Author's Note: Hmmm, so yes. I realize that the last chapter was probably a bit confusing and or disconcerting. Unfortunately you're going to have to wait for the answers to be revealed as, who would want to remember that. Certainly not Ron.
Chapter 24: REJECTION - a memory in denial
Harry awoke the next morning with the sense that something was wrong, but he couldn't quite remember what. A vague part of his mind suggested that it had something to do with Ron but when he turned over to ask him about it he found Ron's bed empty and neatly made, an oddity in and of itself. Apparently Ron had already gone down to breakfast.
Harry sighed and flopped over in bed before finally making himself get up. Whatever it was wasn't making itself any clearer, so should wait just fine until later when his brain was working again. Still bleary eyed and grumbling, he dressed quickly and hurried out of the room. If Ron had already left for breakfast, that was a good indication that he had best hurry or miss it before classes started.
He was surprised, then, when he came down from the boys dormitory, to find Hermione studying quietly in the common room. She was always the first up and usually went to breakfast with the first of them to rise. If Ron had gone down already, she would have gone with him. Harry was perplexed. "Hey, Hermione. Where's Ron?"
"Morning, Harry." Hermione looked disapproving of his lack of proper greeting. "You're the first person I've seen all morning. It's only 7:00. Isn't Ron still sleeping?"
"No, his bed's all made and everything. Is it really only seven?" Harry yawned, regretting his decision to get up right away.
Hermione had that perpetual worried line etched into her brow already. "That's odd. Well, we'd best get down to breakfast. See if he's there. Though he would have to have been up quite early for me to have missed him." Harry tried very hard not to think about just how early that must have been as he stifled another yawn and shuffled after Hermione and out the portrait hole. When they got down to breakfast, Ron was not there.
Ron lay on the couch in Snape's offices unmoving, his eyes fixed on the wall across the room where it appeared a mouse had made a nest behind a chink in the stones. He had woken up several minutes ago and, despite the fact that he had no recollection of coming down here or even why he would do such a thing, he simply could not find it within himself to care. He thought about getting up and going back to Gryffindor tower, but something about that thought just hurt too much and he stayed where he was. Easier just to lay here. Easier to pretend the world didn't exist and he had nothing he needed to worry about. Easier simply not to think. At all. About anything. A great weight seemed to be pressing him into the couch, keeping him from moving or getting up, keeping him from feeling. It was better that way. Much better. Not to feel anything at all.
Laying there, staring at the wall but seeing only nothing, Ron let his mind drift over inconsequentials. The different shades of grey on the walls, old books he had read, how he hated that his Christmas sweaters were always maroon, whether the Canons had any hope of winning this year, and how he hadn't seen Pig for a couple of days and wondered where he'd got to. Into these musings a cold voice intruded, making Ron open his eyes.
"What, may I ask, are you doing here, Mr. Weasley?" Professor Snape stood over him, looking perturbed.
"I can't remember." Ron's voice sounded far away, even to his own ears. With a great effort of will he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He would have yawned, too, if he'd had the energy but he just felt drained, empty and completely devoid of energy or feeling. He wasn't even worried about the detention Snape was sure to assign him. In fact, Snape was giving him that how-much-detention-can-I-heap-on-this-time look now. He had his lips compressed, an angry line sat between his eyebrows, and his eyes held that gleam of special pleasure he reserved for the times he could hand out punishments to Gryffindor. Snape may have agreed to help him in allowing the use of his office. He had never, and would never, agreed to like one Ronald Weasley.
Ron shifted his hands restlessly in his lap and Professor Snape glanced down. The hard smirk shifted almost imperceptibly and Ron saw the annoyance give way to something else. "Merlin's beard, boy! You've got blood on your hands." Ron jerked and clutched his hands to his chest as Professor Snape reached towards him. No, no. It couldn't be. He'd washed it all away. He remembered that. The shower and the water so hot that it burned as it flooded over him, and the cold, white tiles that washed red. The soap and bright pain as he'd scrubbed and the hard tile pressed against his back as he'd sat for what seemed like an hour letting it all wash away. It was gone. It was gone. He'd washed it away. Even his memory felt clean and fuzzy and only the hard soap and water remained.
"Let me see!" The sharp annoyance was back in Snape's voice and his touch was none too gentle as he jerked Ron's hands towards him. As his hands were turned over and the sleeves pushed back, Ron saw a bright smudge of blood along his thumbnail and another soaking into his right sleeve, but his hands and arms on the whole appeared untouched. Muttering under his breath, Snape pulled out his wand and whispered a hasty finite incantatem and Ron watched as the wounds, old and new, swam into view on his arm, like a fuzzy picture coming into focus. Mostly it was just scabs and few tender, pink areas, but one set of bite marks appeared to have torn and was sluggishly leaking blood across his arm. It was smeared, some of it already old and dried a pale, crusty brown.
Ron glanced up to see that Snape's mouth had once again pressed itself into a hard line, his scowl back in full force. "You haven't been taking decent care of yourself." Snape's voice sounded strange, as if he were forcing it reluctantly past clenched teeth. "You can't just hide it and expect it to take care of itself." Ron shrugged uncomfortably, still feeling less than energetic. He'd been living with the bite marks for nearly a month now and they hadn't given him any problems before. The ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away approach had actually been working pretty well.
Snape gave him one more long, angry stare before rising smoothly and striding from the room, his robes, as ever, billowing behind him. Ron had barely begun to stand before Snape was back, a vial of something dark and greenish held clenched in one hand. "One drop on each wound to seal out infection and allow it to heal. I expect you can handle that much yourself." Snape handed him the vial with a raised eyebrow. "And from now on I expect to see you in here once a day, and once a day only. Do I make myself clear?" Ron nodded. "Good." And with that, Snape swept once more from the room, leaving a slightly frightened but mostly bemused Ron in his wake.
A part of himself was working very hard not to see Ginny as Ron walked into the Great Hall and over to the Gryffindor table to join Harry and Hermione for breakfast. He'd felt on edge ever since he'd left Snape's offices and headed over to Gryffindor tower for a quick change. Now, as he hurried over to his breakfast, his unconscious mind allowed his eyes to skip over the bright red head of hair a few seats down. He felt unsettled and uneasy and unconsciously gripped the vial of potion Snape had given him and that was now residing safely in his pocket. He needed to remember to be careful to keep his sleeves down today until after lunch. Snape had left the glamour undone and Ron had felt too fumble fingered after he left his offices to make an attempt of it left-handed.
"Hey, Ron. Where've you been?" Harry looked slightly annoyed but mostly sleepy as Ron took his place beside him.
"Yes, Ron. We've been waiting down here for half an hour." Hermione's tone was reproving but on her face she wore her perpetual worried frown.
"I..." Ron's mind groped blindly for a plausible explanation for his absence. "I had to go talk to Professor Snape," he spit out finally, "about my detentions."
"At seven o'clock in the morning?" Hermione was clearly incredulous and Harry was looking at him with patent disbelief. Unable to come up with anything else that sounded remotely convincing, Ron just shrugged and began concentratedly attacking his toast. After a few moments of confused silence Harry and Hermione went back to eating their breakfast as well.
After a few minutes of eating, however, Ron felt his momentum winding down. The toast tasted like so much concrete and the jam seemed only to be contributing to that effect. The sounds of the dining hall seemed to be receding from him and all that was left was a warm silence filling his ears like cotton. The color leeched out of his vision but for the red smear across his toast and, deep down, at the very center of his being, Ron shuddered. He felt that great weight from earlier settling itself once more across his shoulders and a horrible lethargy seemed to slow time down to a crawl. A sharp motion to his right caught at his attention and he turned in time to see Ginny get up from the table. He watched her walk to the doors, a hard lump forming in the back of his throat, and he had to bite his lip to keep from almost crying out.
"Ron." The voice snapped his attention back around and he was confronted again with Hermione's concerned face. "Are you ok? You're white as a sheet."
"I'm fine." The effort of will to get out those two words was more than he had ever thought possible.
Hermione's frown stayed firmly fixed in place. "You look like you've seen..." she faltered, "..something bad anyway." When Ron didn't answer, her eyes flicked behind him toward the doors leading out of the hall. "Did you ever find out what Ginny wanted those seeds for?"
Ron bit his lip harder. He didn't want to remember. The fog in the back of his mind suggested only blood and pain. He didn't remember. Nevertheless, he felt himself becoming nasseated and it was all he could do to get out a small "no" before bolting from the table and fleeing the Great Hall in search of the nearest toilet.
Chapter 24: REJECTION - a memory in denial
Harry awoke the next morning with the sense that something was wrong, but he couldn't quite remember what. A vague part of his mind suggested that it had something to do with Ron but when he turned over to ask him about it he found Ron's bed empty and neatly made, an oddity in and of itself. Apparently Ron had already gone down to breakfast.
Harry sighed and flopped over in bed before finally making himself get up. Whatever it was wasn't making itself any clearer, so should wait just fine until later when his brain was working again. Still bleary eyed and grumbling, he dressed quickly and hurried out of the room. If Ron had already left for breakfast, that was a good indication that he had best hurry or miss it before classes started.
He was surprised, then, when he came down from the boys dormitory, to find Hermione studying quietly in the common room. She was always the first up and usually went to breakfast with the first of them to rise. If Ron had gone down already, she would have gone with him. Harry was perplexed. "Hey, Hermione. Where's Ron?"
"Morning, Harry." Hermione looked disapproving of his lack of proper greeting. "You're the first person I've seen all morning. It's only 7:00. Isn't Ron still sleeping?"
"No, his bed's all made and everything. Is it really only seven?" Harry yawned, regretting his decision to get up right away.
Hermione had that perpetual worried line etched into her brow already. "That's odd. Well, we'd best get down to breakfast. See if he's there. Though he would have to have been up quite early for me to have missed him." Harry tried very hard not to think about just how early that must have been as he stifled another yawn and shuffled after Hermione and out the portrait hole. When they got down to breakfast, Ron was not there.
Ron lay on the couch in Snape's offices unmoving, his eyes fixed on the wall across the room where it appeared a mouse had made a nest behind a chink in the stones. He had woken up several minutes ago and, despite the fact that he had no recollection of coming down here or even why he would do such a thing, he simply could not find it within himself to care. He thought about getting up and going back to Gryffindor tower, but something about that thought just hurt too much and he stayed where he was. Easier just to lay here. Easier to pretend the world didn't exist and he had nothing he needed to worry about. Easier simply not to think. At all. About anything. A great weight seemed to be pressing him into the couch, keeping him from moving or getting up, keeping him from feeling. It was better that way. Much better. Not to feel anything at all.
Laying there, staring at the wall but seeing only nothing, Ron let his mind drift over inconsequentials. The different shades of grey on the walls, old books he had read, how he hated that his Christmas sweaters were always maroon, whether the Canons had any hope of winning this year, and how he hadn't seen Pig for a couple of days and wondered where he'd got to. Into these musings a cold voice intruded, making Ron open his eyes.
"What, may I ask, are you doing here, Mr. Weasley?" Professor Snape stood over him, looking perturbed.
"I can't remember." Ron's voice sounded far away, even to his own ears. With a great effort of will he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He would have yawned, too, if he'd had the energy but he just felt drained, empty and completely devoid of energy or feeling. He wasn't even worried about the detention Snape was sure to assign him. In fact, Snape was giving him that how-much-detention-can-I-heap-on-this-time look now. He had his lips compressed, an angry line sat between his eyebrows, and his eyes held that gleam of special pleasure he reserved for the times he could hand out punishments to Gryffindor. Snape may have agreed to help him in allowing the use of his office. He had never, and would never, agreed to like one Ronald Weasley.
Ron shifted his hands restlessly in his lap and Professor Snape glanced down. The hard smirk shifted almost imperceptibly and Ron saw the annoyance give way to something else. "Merlin's beard, boy! You've got blood on your hands." Ron jerked and clutched his hands to his chest as Professor Snape reached towards him. No, no. It couldn't be. He'd washed it all away. He remembered that. The shower and the water so hot that it burned as it flooded over him, and the cold, white tiles that washed red. The soap and bright pain as he'd scrubbed and the hard tile pressed against his back as he'd sat for what seemed like an hour letting it all wash away. It was gone. It was gone. He'd washed it away. Even his memory felt clean and fuzzy and only the hard soap and water remained.
"Let me see!" The sharp annoyance was back in Snape's voice and his touch was none too gentle as he jerked Ron's hands towards him. As his hands were turned over and the sleeves pushed back, Ron saw a bright smudge of blood along his thumbnail and another soaking into his right sleeve, but his hands and arms on the whole appeared untouched. Muttering under his breath, Snape pulled out his wand and whispered a hasty finite incantatem and Ron watched as the wounds, old and new, swam into view on his arm, like a fuzzy picture coming into focus. Mostly it was just scabs and few tender, pink areas, but one set of bite marks appeared to have torn and was sluggishly leaking blood across his arm. It was smeared, some of it already old and dried a pale, crusty brown.
Ron glanced up to see that Snape's mouth had once again pressed itself into a hard line, his scowl back in full force. "You haven't been taking decent care of yourself." Snape's voice sounded strange, as if he were forcing it reluctantly past clenched teeth. "You can't just hide it and expect it to take care of itself." Ron shrugged uncomfortably, still feeling less than energetic. He'd been living with the bite marks for nearly a month now and they hadn't given him any problems before. The ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away approach had actually been working pretty well.
Snape gave him one more long, angry stare before rising smoothly and striding from the room, his robes, as ever, billowing behind him. Ron had barely begun to stand before Snape was back, a vial of something dark and greenish held clenched in one hand. "One drop on each wound to seal out infection and allow it to heal. I expect you can handle that much yourself." Snape handed him the vial with a raised eyebrow. "And from now on I expect to see you in here once a day, and once a day only. Do I make myself clear?" Ron nodded. "Good." And with that, Snape swept once more from the room, leaving a slightly frightened but mostly bemused Ron in his wake.
A part of himself was working very hard not to see Ginny as Ron walked into the Great Hall and over to the Gryffindor table to join Harry and Hermione for breakfast. He'd felt on edge ever since he'd left Snape's offices and headed over to Gryffindor tower for a quick change. Now, as he hurried over to his breakfast, his unconscious mind allowed his eyes to skip over the bright red head of hair a few seats down. He felt unsettled and uneasy and unconsciously gripped the vial of potion Snape had given him and that was now residing safely in his pocket. He needed to remember to be careful to keep his sleeves down today until after lunch. Snape had left the glamour undone and Ron had felt too fumble fingered after he left his offices to make an attempt of it left-handed.
"Hey, Ron. Where've you been?" Harry looked slightly annoyed but mostly sleepy as Ron took his place beside him.
"Yes, Ron. We've been waiting down here for half an hour." Hermione's tone was reproving but on her face she wore her perpetual worried frown.
"I..." Ron's mind groped blindly for a plausible explanation for his absence. "I had to go talk to Professor Snape," he spit out finally, "about my detentions."
"At seven o'clock in the morning?" Hermione was clearly incredulous and Harry was looking at him with patent disbelief. Unable to come up with anything else that sounded remotely convincing, Ron just shrugged and began concentratedly attacking his toast. After a few moments of confused silence Harry and Hermione went back to eating their breakfast as well.
After a few minutes of eating, however, Ron felt his momentum winding down. The toast tasted like so much concrete and the jam seemed only to be contributing to that effect. The sounds of the dining hall seemed to be receding from him and all that was left was a warm silence filling his ears like cotton. The color leeched out of his vision but for the red smear across his toast and, deep down, at the very center of his being, Ron shuddered. He felt that great weight from earlier settling itself once more across his shoulders and a horrible lethargy seemed to slow time down to a crawl. A sharp motion to his right caught at his attention and he turned in time to see Ginny get up from the table. He watched her walk to the doors, a hard lump forming in the back of his throat, and he had to bite his lip to keep from almost crying out.
"Ron." The voice snapped his attention back around and he was confronted again with Hermione's concerned face. "Are you ok? You're white as a sheet."
"I'm fine." The effort of will to get out those two words was more than he had ever thought possible.
Hermione's frown stayed firmly fixed in place. "You look like you've seen..." she faltered, "..something bad anyway." When Ron didn't answer, her eyes flicked behind him toward the doors leading out of the hall. "Did you ever find out what Ginny wanted those seeds for?"
Ron bit his lip harder. He didn't want to remember. The fog in the back of his mind suggested only blood and pain. He didn't remember. Nevertheless, he felt himself becoming nasseated and it was all he could do to get out a small "no" before bolting from the table and fleeing the Great Hall in search of the nearest toilet.
