Chapter 8 - Starting Point

"Forgive me My Lord!" Voldemort pleaded, hating ever second of this. His body was burning, and he was ashamed. He knew the Figure wouldn't kill him, but he wanted the pain to stop.

Finally, the actual pain receded, but Voldemort felt the aftereffects of being hit with the Cruciatus Curse.

"It seems harsh Voldemort, but you deserve it," The Cloaked Figure raised his wand threateningly. "I'm sure you agree."

Voldemort looked at the ground, but still nodded his head. It was humiliating and degrading, but he did it. Oh how he hated the man who was doing it.

The Cloaked Figure whispered, "You don't like it when it's done to you, do you?" Voldemort didn't respond, but tried to get up, and failed. He felt his legs twitching. "You hate me don't you?"

Voldemort looked at the man above him with no face, but didn't say anything. He just stared back. Of course he hated him, but he wasn't about to say it. He wasn't about to deny it either.

"So it's a contest of pain you want do you? Come Voldemort, let me show you a lesson." He swished his wand and all of the pain of the Cruciatus Curse was gone from Voldemort's body. He got up and faced the Cloaked Figure.

"Say demorar to stop." Voldemort did not know what he was talking about, but figure he would understand soon enough.

The Cloaked Figure stuck his wand in the ground and said, "Crucio Multitudo!" Two red beams shot out at the Cloaked Figure and Voldemort. Voldemort screamed, but the Cloaked Figure was silent. Voldemort understood. It was a contest on who could last the longest.

On and on it went. One minute, then two, then five. The Cloaked Figure started screaming then, but Voldemort stopped. His mouth was too hoarse. He tried to ignore the stabbing pains in his back, but couldn't block them out. He imagined fiery hot needles drilling into him, but he couldn't stop the pain.

Voldemort lost track of time. His brain couldn't handle this. But he couldn't give up. He couldn't give the Cloaked Figure the justice of winning. Finally he couldn't help it; he screamed.

Nobody could hear there calls for help or their screams; they were secluded. His brain felt like it would explode. Surely nobody had ever lasted this long.

"Don't give up," Voldemort thought. "Don't...give...him...the pleasure of...beating me." He opened his eyes and saw that he was rolling around uncontrollably.

Voldemort finally spoke through his screams, "I can't...give...up...arghh! Demorar!"

The pain receded and his head came back. The Cloaked Figure got up. He sneered, "That is only as long as you could last?" He kicked Voldemort. "You didn't stand a chance. Fifteen minutes! Ha!"

Voldemort didn't listen or care. He just rolled over. "Voldemort you must know that pain will come, and you must deal with it."

Voldemort gasped, "Why are...you doing...this?"

The Cloaked Figure replied, "Because you deserve it my pawn."

"Are you ready?" Harry asked Hermione, laying his arm around her. She looked at him and sighed determinedly.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replied, "for this." Harry admired her, even more so than he had at Hogwarts. She was going to her husband's and former best-friend's funeral. Harry ground his teeth, a habit he seemed to have picked up, when he thought about how hard it must be for her to do this. After all, she was only married to Ron for two days.

Hermione looked at him, and gave him a face that was equivalent to 'stop feeling sorry for me.' Harry knew that look; he had given it plenty of times in his life.

Together, resolutely, they walked out of the preparation huts and into the courtyard that the memorial would be. It was really touching to see all these people here to see Ron, Harry concluded.

Grim-faced, but still defiant, he and Hermione took their seats in the front, as the other guests walked watched them with respect in their eyes. Harry looked around at all the people here, people whom Ron, Hermione, and Harry had touched somewhere in their lives.

"This feels so weird," Harry whispered to Hermione.

She glared at him and snapped, "This is awful!" Harry looked away, his face going red. He really didn't do anything wrong, and he forgave Hermione just this once. He saved her from having to deal with a retort.

They waited for the service to begin and looked grim-faced at the podium up front. Harry looked at her, "No you're right, this is awful." He hoped that would ease the tension, but Hermione glared at him. He took it lightly though, and pretended not to notice. He remembered how he felt during Sirius's memorial. He imagined that had not been fun for either Ron or Hermione.

He glanced sidelong at Mr. Weasley who was walking up to the front. He had tear-stained eyes and a tired expression, but he had the same look as Hermione and Harry.

"We gather here today, to honor Ron Weasley," he began, "my beloved son, best-friend to Harry Potter, and husband to Hermione Granger." He looked gravely in their direction and tried to give a smile of encouragement. "To those of you who knew him personally, you'll know that he was a friend, eager to help out in any situation, a great chess player even if he was a little jealous at some times. Oh yes, and if you tried to show him anything with eight legs, he would probably run away from you." Harry laughed amid the welling tears and lump he was starting to feel. "I think we can thank one of my sons for that; I forget which one." Harry and Hermione laughed together. How Mr. Weasley could add anything funny to this was amazing, yet he could.

But that was what it was supposed to be about, Harry knew. It was supposed to be about remembering Ron as the fun person he was. Harry listened intently as Mr. Weasley talked about the summers when Harry and Hermione would spend the night, and when the family went to Egypt.

When Mr. Weasley stepped down, Dumbledore, who had been listening intently, stood up. He walked up and took out his wand. Being in the first row, Harry heard him say,
"Sonorous" quietly to his wand and begin speaking.

"I will never forget Ronald Weasley." He began. "As you heard, he was a friend of Harry and Hermione, whom you both know as his best friends. But they were more than that. They gave emotional strength to each other and never once did they regret that. They occasionally forgot that during the adolescent tension years," everyone laughed, "but they never regretted it." Harry heard Hermione sob, but her eyes were shining.

"They went to school with pride and they had a light that could never be turned off, and a curiosity that could never be satisfied," he added heavily as though it were important.

"Those qualities my friends, I believe to be among the highest anyone can give to someone. Therefore it is fitting that I end here." He stepped down. Harry looked around, seeing who was going next. His heart melted as he saw Hermione take the podium.

She sobbed. "Ron was my best friend and lover. We had...the greatest times together. As most of you will agree, our wedding was awesome." She swallowed the lump in her throat, but her eyes were glistening and Harry knew she was fighting tears.

"Oh my god this is hard," she said looking down, trying to compose herself.

Harry's heart turned to steel. He thought of those evil red eyes that did it. In that moment he wanted to kill Voldemort so badly that he would have done anything to do it.

Hermione had regained her composure, snapping Harry out of his trance. "He was killed by Voldemort," she said, drawing gasps from the crowd. "He was killed by a menace that we are all trying to face down, and I believe we will. Voldemort thought it would be an easy fight, but he thought wrong.

"Ron has died. Sirius Black, Harry's godfather has died. Cedric Diggory has died, among countless others who died fighting Voldemort. They were fighting the good fight and so should we."

"As I say, many of our loved ones have died upholding justice, my husband among them who I was only married to for a day! Yet we are still fighting! Why? Because we know that he will take over the world if we don't! Destroying our homes and possessions we worked so hard to get! Keep fighting and hoping! If you are too tired, then run away, and fight some more! Do not give into despair. That will only lead to disaster. As long as we have confidence to win, we will prevail. By all that you hold dear, know that we will prevail and this is a promise I will keep." She walked down and off the podium, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, when Harry stood up and started clapping, followed soundly by Dumbledore.

Soon enough, Hermione got a standing ovation and was thinking about Ron hardly noticing. She smiled amid her tears, and then sat down. She looked at Harry and mouthed a "Thank you." Harry smiled back. His meaning was clear: What are friends for? Harry tossed and turned in his sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about Hermione's words; they were haunting him! He had felt so sorry for her up there, but also proud. She had done what heroes were expected to do in situations such as these: inspire.

Those pitiless red eyes were staring at him, wishing him to die, but Harry wouldn't. He vowed that he would see Voldemort die in front of his eyes before he gave up his strength.

He walked outside getting a fervor to do something. His eyes were cruel, he knew, but he just felt such hate right now. Voldemort had taken what was his and what was his best friends. He had done murder. Harry didn't care about morals anymore because such things get tossed aside when you are out for revenge.

He found what he was looking for, scuttling among the leaves. "Hello Mr. Beatle," Harry said, tormenting the poor thing. He looked at it, and concentrated all his hate into this one curse!

"Avada Kedavra," he whispered. The Beatle started twitching, but righted itself again and scuttled off.

A voice to his right scared him half to death. "Learning how to fulfill your destiny Potter?"

Harry turned quickly and saw a figure who had a gigantic robe around himself approaching Harry.

"Who are you?" Came Harry's clichéd question. Harry didn't worry about that much in situations such as these; these being strange Cloaked Figures coming towards him.

"I will be your Master," he said, "for a little while at least."

"What do you want?"

"We want the same thing Harry. We want Voldemort dead."

"Something tells me I should run right about now," Harry said smiling.

"Then why don't you?"

Harry shook his head. "Curiosity, I suppose."

"No Harry. You want to kill Voldemort, and I can teach you how."

"How do I know that?" Harry asked, although he knew perfectly well why.

"I cannot give you proof, only the sincerity of my heart."

"I didn't want to kill Voldemort before," Harry said, seemingly confiding in the stranger.

"Yes I know, but you want to now." Harry nodded and sighed.

"It is your duty," the Cloaked Figure responded, "and you do not care now, about the means you use to accomplish that."

"Yes I do, I mean, I don't want to kill Voldemort and become evil!" Harry protested. He did not know why he was telling this to the man, but he felt strangely calm around him. It was almost as if he didn't care.

"I hate Voldemort. Obviously you do to."

"No I don't Harry, I just keep the balance."