Second Heartbeat
Chapter 6 – Thoughts before Me
I awoke the next morning to a brilliant ray of sunshine cutting through my window and somehow landing directly on my eyes. For a moment I expected Harry to be shaking me awake to attend breakfast in the Great Hall, but then my wits returned and I realized where I was.
And what I had done.
Hermione still wasn't talking to me. She had been avoiding me ever since my Lavender comment the day before, and, although I couldn't help but feel a small longing for her—okay, maybe a little bigger than a small longing—I couldn't help but be grateful that, to some extent, my plan had actually worked. With the amount of fury she was feeling for me, she certainly wouldn't throw herself in front of the Killing Curse this time.
Or would she? I would do the same for her no matter how angry I was at her.
Shut up! I thought to my inner self, fuming at the unintended realization. There was no way that she felt the same way about me as I did about her, anyway; I had liked her since second year, for Merlin's sake! There was absolutely no evidence that she felt the same way; she had dated bloody Krum for almost all of fourth year! No, my plan was flawless.
So why did it feel so wrong?
I sighed and climbed out of my bed in the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta had been kind enough to take us in for the night when we explained what was going to happen the next day. I wondered what had become of the kindly bartender the first time—I remembered her somber vow not to evacuate, but after Harry, Hermione, and I had left the Three Broomsticks we had seen neither hide nor hair of her.
"Hey, Ron," said Harry, poking his head into my room and seeing that I was awake. "I was about to come wake you up."
"What time is it, mate?" I asked, stifling an enormous yawn.
"About nine in the morning," said Harry. "I've been up since five anyway—couldn't sleep."
For a moment I felt a little guilty that I had been sleeping soundly while Harry had had the entire wizarding world on his shoulders, but I reminded myself that Harry wouldn't have to worry about it anymore once we defeated Voldemort. And no matter what, we were going to defeat Voldemort.
Even if I had to die again.
"Well, c'mon, mate," said Harry. "Rosmerta's prepared us some breakfast. And we'll probably be needed to help evacuate in case anyone hasn't done it yet."
"Right there, Harry," I said, stretching. Damn, I had hardly slept at all the night before! I didn't remember climbing into bed until around four, so that left a pitiful five hours of sleep for me to prepare for the biggest battle in my lifetime. After I had sufficiently awoken myself and pulled some robes on, I went down to the bar, where Harry, Hermione, an enormous plate of pancakes, and a big jug of orange juice were awaiting me. My stomach let out a cacophonous growl, and I smiled sheepishly at Hermione's stare before remembering to look angry.
I scarfed down my pancakes and juice, and when my appetite was finally sated I turned to Harry.
"So what now?" I said, remembering that it would probably be helpful to play my role so I didn't give Harry or Hermione any idea of what I had been through. There was no way that I could tell them; they wouldn't understand.
"Now we wait," said Harry. "And pray that we're not too late."
- - - -
The sky above Hogsmeade village was a brilliant blue that afternoon, as if it had no idea what was coming. Birds sang in the trees that lined the streets, and the sun shone cheerfully in the heavens. The citizens of Hogsmeade went happily about their business, ready to come home to their families after their long days of work. In other words, there was no sign that anything was out of place, that anything about that particular day was different from any other day.
But there was something different. Something huge.
That evening, the Second War against Voldemort was going to end, one way or another.
Harry, Hermione, and I had spent the day trying desperately to evacuate the citizens of Hogsmeade from their homes. The voluntary evacuation that Minister Scrimgeour had issued was very ineffective; most of the citizens of the village simply refused to believe that Voldemort was coming to Hogsmeade. It didn't help that the Minister had mentioned in a speech broadcast on the Wizarding Wireless that Harry Potter had received a warning in his dreams from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named telling of the attack. If they were truly in danger, they reasoned, why would Voldemort have warned Harry of the attack beforehand? And so the residents of Hogsmeade believed that the warning was a ruse, that there would be no attack, and that they would all go to sleep that night safe and with their families.
Only I knew for sure that this would not be true.
After our pitiful attempt that only actually ended up evacuating a family of five who had converted to our beliefs after seeing Harry's scar, the three of us had decided to have one last day out in the village. Harry's watch said that the time was four o'clock, which left roughly two hours before the attack occurred. Hermione still had avoided talking to me as often as she could, and Harry was still brooding, walking along in silence and often staring off into space, deep in thought, perhaps at the injustice of being the Boy-Who-Lived or the unfairness of a prophecy that would either make him a murderer or murdered. After too long spent trying to snap him out of it, I gave up; I couldn't blame him for being angry and confused. We had already visited Zonko's and Honeydukes, but they had done nothing to improve his mood, and so we now just walked the streets of Hogsmeade, enjoying one last day of relaxation before the biggest battle of our lives.
I had never known time to drag on so slowly. It seemed that the closer it came to six o'clock, the slower the clock moved, so that by four-thirty it seemed that time literally stopped every few seconds before moving on as normal again.
It was then, for the first time in this whole mess of an adventure, that what I was doing actually seemed to sink in. I was literally coming back from the dead—and not just once, twice! I had a chance to change the future, a chance that the rare wizard indeed would ever experience in his lifetime. Time-Turners were extremely strictly regulated by the Ministry, and Harry and Hermione's experience in third year had been in incredibly isolated incident.
Which brought me to a question that, strangely, hadn't even occurred to me up until that point—how was it that I had received a second chance? Did everyone get a chance to change the events leading up to his or her death? If so, why did so many still die? Couldn't someone who died in a battle just decide not to be in a spot to be hit by the spell that killed them? Couldn't a heart attack victim check himself or herself into the hospital before the heart attack occurred? There had to be more to it than that, and yet nothing I could think of explained why I, of all people, had been chosen to live the events leading up to my death again. Had I done something special? There was no way to bring someone, wizard or not, back from the dead; everyone knew that. And yet, here I stood, my very existence defying that fact. Because I had died, there was no doubt about it, there was no mistaking that terrible emptiness that had engulfed me as I sat and watched my own funeral. There was no mistaking the feelings of loss and horror as I realized that every member of the Golden Trio was dead and that Voldemort had fulfilled the prophecy by defeating Harry.
The sun was dipping below the horizon now, so Harry, Hermione, and I turned and headed back towards the Three Broomsticks. Another glance at Harry's watch revealed that the time was about five o'clock—only an hour left.
My thoughts returned to my unique situation as the regular rhythm of my feet beneath me and the complete silence lulled me into a sort of stupor. Why had I been chosen to return, if not every wizard received this chance? Was it because I was the best friend of the Boy-Who-Lived? After all, Harry had lived through the Killing Curse. Why couldn't I?
"Ron!" shouted a voice from next to me. I turned and faced Harry's exasperated face—I was about to walk straight past the Three Broomsticks.
"Sorry," I said sheepishly, following Harry and Hermione into the pub. We made our way to our seats at the bar, Harry now over his brooding stage and alertly scanning the streets outside for any sign of Death Eater activity. I was the only one who knew that he wouldn't find it.
"I'll be right back," came Harry's sudden voice after I had been sitting down about half an hour. He left and headed towards the restrooms, leaving Hermione and I to sit together in an awkward silence.
And then the very last thing that I expected happened. Hermione moved over one seat and sat down next to me.
"You haven't been yourself, Ron. At all. You're hardly saying anything, you're acting one way one second then doing the exact opposite...what you did yesterday, Ron. You've never done anything like that before in your life. And then after you rescued me...you weren't acting normally. When you talked about Lavender. It—I dunno, exactly. It just wasn't right."
I stared at her, her chocolate-brown eyes boring into my own blue ones.
"What's wrong, Ron?" she finally finished with a kind of huff. I glanced desperately towards the bathroom door for any sign of a rescue from Harry, but to no avail.
"Nothing," I said miserably. "At least nothing besides the fact that we're about to go into battle against the most feared Dark Lord in centuries."
"But I know you, Ron," she said, and, corny as it sounds, something resembling an electric shock ran through me at those words. "And this isn't how you normally act before a battle. Cracking jokes, yes. Nervousness, yes. But confusion? Thoughtfulness? Something else is happening, Ron, I'm sure of it. And if you don't want to tell me..."
"It's not that," I said, scrambling for something, anything to tell her other than the truth. "It's—Hermione, I—" Damn it, why couldn't I think of anything?
"What is it, Ron? You can tell me," she said. My heart was palpitating frantically, my mind nothing but mush. I hadn't figured this into my plan, that was for sure.
"I can't tell you," I finally answered, deciding that honesty was, in this case, the best policy. "It's—"
"Well, fine," she said, her anger seeming to increase twofold. "Then I guess you really are that much of an insensitive prat." And she moved back onto her original stool before I could so much as process what she had just said.
What the hell?
Harry chose that time to return. He opened his mouth as if to question me on what was wrong, but upon seeing the look on Hermione's face he thought better of it. Not that I blamed him.
The situation quickly deteriorated into the depressing silence of before. Time passed so slowly that I could've sworn someone had spelled the clock to run half as fast. Finally Harry let out a deep sigh and spoke.
"This is stupid," he said, and I felt a jolt run through my body as I glanced surreptitiously at the clock. Six on the dot. "We shouldn't just be waiting for him like this. We should be—"
I jumped up from my seat a moment before the pub began to shake with the force of the spells being cast outside. Harry followed moments later after helping a fallen Hermione up off of the floor. Rosmerta dove behind the counter, looking around frantically for the attackers.
"Ready?" asked Harry, and both Hermione and I nodded.
"Then—let's go," he said, and for the third time I drew my wand and ran out the door to the Three Broomsticks, praying that I would be able to find a way to live before I ran out of chances.
- - - -
A/N – It's done! For a day I was thinking seriously about abandoning this story, but then I decided that I had to finish it, it being one of the only stories whose ends I actually have in mind. There aren't too many chapters left (we're at least halfway done), so I need that much more feedback so I can correct errors before the story ends! Please review and tell me what was good and bad about this chapter. Until next time...
