pale skin.
As he paused, alone on the bitter stone steps, the terrible feeling ensnaring Ron from the inside out multiplied. A glass teardrop skated unnoticed down his cheek, resting on the breast of his robes as it fell from his quivering chin. First one...now another...now another. It was not long before his skin was soaked with tears.
Ron felt numb, not knowing what else to feel. He couldn't help but to relive what he had just seen over and over in his mind. The picture was so clear, he nearly felt as if he were an outsider, watching the events roll on film. Upon seeing Harry take Hermione's hand once again, Ron let out a trembling shout of sorrow. He clenched his fingers to his palms, staining them with blood.
How could I have missed it? thought Ron angrily, pulling his black robes close across his chest.
The very air around him felt frozen itself. Everything was quite clear to him now. How long had he been kept blind to the verity that it was Harry Hermione had felt for all these years? He couldn't stop speculating how things might be different if he'd only overcome his fear of letting Hermione know how he really felt. Would it have changed things at all?
Ron had often heard the woes of his fellow Gryffindor Fifth Years and the troubles of their relationships with their 'special someone'. However, he'd never quite seen what all the fuss was about. It was just a silly girl, after all, wasn't it? Yes, just a girl. , Ron told himself firmly, trying desperately to believe it. Still, he knew that Hermione wasn't, and never had been, 'just a girl.'
As he rested in the tiny hallway, Ron strayed out of all sense of time. How long was it since he'd deserted the Common Room? Only minutes? Hours? It did not worry him. He partly wished that they would find him here, for them to comprehend a fraction of his anguish. But he didn't expect anyone to understand. No one would.
Unexpectedly, the blinding light issuing from the doorway was disturbed. The immediate disruption plunged Ron into a frigid and inescapable black cold, dragging Ron back to his senses. He looked to the top of the stair, standing nearly one hundred yards above him.
Someone stood in the stone doorway, silhouetted against the bright white light of a pearly moon. A feeling of calm washed over Ron, his physical pain soothed, his heartache pacified. He wiped his tearstained face on the sleeve of his robes. He stared transfixed at the person, a girl, in the doorway. She was beautiful. Yet as soon as she had come, the figure passed, bathing him once again in silver moonlight.
The feeling of calm the girl had brought in her passing was replaced by incredible curiosity. Ron deftly pushed himself up from the rocky steps and ran furiously into the moonlight.
The intense cold magnified as he stepped into the burning light. Ron had found himself in a small stone tower. Tall, arching, open windows lined the circular wall. Through the window ahead of him, Ron could see a beautiful blazing full moon, filling the tiny space with bright white light. A fresh layer of snow clung firmly to each sill, spilling benevolently to the stone floor within. By looking through the window to his right, Ron could glimpse the school's Greenhouses. However, he knew he had never seen this tower before.
The girl who had passed the stone entrance stood silently to his left, not even acknowledging his presence. She gazed fixedly out toward the lake. Moonlight, complemented by dark shadow, covered her, giving her a pale, nearly transparent glow. She was crying.
Ron wasn't sure what to do. He shivered. "Hello?" he called quietly. When the girl did not reply, he called out louder, "Excuse me? I--"
"Leave me alone!" she interrupted icily, her words cooler than the air surrounding them.
Ron was taken aback by her sudden remark. "Listen," he said, stepping forward, "it's freezing like mad up here. Why don't we go back to the castle and--" A shaking sob issued from the girl, causing Ron to stop short. When the girl didn't respond, he paused for a moment. "What's your name?" he finally whispered, quietly.
For the third time, the girl stood silent. Ron held out a comforting hand, only to find that when he stepped close enough to reach her, his hand merely slipped through her shoulder, plunging him into an unpreventable swirling cold, more icy than the January night air.
Ron let out an audible gasp. "You're a ghost!"
Expecting nothing less than a fresh wave of screaming from the ethereal young woman, Ron cowered backwards and turned to leave the round stone room, but had gone naught but two steps when he heard her speak. Quite apart from the frigid manner she had adopted when he had first come, her tone was frail and quiet.
"Aislynn."
"What?" Ron inquired, turning from the doorway.
"You wanted to know my name." She replied, speaking softly, finally turning to face him. "My name is Aislynn."
Ron couldn't help but notice how very pretty she was. A thick plait of silver hair fell down to her waist, and dark almond eyes accentuated her smooth, glassy skin. She was fairly tall, though not as lofty as Ron himself. He took great notice of the black school robes she was wearing, and the Prefect's Badge pinned neatly at her breast.
"Ron Weasley." He replied faintly. He thrust out his hand in front of him, and in realizing the mistake that he had made, withdrew it quickly.
Aislynn merely smiled, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Why are you here?" she asked.
Ron stood in silence before sinking against the stone wall. He rested against the rock, feeling his breath again condense into minute clouds against his lips. He shivered involuntarily, but he didn't mind. The cold would keep him awake.
"It was nothing." He said quickly, not wanting to relive the pain he had suffered previously. "It's not important."
"It must have been important," Aislynn said knowingly joining him against the wall. "if you were to run from it."
Resentment swiftly swelled in his veins like a poison. "What do you know about it?" spat Ron indignantly. "Nothing!"
"I would know," she injected suddenly, before Ron could say more, "because I ran too."
Ron didn't reply, but merely watched as she floated to the window surveying the lake.
"I was in my sixth year when it happened." She began softly. "I had everything I could ever ask for. I was Muggleborn, but had finally found my home at Hogwarts. I had the greatest friends imaginable, I'd just brought in twelve O.W.L.'s, I was at the top of my class, and even had the greatest boyfriend imaginable, someone could imagine spending the rest of my life with..."
Her voice trailed off into silence. Ron could see the hint of a tear in her eye.
"At Christmas, everything changed," Aislynn continued, with the voice of someone willing him or herself not to cry. "I didn't go home for the holidays, having convinced my parents that as a Prefect, I was needed at the school, and that I required the library for studying. Shortly before New Years, Professor Flitwick, the head of my house, Ravenclaw, pulled me aside to tell me my father had died. I was allowed home for a few days, of course, to comfort my poor mother, and attend the service. However, when I came back to Hogwarts, nothing was quite the same.
"I was numb with grief. My grades began to fail, my friends seemed more distant, and eventually left me, replacing me with others who were cheerful and exciting, not a person like me who would weigh them down with sadness. Soon it seemed like only Rolland, my boyfriend, would stay by my side. But I was mistaken.
"Deep into January, more than a hundred years ago, we snuck up to this tower for what would come to be our final night together. This had always been 'our place', as no one in the entire school had yet found the entrance. When he told me everything was over, my last thread of hope broke. I cried myself to sleep beneath this very window. I never woke up.
"It was hushed up, of course, telling my poor mother I was killed in some kind of 'magical accident'. I was afraid of death. I was only sixteen, and had my life ahead of me. So I decided to remain here on earth, wandering sleeplessly in this vain image of life. I waited years for someone to find me. No one ever did. Rolland never came back, though I was nearly positive he would. Nor did he ever breathe the secret to entering this place. Thus, my body was never found. The years have weathered it into the setting sun. I've never been compelled to leave this place."
Aislynn sighed, having completed her story. She made her way back to Ron, resting peacefully against the stone wall.
Ron said nothing. He couldn't help but to notice that many of the elements of her story were true for himself, though many were radically different. She had suffered most terrible losses. Ron had only become angry and upset. He also began to feel quite foolish for running from what he'd seen. It was several moments before she spoke again.
"I have told you my tale." Aislynn told him quietly, smiling. "Now it is your turn to tell me yours."
Chapter Two: The Meeting
Curfew had passed, but Ron didn't care. Nothing and no one could be of comfort for the horrible feeling that was wrapping itself tight around his heart. He ran, and didn't stop. Left, Right, up and down the marble stairs, Ron didn't know where he was going, nor was he very concerned. All that mattered was that he get as far from the once reassuring Gryffindor Common Room as was possible.
Ron stopped suddenly, unaware as to which part of the castle he had strayed to. His steps made footprints on the dusty floor. Perhaps he had strayed to one of the more deserted parts of the giant castle. He stole softly to a mysterious stairway he'd never seen or heard of before. It was carefully concealed behind a large purple tapestry. He knew, and was relieved, that no one would find him here. He was not sure, nor did he care where these steps might lead him.
Two years! he thought, cursing, as he began to climb the steps. Two years of a maddening heartache, and all in vain! Never once had she cast her eye on me, not while she was with him!
As his thoughts turned to his two now former best friends, Ron cringed, and hurried up the secret stair even faster. The winter chill was arctic. The steep walls were illuminated by moonlight filtering through from a wide doorway at the top of the stair. One hundred steps, now two hundred... the stair was carved crudely of stone and draped with a fine layer of dust. Ron sneezed and slipped on the musty steps, crying out as his shins came in contact with the rock. His shout echoed shrilly against the high walls. However, his physical pain was futile against the excruciating agony writhing snakelike around his heart.
Ron couldn't help but run his finger over the rough edges of the stair, through the layer of dust. They seemed ancient, nearly as if no one had passed here in years. It was oddly quiet. It seemed as if he could scream something dreadful into the silence, only for it to stay trapped between the walls for a thousand years. He felt a cold stab in his fingers as they inadvertently brushed against the icy, jagged edges of stone. Ron felt along the tips of his fingers. A fine trickle of crimson red blood seeped in incredible contrast over his pale skin.
As he paused, alone on the bitter stone steps, the terrible feeling ensnaring Ron from the inside out multiplied. A glass teardrop skated unnoticed down his cheek, resting on the breast of his robes as it fell from his quivering chin. First one...now another...now another. It was not long before his skin was soaked with tears.
Ron felt numb, not knowing what else to feel. He couldn't help but to relive what he had just seen over and over in his mind. The picture was so clear, he nearly felt as if he were an outsider, watching the events roll on film. Upon seeing Harry take Hermione's hand once again, Ron let out a trembling shout of sorrow. He clenched his fingers to his palms, staining them with blood.
How could I have missed it? thought Ron angrily, pulling his black robes close across his chest.
The very air around him felt frozen itself. Everything was quite clear to him now. How long had he been kept blind to the verity that it was Harry Hermione had felt for all these years? He couldn't stop speculating how things might be different if he'd only overcome his fear of letting Hermione know how he really felt. Would it have changed things at all?
Ron had often heard the woes of his fellow Gryffindor Fifth Years and the troubles of their relationships with their 'special someone'. However, he'd never quite seen what all the fuss was about. It was just a silly girl, after all, wasn't it? Yes, just a girl. , Ron told himself firmly, trying desperately to believe it. Still, he knew that Hermione wasn't, and never had been, 'just a girl.'
As he rested in the tiny hallway, Ron strayed out of all sense of time. How long was it since he'd deserted the Common Room? Only minutes? Hours? It did not worry him. He partly wished that they would find him here, for them to comprehend a fraction of his anguish. But he didn't expect anyone to understand. No one would.
Unexpectedly, the blinding light issuing from the doorway was disturbed. The immediate disruption plunged Ron into a frigid and inescapable black cold, dragging Ron back to his senses. He looked to the top of the stair, standing nearly one hundred yards above him.
Someone stood in the stone doorway, silhouetted against the bright white light of a pearly moon. A feeling of calm washed over Ron, his physical pain soothed, his heartache pacified. He wiped his tearstained face on the sleeve of his robes. He stared transfixed at the person, a girl, in the doorway. She was beautiful. Yet as soon as she had come, the figure passed, bathing him once again in silver moonlight.
The feeling of calm the girl had brought in her passing was replaced by incredible curiosity. Ron deftly pushed himself up from the rocky steps and ran furiously into the moonlight.
The intense cold magnified as he stepped into the burning light. Ron had found himself in a small stone tower. Tall, arching, open windows lined the circular wall. Through the window ahead of him, Ron could see a beautiful blazing full moon, filling the tiny space with bright white light. A fresh layer of snow clung firmly to each sill, spilling benevolently to the stone floor within. By looking through the window to his right, Ron could glimpse the school's Greenhouses. However, he knew he had never seen this tower before.
The girl who had passed the stone entrance stood silently to his left, not even acknowledging his presence. She gazed fixedly out toward the lake. Moonlight, complemented by dark shadow, covered her, giving her a pale, nearly transparent glow. She was crying.
Ron wasn't sure what to do. He shivered. "Hello?" he called quietly. When the girl did not reply, he called out louder, "Excuse me? I--"
"Leave me alone!" she interrupted icily, her words cooler than the air surrounding them.
Ron was taken aback by her sudden remark. "Listen," he said, stepping forward, "it's freezing like mad up here. Why don't we go back to the castle and--" A shaking sob issued from the girl, causing Ron to stop short. When the girl didn't respond, he paused for a moment. "What's your name?" he finally whispered, quietly.
For the third time, the girl stood silent. Ron held out a comforting hand, only to find that when he stepped close enough to reach her, his hand merely slipped through her shoulder, plunging him into an unpreventable swirling cold, more icy than the January night air.
Ron let out an audible gasp. "You're a ghost!"
Expecting nothing less than a fresh wave of screaming from the ethereal young woman, Ron cowered backwards and turned to leave the round stone room, but had gone naught but two steps when he heard her speak. Quite apart from the frigid manner she had adopted when he had first come, her tone was frail and quiet.
"Aislynn."
"What?" Ron inquired, turning from the doorway.
"You wanted to know my name." She replied, speaking softly, finally turning to face him. "My name is Aislynn."
Ron couldn't help but notice how very pretty she was. A thick plait of silver hair fell down to her waist, and dark almond eyes accentuated her smooth, glassy skin. She was fairly tall, though not as lofty as Ron himself. He took great notice of the black school robes she was wearing, and the Prefect's Badge pinned neatly at her breast.
"Ron Weasley." He replied faintly. He thrust out his hand in front of him, and in realizing the mistake that he had made, withdrew it quickly.
Aislynn merely smiled, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Why are you here?" she asked.
Ron stood in silence before sinking against the stone wall. He rested against the rock, feeling his breath again condense into minute clouds against his lips. He shivered involuntarily, but he didn't mind. The cold would keep him awake.
"It was nothing." He said quickly, not wanting to relive the pain he had suffered previously. "It's not important."
"It must have been important," Aislynn said knowingly joining him against the wall. "if you were to run from it."
Resentment swiftly swelled in his veins like a poison. "What do you know about it?" spat Ron indignantly. "Nothing!"
"I would know," she injected suddenly, before Ron could say more, "because I ran too."
Ron didn't reply, but merely watched as she floated to the window surveying the lake.
"I was in my sixth year when it happened." She began softly. "I had everything I could ever ask for. I was Muggleborn, but had finally found my home at Hogwarts. I had the greatest friends imaginable, I'd just brought in twelve O.W.L.'s, I was at the top of my class, and even had the greatest boyfriend imaginable, someone could imagine spending the rest of my life with..."
Her voice trailed off into silence. Ron could see the hint of a tear in her eye.
"At Christmas, everything changed," Aislynn continued, with the voice of someone willing him or herself not to cry. "I didn't go home for the holidays, having convinced my parents that as a Prefect, I was needed at the school, and that I required the library for studying. Shortly before New Years, Professor Flitwick, the head of my house, Ravenclaw, pulled me aside to tell me my father had died. I was allowed home for a few days, of course, to comfort my poor mother, and attend the service. However, when I came back to Hogwarts, nothing was quite the same.
"I was numb with grief. My grades began to fail, my friends seemed more distant, and eventually left me, replacing me with others who were cheerful and exciting, not a person like me who would weigh them down with sadness. Soon it seemed like only Rolland, my boyfriend, would stay by my side. But I was mistaken.
"Deep into January, more than a hundred years ago, we snuck up to this tower for what would come to be our final night together. This had always been 'our place', as no one in the entire school had yet found the entrance. When he told me everything was over, my last thread of hope broke. I cried myself to sleep beneath this very window. I never woke up.
"It was hushed up, of course, telling my poor mother I was killed in some kind of 'magical accident'. I was afraid of death. I was only sixteen, and had my life ahead of me. So I decided to remain here on earth, wandering sleeplessly in this vain image of life. I waited years for someone to find me. No one ever did. Rolland never came back, though I was nearly positive he would. Nor did he ever breathe the secret to entering this place. Thus, my body was never found. The years have weathered it into the setting sun. I've never been compelled to leave this place."
Aislynn sighed, having completed her story. She made her way back to Ron, resting peacefully against the stone wall.
Ron said nothing. He couldn't help but to notice that many of the elements of her story were true for himself, though many were radically different. She had suffered most terrible losses. Ron had only become angry and upset. He also began to feel quite foolish for running from what he'd seen. It was several moments before she spoke again.
"I have told you my tale." Aislynn told him quietly, smiling. "Now it is your turn to tell me yours."