Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything relating to it that would actually get me money. I have some tattered copies of books 1-4 (my copy of book 5 is pretty new), but I would hardly get anything for them in a garage sale since entire chapters are falling out. Whatever.
Silver Witch: Thank you for promoting my story! I'm so glad you enjoy it! Er…I dunno if you'll be too happy with me after this chapter though. I do have a reason for the angst-overload, though. Really…I do…really. lol, tell me what you think: )
A/N: I am soooooo incredibly sorry for the delay in posting! I ran into a bit of writer's block, followed by a wave of frustration, and topped off with midterms. I must say my biggest problem came with writing the Death Eaters and the actual torture. It was hard for me to write such a hideous character that would take pleasure in the pain of others. I finally did it though, perhaps a bit too well. Anyways, I seem to have lost my direction with this story. I have a general idea where it is going, but the characters have taken twists and turns that I had not planned on. They have minds of their own. I will try to be on time with the next update, I promise!
Warning: this chapter contains elements of violence, torture, and death. You have been warned.
"spoken"
'thought'
'telepathy'
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Ron struggled against the invisible bonds that held him to his chair. He could not see the ropes that restrained him, but he could feel them digging into his wrists and chaffing his skin. There was no physical gag in his mouth, yet he could not speak. He felt as though he had eaten a Ton tongue toffee. His tongue was far too large and heavy to move around in his mouth. It would be impossible to form words. Of course Ron knew he had not had such a toffee. He'd only made that mistake once…okay three times if he were to be perfectly honest. Now was not the time for that, though. Now he had to face Voldemort's minions. The Death Eaters had attacked quickly, overpowering the Weasley family in the middle of their dinner. Ron hadn't had time to react before he was cursed. His limbs turned to lead and he soon found himself hopelessly imprisoned at his own dining room table. His family members had met the same fate, though Ron was fairly certain Charlie got in at least one curse before going down. At least he hoped it had been Charlie who threw the curse. Things moved so fast, he really wasn't sure what happened.
Now, with dinner long forgotten, the family awaited their fate. They were being mocked. That much, Ron knew. What was that saying? "The family that dines together, dies together?" No, no. It was something about playing. Playing and…staying! 'That's it! The family that plays together stays together. Well forget that, it doesn't apply, now does it. Unless you add 'till death do they part' to that end bit.' Ron thought bitterly. Its odd the thoughts that pop up in times of crisis. For instance the phrase "last meal" never rang so true.
There was something poetic about their current position. The Weasley's had spent quite a bit of time at that dining room table. There they had celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, graduations, and daily achievements. Mum thought it was important to have family meals. She wanted to stay involved in the lives of her children even if it was only through a hot meal with one large side of guilt. Dinner was never complete until Mum had come down on one of the older boys for visiting so infrequently or scolded Ron for his table manners. The table was practically a Weasley itself, having been witness to many family feuds, reunions, and momentous occasions. The table was an antique, which had been handed down to them from Ron's great grandfather. It was, by no means, in mint condition. It had been blown up, beat down, torn apart, and crushed together so many times even magic could not fix it properly. Yet it still stood, and served them year after year. It was almost…right that the family would die in a place they loved so much.
Ron's rambling thoughts were interrupted by an overwhelming wave of grief. It was like a tsunami of emotion that engulfed his entire being, allowing for no escape. The effect was rather like stuffing his head full of cotton and screening his vision with a gray curtain. Nothing seemed real. Everything sounded far away; it was such a struggle just to interpret what was being said. His eyes could no longer see clearly, yet they were not affected by the blur of tears. In fact, Ron thought crying might help clear his vision. Yet the tears evaded him and the gray mist stayed predominant in his vision. Everything else was muffled and floating in the fog. His entire body felt tired, leaden as though it would take all his effort just to move his head. Something was familiar about all of this though. A scent. No, a ghost of a scent. Every time Ron thought he had caught it, the fragrance would drift farther away, eluding his senses. Ron was starting to think perhaps the smell was all in his mind when he realized what it was. Honey! It was Ginny's presence in his mind. It was her grief that was holding him back. He had to break free of it. Ron had to fight or he would die a victim at his own dining room table. He couldn't allow that. He would not die here. He would not be a victim.
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Ron surged through to full consciousness only to find himself staring down the end of a wand. He paled visibly, causing his freckles to stand out even more. The Death Eater holding that wand was not even looking at him. Instead the man was studying Mum. Judging from the sickly look on Mum's face, the man was not complementing Ron's appearance. Deciding it was time to join the party, Ron tuned in to the Death Eater's words.
"-doesn't seem to care. Perhaps he'd welcome it, hm? Shall I rid you of another mouth to feed?" at that the sneering voice turned its focus on Ron to find that he was now paying attention. "Ah, I see we have his attention now. Tell me, little weasel, would you like to die?"
Ron crushed all his feelings of fear and anguish, allowing a boiling rage to surface. These men had murdered his father right before his eyes. The attack had taken the whole family by surprise, which gave the Death Eaters an advantage over them. Dad never had a chance. Ron, being an emotional person, was familiar with anger but he had never before experienced such a rage. He was swept up in the passion and fury of it. If they set him free and gave him his wand, Ron was fairly certain he would kill them all. He'd have no qualms killing the Death Eaters who thought nothing of attacking his peaceful family. Perhaps such ideas should have scared Ron, but the rage was driving him. He felt no fear, no sadness, and no uncertainty. Only pure rage towards these intruders, these murderers. The emotion was etched into Ron's darkened features putting a vicious glare on his face.
"Careful, boy. You should not tempt me to prolong your suffering." The death eater sneered. "We came intent to kill your filthy family and rid the world of such blood traitors. However, if you do not show us the respect that we deserve, your fate will be so horrendous you will beg us for the sweet release of death. Death in itself is no punishment. The true pain is in the process of dying. The torture lies in those endless, agonizing hours when death dances just beyond your reach while you struggle for breath. Do you wish for such an end? Or would you rather face the killing curse, short and sweet?"
The disgusting man chuckled at his own words. He relished the thought of snuffing out this young life. He rarely had the chance to witness the death of such innocence. While on duty for Voldemort the Death Eaters had killed many people, but most of them were adults. They were mostly aurors or significant political figures who opposed the Dark Lord. This was time it was different. These people were not aurors or high political figures. They were poor wretches whose power lay in their relationships. The Weasleys were a popular pureblood family. Though they themselves were very poor, they had friends in high places. They publicly stood against Voldemort and associated themselves with the likes of Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore. Informants had linked Mr. Weasley with a secret society run by Dumbledore. The youngest son was best friends with the Dark Lord's sworn enemy. The Weasleys simply had to die. When the order went out, Death Eaters had eagerly risen to the occasion. All of them were quite enthusiastic to destroy two generations worth of blood traitors.
The man smiled behind his mask. Killing the children would be the sweetest. He had always been morbidly amused at the death of children. It fascinated him that even death could not destroy their youthful glow. Try as he might to demolish it, the radiance lingered about the children long after they died. He would not let that happen this time. The Weasleys had plenty of children. He would simply practice until he got it right. He would save the youngest children for last, obviously. Their deaths would be even sweeter after watching their family members fade away. He quickly decided that the girl would go before the boy. She was already lost in the blackness. She would give up little resistance when her time came. The boy, however, was very defiant. Ron was so fiery and naïve. The Death Eater wanted nothing more than to watch the defiance slowly slip from his eyes as the darkness overcame them.
He could not contain his excitement and thought perhaps the boy was glaring a bit too harshly. He was not showing the proper respect for his superiors and ought to be punished for it. Perhaps he should be given just a little taste of what was to come. The man lowered his wand to Ron's chest and listened to Mrs. Weasley's cries of despair. He grinned maliciously and was almost giddy as his mouth wrapped around the precious word.
"Crucio."
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Ron's mind whirled in a world of pain and despair. How long had the Death Eaters been at it? Minutes? Hours? Days? He didn't know. All he knew was that he wanted them to stop. They had release Ron and Ginny from their chairs and their gags. Ron had been mortified when he saw his sister thrown to the ground to be tortured along side him. She was so young. She was his baby sister. He was supposed to protect her, yet there they were, side-by-side at the mercy of Death Eaters. Death Eaters had no mercy. Ron found that out quickly. The excruciating pain and torture had stopped abruptly when Ron saw his mum facing a Death Eater's wand. The only sounds in the room were Ron's panting, Ginny's sobbing, and the muffled curses of their elder brothers.
"Well now, children. We are not completely heartless," Ron recognized the voice of the cruel man who cast the first curse. It was the man who had threatened him. Now, this man held his mother at the end of his wand. Ron hated this man with a passion. "I'll give you both one chance to save your dear mother. If you beg well enough, I will spare her life."
Ron heard the other Death Eaters roar with laughter. He was filled with dread, yet some small part of him held out hope that this man was telling the truth. So he begged. He begged and pleaded with his torturers to spare his mother. He could hear Ginny's broken voice joining in his campaign. Her sobs merely strengthened his resolve to save his mother. He could not let mum die. For Ginny's sake, she had to live.
Ginny's shattered scream pierced the air as Mum's life was taken in a flash of green. The man informed them that they had not begged well enough to spare her. He accused them, saying if they had really loved her they would have tried harder. Ginny's sobs filled Ron's ears as he stared blankly at his mother's lifeless body. He had failed her. He had failed Ginny and Mum. Mum was gone now; it was his job to look after Ginny. Ron tried to move to comfort his devastated sister but was soon swept up in a tidal wave of pain. The torture had begun again.
The Death Eaters used loads of curses on the two children. They used unforgivables as well as highly illegal dark magic. They did all they could to bring pain to the young bodies and tear screams from the childish lips. They took pleasure in the pain of their victims, cheering and laughing at their despair. Ron felt as though his body was on fire, tied between four brooms all going top speed in the opposite directions, while his insides were brutally ripped out of his body. The pain was so intense that he thought he might die. He knew he couldn't last much longer. That was when the Death Eaters stopped once more.
This time when Ron's vision cleared, he saw that Bill was the man's new target. Once more Ron and Ginny were ordered to beg for his life. Once more they did and once more their family member was taken by the killing curse. This became the routine. The torture would grow in pain and intensity until Ron and Ginny nearly reached their breaking points. Then the Death Eaters would stop to kill another Weasley. Both Ron and Ginny stopped begging after the deaths of Charlie and then Percy. Nothing they said would prevent the deaths. They knew that, yet it still felt as though they were betraying their brothers by remaining silent. When the time came for George's murder, Ron wanted to die, himself. He could not remain silent. He had to say something so that his brother would not think he was abandoning him.
"I love you, George," Ron's voice was hoarse from screaming. He looked at his older brother with tears streaming from his sad eyes. George seemed so much older without the childish grin on his face. His eyes were usually so bright and mischievous. Now they were dark and filled with sadness. This wasn't the George that pranced around with his twin, playing tricks on everyone. This wasn't Forge, half of the infamous Weasley twins. This was just a shadow of that fun, enchanting personality. He was fading fast and Ron couldn't save him. "I would save you if I could. I just can't, George, I can't."
George sent Ron a comforting look, and then turned his attention to Fred. Ron closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to watch the twins say their silent goodbye. He choked back a sob as a flash of green illuminated his closed eyelids. George was gone. There were only three of them left now. Ron took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Ginny. She was laying a few feet to his left; curled on her side and drowning in her own tears. Her red hair cascaded over her shoulder in a tangled mess. It resembled the dark blood that stained Ginny's clothes and pale skin. Ron could see that she had been hit by a cutting curse as well as other more painful curses, which leave no visible scars. He had to help her. He had to take away her pain and keep these foul men from hurting her again.
This time when the pain cut into Ron, he pushed it to the back of his mind. He forced himself to concentrate on Ginny. He found their link and traveled through it. It was difficult as he was pushed and pulled by pain from all sides. Yet he kept forcing his way through, until he made a solid connection with Ginny. Now that he was there, Ron really wasn't sure what to do. All he knew was that he had to protect Ginny from experiencing such torture. In that thought, he found his answer. Ron used all his mental strength to pull the pain from Ginny and into himself. Both their bodies fought against the unnatural transferance. Even their bond seemed to waver as Ron fought and struggled to relieve Ginny. Their bodies did not understand what was happening. Ron's was feeling pain from injuries that did not exist while Ginny's were not effected by terrible wounds. The adrenaline that kept Ginny going faded along with her pain. Ginny slipped peacefully into unconsciousness as Ron began to scream in pure agony.
The cruel man smiled at the sound of Ron's screams. It was the sound he had been waiting for. Those agonized screams announced the death of innocence.