Disclaimer: the usual
Thank you to my beta!
WARNINGS: DISTURBING CONTENT. Sexual content. Let me be more specific: when Ron meets with Hermione he will have sex with her. If R/H sex squicks you, skip it. If it doesnt squick you, be aware that it is not romantic or pleasent sex. It is consensual and without abuse but Ron is depressed and an alcoholic, from his perspective. It is not overtly graphic. Similarly, the last few paragraphs are violent. You do not have to read these sections per say, although they do reveal aspects to Ron and Hermione's character and the last bit reveals more about Their character. Some find this horribly disturbing and gross either because Hermione has sex with him or because of how. I on the other hand found it profoundly sad and my intentions were to get others to empathize with a human being who has been horribly damaged. It is up to the reviewer, in the end, to interpret it as they will.
This was very difficult for me to write. Note that this takes place a few months after Bill's death, hence we've moved from Fall to the dead of Winter.
He wanted death. Death was no ominous spectre, no malicious creature haunting him. He wasn't able to pinpoint the exact moment, the birth of his desire for death, longing for it like an aloof lover, tantalizingly beyond his reach but it was now a persistent feeling deep within his core. The yearning was torturing him and the torture only reminded him of the relentless beating of his heart, the mercilessly continuous life passing through his messy body, with all its fluids and noises and nastiness. It made him sick.
But then he wondered, what was it about death he wanted most? Did he want himself to die? For the villagers to die? Or perhaps to meet the monsters of the forest. To have those creatures before him in tangible form, so that he could kill Them himself. Give Them a little taste of their own fucking medicine. Shred Them, cut Them, mash Them, destroy Them until They cease to exist. Kill Them all. Or even just one. To have killed just one would have been accomplishment enough.
Ron smiled blearily, slouched in a dark corner of an alley, as he considered that perhaps it wasn't too greedy of him to want all things to die, himself included. But no, it wasn't time to think about that. He slowly and painfully got up from his sprawled position on the frozen earth. The snow didn't make him as cold as he should have felt after being covered in it for two hours in a semi-conscious state. He grabbed a handful of the snow and used it to haphazardly clean off some of the vomit that stained his shirt. He checked his breath and started another fit of gagging because he wasn't prepared for the combined smell of sour vomit and alcohol fumes to be so prominent. Thankfully, there was no food left in his stomach. He took another handful of snow and used it to rinse his mouth as best he could; he needed to at least appear as if he were still holding himself together when he got to church.
It wasn't supposed to be a church. Technically there were no priests and no religion in Diagon. The building looked plain and unassuming, but it was massive and located in the heart of Diagon. No one had to go to the building and its only supposed purpose was to unify the community and exchange news, information, details on the never-ending futile efforts of the tribal members and their group. The tribal members tried to call it 'The Meeting Place' because no one wanted to admit that they had their own sort of religion in Diagon. Religion was a curse word among the wizarding community. Those deranged humans and their savage cruelty against all things magic, all in the name of a God and a book, where magic was the curse word, among the many curse words their religion had: the occult, pagan, mystic...
But there was a religion in Diagon. It may not have been spoken of, it may not have been acknowledged outright, but it was there. The God was for the safety of the community. The priesthood were the tribal members and They were the manifestation of evil. Only They came to no longer encapsulate only the forest beings but all people who stood in the way of the community's safety. The meeting place was just another church; where people listened to the leaders of the community discuss among themselves the various issues in the town, coupled with long sermons on the dangers of the forest beings, the dangers of curiosity, of drink, of fun, and of being unproductive members of the community. So many dangers, so many rules; the constant reminders of rules almost drove him crazy. But he had to admit, there was a need for these rules. Those sick creatures would never stop hunting and people never stopped making stupid mistakes.
Oh Bill…
No, there was no outspoken rule that said one had to go to Church, but the disapproval was there; the shock and anger whenever someone did not show up. It was sacrilegious, blasphemy, spitting in the face of those working tirelessly to keep everyone safe from the monsters waiting in the dark. To ignore the community, to turn your back on them, and there was no question in his mind that the church, though annoying and a bit hypocritical, was important for the survival for the community. It pained him that Hermione rarely went. But she did go a few times, with him, after Bill… after Bill.
"It is with great sadness that we must say goodbye to our Bill Weasley, on this day." Fudge's somber voice easily carried through the vast room, filled with villagers, some crying and other raptly attentive.
The funeral had taken place earlier that day. Long ago it was decided not to bury the dead, but to burn them. Though there was much discontent, after all, many did not want to be burned or have their loved ones burned it was only practical. There was limited space in the village and they relied on ground water. If the waters got tainted than all was lost and They wouldn't have had to do a damn thing. Those who died naturally could be viewed before death, should the family so choose, but the Weasley's had no choice. The body was mutilated. It would have been cruel and offensive to the dead to make the body visible to the family.
"He was an active member of the community. Full of potential and loved by many…" he paused as he looked around the room and realized it was no time for another sermon. Lucius Malfoy got up from his seat at the front row and took his place next to Fudge by the podium. Fudge quickly returned to his own seat at front, allowing Lucius to take charge. His cold grey eyes swept over the expansive unadorned room, almost pointedly avoiding the area filled with red heads as he took control.
"Although this is a dark and sad occasion… it has come to the tribal member's attention that there is discontent and confusion throughout the village…"
Ron shuddered in his seat. Lucius Malfoy's voice always struck him as slick and tainted with venom. No matter what he said or how he said it, Malfoy's voice sickened him. And he was in a terrible state as it was, listening to the man only made him feel worse. Hermione didn't seem to notice though, even sitting next to him. He vaguely noted that it was strange of her not to be aware. She was almost always aware of everything. But it hurt his head to think. It hurt his head to listen. It hurt him all over just breathing. He hadn't slept at all since Bill left. Not a single second. Three nights of insomnia, laying in his bed, sobbing like a bitch or screaming at his window till he tasted blood in the back of his throat. Pointlessly screaming that no one would ever hear. He barely had it in him to digest the words Malfoy was speaking, let alone be aware of his girlfriend's odder than usual behavior.
"The Safeguard has carefully investigated the situation behind Mr. Weasley's… passing. It was concluded that, while disturbing, it was merely coincidence that Mr. Weasley was found near his home." He paused to carefully take in the skepticism among the people. "In our long history, this is the first time such a set of circumstances has ever taken place. Other than the location, there is no evidence to suggest that this was an intentional act by the forest beings."
"These creatures… They are cruel, senseless monsters. They kill without remorse, without thought, and without mercy! They are not humans like us, and it is ridiculous to consider that They might be aware of what they are doing. These… these things cannot be reasoned with. If it was possible to reason with Them, do you not think that the many people who have been lost to Them in the night might have had a chance at survival? The only man to have ever survived Their presence had done so because he could control Them somehow!"
The room burst in shocked whispers. Even Ron managed to come out of his stupor long enough to realize the implications of Malfoy's words.
"Wh-what? Snape could control Them?" Ron blinked at Hermione, who had softly stammered the disbelief others were simultaneously voicing to one another. Her voice had been so weak, so soft and subdued that he would have scarcely heard it were it not for her close proximity and his focus on her. She was the only person he could focus on anymore.
"People… people…" the voices got louder, the shock mingled with hope. "SILENCE!" Everyone abruptly stopped talking. "We have been suspecting this for some time. Severus Snape revealed nothing to us, but we have his texts. It is our belief that he had some way of communicating to Them, of taming Them. We are currently using his books and journals to look for ways to create similar magic. It will take time… and unfortunately, one of our best hopes in creating this magic has been lost to us." The mood instantly turned austere and sorrowful at the mention of Bill. "You can all rest comfortably. They are not capable of thinking. They are lower than animals, bent on destruction and death! Fear Them like you fear a rabid dog, but do not fear Them as if They are some intelligent threat!" He spat out mockingly, clearly voicing his opinion that only an idiot would believe, even for a second, that the forest was full of smart creatures aware of who the villagers are and how to get to them.
Ron believed him. It had been stupid to think those ugly creatures were able to think. If They were able to think, how could They possibly find it in Them to do such acts of evil? Innocent people of all ages, obliterated and destroyed. They were subhuman… no… subanimal. When Ron thought really hard about it he realized They were better classified as parasites. Latching onto a living form, any living form, and draining it of all life even if it meant dying after the host was drained completely. Parasites did not have brains.
As Lucius returned to his seat, the prim, bloated form of Delores Umbridge quickly stepped up to the podium in his place.
"Hem, hem. It is important to remind you all that there is a constant, imminent threat against our town. We must remain together, united against the enemy if we wish to succeed. Rumours are the seed of discontent. There is no greater enemy… than those invisible, within our community, infecting our town with ideas that only spread fear and distrust! We are constantly fighting against Their evil, always searching for ways to free us from our bonds! We shall persevere! But we must remain together! If we do not trust in one another, if we stand in our own way, then we needn't fear the forest, for they will have already won."
Ron's head hurt. Her voice was so high pitched and nauseating. The pulsing in his temples only intensified when the congregation erupted in applause and shouts of approval. They were all on their feet. Hermione was the only person sitting with him, for some reason she had the life snuffed out of her. It mildly confused him but he didn't have the mental capacity to think too deeply. His eyes were sticky and dry from the need for sleep.
Bartemius Crouch stood up from his own special seat at the front row, next to Lucius, as Umbridge concluded her sermon; it was his turn to speak. Crouch was one of the most respected members of the community. The main legislator and creator of the laws in Diagon, his methods were harsh, almost merciless, but he was the face of justice to the people. There was no greater advocator of force and corporal punishment than Crouch. His own son had died at the hands of the forest beings long ago and his fury surpassed the fear within the village.
"This was a most unnecessary death…" his smooth soft voice falsely giving one the impression of gentleness. "A disgusting and pointless death that could have easily been averted were it not for Stupidity and Weakness." Ron's face turned red and his eyes watered. Hermione squeezed his hand but he could barely feel it. He almost wanted to turn around and demand that she crush it, crush his hand into her fist until it crackled like snapped twigs. Until he could feel it, finally feel something physical. Crouch's words burned his gut and tore his chest.
"It has always been a privilege, drinking in this village. Boys, drinking whenever they want so long as they get home before nightfall. We rely on boys to know when to stop drinking! We expect boys to think rationally, to understand the risks involved. No more of this!"
"We have been too lenient with drink. Not just for boys but for men. Drink is an evil, it slows our minds and gives us false feelings. The numbness and pleasure that comes from it makes us feel immortal, safe from harm, when harm is just outside!" his words were hissed, whispered but heard by everyone. "We have lost people because of drink, a complete stupidity on our part. It is time to change this. The tribal members have been thinking about this for a long time, but have now fully decided. There will be restrictions to the amount of drink one may consume, how old one must be to drink and a curfew for the pubs leaving five hours of daylight."
There was a strained silence. The mornings were usually for work and what little time they had in the afternoon before nightfall was spent at leisure. If the bars closed early then there was less time for people to drink in general. Bars wouldn't make as much profit and the men would be left without one of the few vices left for them. Ron suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Facing reality sober and aware did not sound very appealing to him at that moment. He zoned out as Crouch began reciting a list of rules and punishments for drinking. The world just got much darker for him.
He hawked some phlegm onto the earth as he stumbled around town. Most people knew he was drunk and drinking but no one stopped him. No one informed the tribal members or tried to punish him. He was a fairly quiet drunk and never did much in public. Though he couldn't drink as much as he wanted in the pubs, people were trading alcohol for items in secret. Ron was a fairly big customer. Some even gave him free drinks because everyone knew why he was torturing himself. He killed his own brother.
Remembering Bill, that was all he did when he wasn't wallowing in self pity or blacking out. Just remembering his time with Bill. His eyes watered with tears, their presence never ending, and he realized he didn't care if he went to church. He took a detour and started walking to Hermione's house. She hadn't gone to church since Crouch had changed the laws.
Hermione actually made him forget some of his pain. She had become a different person, almost like himself, not quite present with the rest of the world. He didn't understand why but he didn't have the energy to worry and he hardly understood Hermione as it was.
Since he was six years old he had a crush on her. Everyone was afraid of her because she was so strange. Although Ron was not the smartest boy in Diagon, he realized at a young age that if the people were afraid of her, then she had to be almost as powerful as the forest beings. While others were scared, he was impressed. Everything she did amazed him. People teased her for being so strong, and he wished he was powerful enough as a person to defend her properly, to stand up to others. He tried his best, subtly suggesting that people leave her alone, trying to spend more time with her so people would stop being so scared. It didn't make sense to him, even when he was small, that people would be scared of their own. To him she was a beacon of hope, though she sometimes made him insecure about his own strengths.
He talked to her as often as he could, though she barely responded to his efforts. Kids started to tease him a little but he paid them no mind. What little he got to know of her only intensified his feelings. He began dreaming about her, night and day, wondering what she would think about such and such, and what it would be like to kiss her. As he grew older he began dating girls though he always pined for her. She barely noticed his existence.
Getting her to date him was difficult. She was extremely wary and constantly suspected him of playing some elaborate joke on her. He showed up with flowers, took her on walks, treated her to meals and she was always tense like she was waiting for people to jump out from nowhere and attack her. But his persistence paid off and he never forgot the day she referred to him as her beau to her parents. He had spent the whole day with a completely idiotic grin on his face and when Bill found out he took him out to his first drink.
Bill…
He clenched his jaw and kept walking through the cold air. His lips were chapped to the point of bleeding and he couldn't feel his fingers or toes. The need for drink was momentarily quelled but he knew it would come back soon. He hadn't seen Hermione for weeks and a part of him, the part that had yet to be tainted by Them, missed her. As he moved away from Diagon's center, he leant down and ate more snow, but he knew this wasn't necessary. There was no need to subject her to his vomit covered kisses.
When he got to her home he had to stop and stare. The forest stood before him, the bare stems of the trees tangled together in a chaotic mass, its presence a constant warning. Snow made the trees more foreboding, icicles hanging precariously over some of the thicker trees and the frozen wood creaked eerily in the wind. His eyes began to burn from the need to blink but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the taunting image. So stupid, being frightened of trees, but there they were, a whole village of wizards petrified and running their lives according to the limits of the woods. It was a cruel joke.
"Ron?" came a soft voice behind him. He didn't even jump, not that he expected her presence, but because everything about him was numb and slow.
Ron turned to her, ruffling his red hair with a hand as he tried to appear normal.
"Hello… just… just wanted to see you."
"Oh." She glanced at the forest. "Would you like to come in?"
"Your parents home?"
"No. They're at the market."
They walked into her house, not worried about being seen. It didn't really matter to Ron anymore, being caught doing something inappropriate. Strangely, neither did Hermione.
"Do you… do you have anything to drink?" He asked, as politely and innocently as he could as he licked his parched lips. Hermione looked at him from the corner of her eye and left for the kitchen while he walked to her bedroom with the practiced ease of someone who had done so frequently.
When Hermione came back, it was with a glass of water. He smiled weakly at her as she stood across from him and took the glass. She watched him as he brought it to his lips, sipping tentatively and trying not to choke. He managed to get half of it down without sputtering too loudly. How strange, he mused, that when alcohol flows freely water becomes poisonous.
"Mmm… thank you." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Noticing the disgusted look on Hermione's face as his smell wafted over to her, he froze. "Oh… umm, I suppose I can come back another time." He murmured and started getting up, unaware of the pained expression on her face.
"No! No… it's alright. It's alright." She swallowed hard as he carefully sat back down and looked at her.
They stayed there, awkwardly waiting for something to happen. In the end it was Ron who made the first move. He put his hands on her hips and drew her closer, lifting her shirt up to place half-hearted kisses on her stomach. His teeth bit gently into her stomach as he removed her pants and panties. Hermione was staring blankly, head turned toward the window, while Ron sloppily made his way to her breasts.
There were times when Ron hated himself for doing this to her. She never denied him, and he knew it was out of pity and duty. It wasn't fair to her that she lost her virginity so soon, without marriage and with the risk of childbirth. But it was very hard, being selfless in depression. He needed her. Her touch, her taste, her warmth, he needed it all. Yet it was never enough and always fell short of making him feel alive.
Sex was a blur for him. He had hardly realized that he was on top of her, the two of them completely naked. They hadn't even bothered closing the door. It was an out of body experience; his sex was hard and inside her but it was like he wasn't really there. She barely moved while he pumped in and out of her. Several times he had to stop and spit on his hand to wet himself because she wasn't slick enough. The rhythm started off slow as he tried to desperately find something to hold onto, to keep himself hard. No emotion, only a dizzying cloak of lethargy and listless movement.
The pleasure, vague and faint, began to grow within him. All his focus turned to it, clinging to the sensations as tightly as he could, his only true connection to what was happening. It was there, he was alive, and maybe it wasn't so bad. She made a noise as he sped up but he didn't register it, the room was silent except for the muffled slapping noise as he moved within her, eyes shut tight. He grunted while she weakly held onto his scarred back. The grey light from the window seeped into the room, illuminating his pale body towering over hers, moving erratically. His body was warm, finally warm after a whole day of binge drinking and laying in the snow unconscious.
The bed creaked a bit loudly, it was old and worn, and he was too big and tall. He had gotten skinnier though, ribs poking through his chest and his spine sticking out too much. Hermione had her head turned away, so she wouldn't breathe in his breath as he panted, the sickly sour odour of his stomach contents striking her in the face. His very skin reeked of illness and putrid old sweat.
As he finally reached release he had a split second of peace. Nirvana. His mind went blissfully blank, barely noticeable with how quickly it passed. He didn't finish powerfully, he didn't finish with joy and he lost it all too quickly. He stopped his motions and hovered over her, still panting slightly. When he looked at her he saw her eyes were still closed and she had her head turned to the wall. He stared at her for a good long moment, taking in her features, and he realized just how much she had changed. Thinner, paler, and deadened, it was as if he could actually feel her energy had dropped to his own. He pulled out of her, and sat on the bed, still naked.
They said nothing to one another, she lay on the bed and took to looking at the ceiling while he thought to himself.
"Her-Hermione…"
"Yes, Ronald." Came her soft, emotionless reply.
"You don't like what we're doing… do you." It came out as a statement. Hermione seemed to revive her from her languor.
"Oh. It's not like that Ron…" she sat up next to him, uncertainly. "I mean, I love you."
"Right. Right, I- I love you too."
Another wave of silence befell them before Hermione spoke.
"Do… do you like it?"
He sighed, unable to look at her. "I don't know." He whispered. "I kind of… kind of do." Ron turned his face further away from her as he asked, "Are you… were you, in love with Bill?"
"Uhh… what?" she asked, completely dumbfounded.
"You changed since he died… so I kind of thought that…"
"Oh! No! No, no, Ron, I didn't love him like that. No."
He finally hazarded to look at her. Her perplexed expression relaxed him a little, though he wondered why it didn't upset him more, the idea of Hermione being in love with Bill.
"We aren't actually supposed to do this… before marriage I mean." She mumbled, turning slightly pink.
"Yeah… but you don't like it. Right? You wouldn't lie to me." He paused, staring at the floor with empty eyes. "You wouldn't lie to me Hermione."
"Oh Ron…" she shuddered, eyes tearing. "I love you… but… it's not supposed to be like this."
He nodded, tears forming in his own eyes. "Yeah… it's not fair… not fair at all." The forced smile on his face came off as an ugly contortion. "I should go now, before your parents come by." His voice was hoarse and he had to fight off an onslaught of nausea.
"Wait, Ron…"
But he ignored her, got up and dressed himself quickly without looking at her. He felt disoriented and furious. His own woman was disgusted with him, didn't want to touch him. Ron practically ran out of the house before Hermione managed to get dressed to follow him.
Once outside he broke into a sprint, pushing his feeble and wasted body to its limit. It was pathetic; he barely managed to run far enough to lose sight of her house. When he stopped he had a coughing fit and threw up what little of the water he still had in him. The cold was biting into his skin again and he groaned, forcing himself to walk through the larger tufts of snow, keeping away from the village and steadily walking farther away from Hermione.
It was harder to walk so close to the forest. People rarely traversed in the area so the snow hadn't flattened out. The heat that had flushed his body after sex left him and he was shivering. At that point he wasn't sure if it was the cold or the need to drink that made him shake. Or maybe it was the agony, the knowledge that Hermione didn't really want him anymore. That he had only been hurting her that whole time.
Tears started falling from his cheeks and he sobbed painfully at the realization.
"Aww Mione… I'm so sorry, Mione" he coughed as the cool air burned his lungs from the run.
He had hurt her. It wasn't his intention. He just… needed her. When she asked him if she liked it, he had no idea what to say. All he knew was that being with her, having someone touch him intimately, with warmth, made him feel better. She was the only person he still tried to connect with. The only person to make him feel human and alive. But at the same time he was making her feel bad.
He sobbed to himself, unable to hold back.
"I love you… so much…" he keened to himself as he stumbled through the snow aimlessly, feeling horrified with himself. "I'm real sorry…" Ron shook his head, the hurting in his chest no longer from the cold. He took advantage of her, his Hermione, the powerful woman he fell in awe of, that he worked so hard to win over. He hurt Hermione. His eyes burned with salty tears and he wanted so badly to scream, to scream it all up, this built up self loathing but he couldn't. Someone might hear him; see him, in all his repulsive weakness. He killed his brother and he tried to kill Hermione, kill her from the inside. Kill her like he himself was dying.
Goddamn it I want a fucking drink!
Hermione changed, and it was his fault. His stupid fault. What if he had already killed her? Killed what made Hermione so strong and beautiful to him. No, he wasn't the brightest boy in Diagon, but he saw her. He saw a part of her no one else did because they were too busy being too scared to even look at her. Little Ronald, one of the popular boys, cocky and brave, saw her and was humbled. He had wanted to give her everything and he had so little to offer. He always knew this, always felt he was just short of her expectations or wants but he tried so damn hard. Now he didn't just fail her, he tried to destroy her.
He fell to his knees, cold wetness soaking his pants as he knelt with his face buried in his hands. He was failing everyone. Father went around still doing business as usual, acting so normally that it was scary, as if Bill never existed. Molly was listless and always cleaning. Cleaning the damn house over and over again. Harry stopped seeing Ginny, who had her fiery temper snuffed out of her. He hadn't talked to Harry at all since the last time, since the day after. George and Fred were actually working at a pub, no longer playing around or joking. He had no idea where Percy was or what he was doing. And everything was his fault. Because he got drunk. Because he let Bill wander off on his own. Because Ronald Weasley was stupid, so very stupid and useless and sick. And oh how he wanted to die and how he wanted to kill everything in his path and how he wanted to save the world, and fix everything and make Hermione smile, smile again for him and laugh. To see Bill again, to make him come back, please come back and it hurt so much that it was him, his fault, his stupid mistake, and he wished the scars in his back were fresh and deeper. So much deeper, to match the scars within him.
It had taken over three hours of deliberation before the tribal members decided what to do with him and Harry. The punishment would be private, only viewed by the tribal members and the families, should they choose to watch. Ron assumed the privacy was because of Fudge; the man was much softer than Crouch and probably argued that there was already plenty of punishment on Ron's expression as it were. Harry looked a little nervous but Ron almost felt anticipation. He wanted this. He needed this.
They took Ron and Harry to a small courtyard behind the Tribal Quarters. Ron briefly recalled Severus being tried for execution there, but he had never been to the courtyard, where most punishments were delivered. He noticed three thick wooden poles at the farthest end of the courtyard, right in front of the fence. There were ropes hanging off of several rings imbedded in the wood. Two cloaked people, one by each pole, stood there with cloth bags in their hands.
"Attention here." Came Crouch's cold voice. Ron and Harry turned around, alone with the tribal members. The Weasley family hadn't come.
"As punishment for your negligence in the matter of Bill Weasley's death, to which you have both admitted participation, you will serve penance in the form of twenty lashes. Remove your shirts and take a position in front of the poles."
Ron stepped in front of a pole, shirtless and standing tall. The varying levels of rings were for the different heights of those who got punished. He lifted his arms over his head and put one arm on either side of the pole, wincing as the ropes wove through the rings and tied his forearms to the wood tightly, digging at his skin. He leaned his forehead against it and spaced his legs apart.
The sun was strong that day, strong enough for the heat to flow through the clouds that covered the village. Ron could feel it on his skin and for a moment, while he was bound facing the pole, he relished the calmness that overtook him. Crouch was saying something but he didn't hear it. He didn't even note the look of fear in Harry's face.
And then it rained fury. The sun was licking the skin of his back, its flames sizzling his skin and peeling it apart. He screamed, a raw confession of his sins, head thrown back in worship of the sun god that tore into his flesh. No excuses. The blood trailing down his ass and staining his pants were his repentance. He broke into a sweat gripping the ropes that bound his arms so tightly that his hands turned completely white and bled.
When it was over he was crying but pure. So perfectly, completely pure. Harry was hacking and coughing next to him yet he couldn't really see him. It was in that fleeting moment that Ron felt absolution. But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. The chain reaction of events after Bill's death would only serve to teach Ron that being punished was not sufficient. That his actions would affect so many people in so many ways. Countless wrongs surfaced after Bill died. He didn't deserve to be happy. Though he didn't know it at the time, he began partaking in true punishment. Punishment with no absolution. There was no greater act of retribution than self-destruction.
*****
Ron returned home just before nightfall, completely drunk, yet again. The wood groaned under his wet boots as he made his way through the hallway, forgetting to take them off. His father was in the living room reading a book. The house was impeccably clean. Ron hobbled over to one of the small couches in the house. They had a lot of furniture, a side effect of having such a large family, it made the house seem smaller because of how congested the house was.
"Hey, 'swhere's Ginny?"
Arthur didn't look up from his book. "She's in her room. Don't disturb her when you get ready for bed."
Ron swayed in his seat, blinking rapidly at his father in the hopes of being able to see him better. But no, he was still a blob in his glazed eyes. They sat in silence, with Ron staring in Arthur's general direction who was dutifully ignoring him. Molly walked into the room and glanced at Ron briefly before noting his boots. She didn't say anything to him.
"Arthur, I need to clean the floors, there's snow water all over the place."
She had, months ago, stopped talking to Ron directly. He did what he wasn't told directly and removed his boots, walking back to the front of the house to dispose of them. Instead of returning to his parents he walked by them, and the kitchen, straight to his room. He paused and listened to Ginny sniffling nearby before he finally forced himself to his bedroom. The chamber pot in his room was full and he had forgotten about it. The smell was horrible but he was too lazy and disoriented to dispose of it properly. Sneering, he took the pot and left it just outside his room in the hall.
Stupid bitch, cleaning up all the time. Might as well be useful.
His ire quickly dissipated after he closed the door. The room was long and narrow, jutting out from the doorway with the window just across. His bed was just off to the side, part of it under the window. A mangled, old looking table was beside his bed and dresser was beside the entrance. He opened the large window to air out the place, changing in front of it in spite of the possibility of being seen. Night hadn't fallen yet so people were still making their way home. He tossed the clothes into the messy pile at the foot of the bed. All his nasty clothes were still there because his was the one room his mother refused to enter.
He smiled wryly as he sat on his bed and stared out into the streets. Someone walked by his door and closed it but he didn't acknowledge them. It was starting to get really cold in the room but he didn't care, just kept staring out the window as flecks of snow began falling onto his floor. His throat hurt, he swallowed carefully but it continued to burn. He was either sick or the drinks were actually burning his throat. He grinned goofily, struggling up off his bed as he started searching through his desk to find his flask.
"Mmm Rober' yea… good stuff." He vaguely recalled buying it off of Robert Dillinger. Or was it Rodney? Whoever it was, it was his first time buying off of them. He took a whiff of it and cringed violently at its powerful smell. Powerful is good. He took a sip and had himself a coughing fit, eyes wet and bloodshot.
"Shrong, shiiiiit," he giggled to himself weakly. Ron collapsed on his bed and forced down a huge gulp, the lukewarm fluid burning his already sore throat. Alone in his freezing bedroom, his mind wandered.
"Ron… why don't we go and play ball or something…" Dean mumbled tentatively. Seamus nodded and nudged the redhead with his elbow.
"Wha? Nah, it's good like this. S'pub. We like the pub. Righ?"
"We like the pub yea… but now we're always at the pub," added Timothy.
His heart started to beat faster and his hands sweated. He knew what they were trying to say, trying to tell him to cut down on the drinking, but what the hell did they know? All he had was his drink, all he wanted was his drink…
"You guys go play. I'm good here."
He listened to the chatter of the room while his so called friends sat around him quietly.
"Ron…"
"No. You go on ahead. Go. I'm good here."
"You're sick all the time…"
"I said I'm GOOD, now GO."
There was some hesitation but eventually they left him, muttering about gits and bloody idiots, but Ron pretended he didn't hear. It wasn't their business, and it was embarrassing to have them try and talk to him about it. He could scarcely believe they made the effort.
Taking another sip of his drink he started to feel warmer. Tears fell down his already stained cheeks. His whole face hurt from crying but he couldn't even remember why he had spent most of the day in tears. Like some girl.
He grunted and sat up in bed, a sudden sharp pain in his stomach made him keel over.
"Ah, Gawd!" He painfully heaved the alcohol onto his floor, making his head throb in agony.
Mum's gonna haft a clean that up… he mused as he took another swig of his flask.
"Alright Ronnie, we're gonna play a game!"
"What, what, what?" Ron practically jumped on the spot with excitement. Bill always knew the best games because he was oldest and biggest and he always let him play.
"Gotta build a fort in the snow, alright? Then we make snowballs – like this- and then we'll have a snow war! Last man standing wins! It'll be me and you against Tim and Anthony!"
His eyes went wide, "What? I can't do that. They're both bigger than me; you gotta get Fred and George!"
"What? What Fred and George? All I need is you! You're man enough ain't ya?"
"Well… I'm little…"
"I say you're a man. You're my right hand man." He tossed a snow ball at Ron's chest. "Look at you! Still standing after that! And you call yourself a boy?"
And they played all day, snow flying through the air. He was tired and his little body hurt but his big brother kept going and he was a man damnit and he would keep going too because Bill said he could. Bill always said he could do it. And mum didn't stop them, didn't call them in, let them play. And they won, a little boy and his brother against two big boys. Bill carried him over his shoulder into the house and mum already had two baths ready and a big meal. They told everyone and everyone laughed, enjoying their meals and Ron was a man that day because Bill said so. One day he'd be a man like Bill.
Ron's head felt like exploding and he was shaking. Which was odd because he didn't actually feel cold, but he forced himself to get up and grab a grungy sweater to warm himself, slipping a bit on his puddle of vomit in the process. It made him laugh, a strange painful sound.
He mumbled incoherently to himself, memories of Bill jumbled in his head. Memories of what his life used to be like, his old dreams and hopes. Nothing made sense in his life and nothing made sense in his head. He walked aimlessly around his room and in an act of stupidity, the flask fell from his hands and spilled onto the floor, mingling with the vomit. For a moment he gaped at it incredulously, but then he burst into loud guffawing laughs, slapping his thigh in joviality. He laughed so very hard as he yanked his dresser from the wall began bashing it in with his foot. He laughed even harder as he tore off the curtains and flipped his table over.
"HAAAAAA, HAAAAA fucking HAAAAAAAA!" His eyes were wild and furious, his only flask and he lost it and he still had a whole night without sleep to look forward to. He smacked his fist into the wall and didn't even register the pain as the wood remained unblemished.
His breath came in ragged gasps and the tears, the never ending tears, continued to flow down his swollen red face.
"RONALD WEASLEY!"
"WHAT!?"
Arthur's angry face froze in shock.
"Don't you take that- that tone with me young man! You need to keep it down in here!"
He stared at his father incredulously. Arthur's son, his son, was half mad in a drunken rage, standing in his own bile and filth, tearing his own room apart… and all he cared about was Ron's noisiness. Ron hated him, a useless old lunatic living in his own little world. His mother hadn't even come in to check on him. Ron hated her. He wanted them to hurt, he wanted them to know how he hurt and he hated how a large part of him felt it was deserved. He deserved to suffer their passive cruelty. However, at that moment, all he wanted to do was tear into his father, beat him to a bloody pulp and leave deep scars so his father could never again pretend…
"What's going on?"
He stiffened when he noticed Ginny standing by his father. Her beautiful brown eyes were red and puffy. The fight went out of him.
"Nothing. Both of you, get the hell out of my room," he softly replied.
Ginny left but Arthur stood his ground.
"You listen here Ron, this is my house. You watch how you talk to me boy."
"Dad, if you don't get out now I'm gonna to beat ya till both my fists break."
Arthur's eyes bulged out of his head in shock. There was a dangerous stillness to his son, a quiet wrath. Long gone were the days of little Ronnie obeying his dad. A stranger stood before him, larger and stronger. An animalistic anger lurked beneath his tranquil demeanor. Arthur said nothing, closing the door behind him.
He crossed his bedroom floor to the window but rather than close it, he climbed out of it, leaving it slightly ajar.
I don't care anymore. I don't care. I wanna hurt something, I wanna hurt someone…
It wasn't dark yet, but there was no one strolling about Diagon. Except for Ron. It almost soothed him, the crunching of his dirty boots in the dry iced snow. He had never walked alone anywhere before. Always surrounded by his friends and coming out early enough or staying late enough to walk his village alone. He felt hyper sensitive, in spite of his drunkenness. His breath came out in white puffs and the snowflakes gently flitted onto his skin, moving through the air like they were riding streams of water. There was very little wind and he appreciated that. The warmth of the drink was starting to disappear.
He knew where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do. No one cared about him anymore. His friends abandoned him because his drinking made him boring. Hermione didn't want him because he was repulsive. His family pretended he didn't exist. He was as good as dead but damnit he was still alive and he would prove it. The drink brought courage in him, courage that was only strengthened by his pain and disregard for himself.
He hatched a brilliant scheme. If Diagon were to figure out a way to kill Them or stop Them, all they needed was one damn body. One dead creature to examine. Ron was going to be the man to do it and he knew just how.
He wasn't sure what would kill them but decided that a freezing spell would suffice. In one of his more sober but homicidal moments, he figured this out. His spell casting wasn't as complex or powerful as Hermione's. It would have probably been best if he used a lightening spell because it was faster and not something associated with Their known abilities. But the cold weather would help him. It was fairly simple, freeze one to death, and then drag it back into his room. Ron couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he stumbled around outside, the sky darkening.
It would have been a very ingenious plan, if it weren't filled with holes of knowledge, like would the creatures be capable of freezing to death? Especially when They were known to live in the forest during the harshest of winter storms. And what if Their magic manipulated the cold? But that was the least of his problems, as his plan had already failed. He was still very drunk and wandering around town, now quite lost. Growing steadily nervous, he tried to find his way back to his house, furious at himself for straying too far. He had hoped to move a bit away from his window, so as to not alert Them of his plan. Now he was lost and confused.
"Shit…"
The cold bit into his skin more aggressively after the sun finally left the skies. He could barely see in front of him, only catching glimpses when the clouds shifted away briefly to illuminate his path. His nerves began to react; the situation was new and horrific.
What happened to Bill…
He swallowed hard, heart in his throat and stomach getting queasy with fear. It was nighttime, he had never been outside in the night. Oh no, he had spent his whole life hiding in his safe, impenetrable room when the sun left him. Now he was bare to the world and the world was dark. He began an awkward jog trying to get around faster, yet completely unable to tell where he was going. All he could hear was his blood pumping through his body and his breath escaping his lips. He was sober. Worse, he was frightened.
Ron reached into his pocket and grabbed his chalk, almost sobbing when he realized he had very little surface area dry enough to write on. But he pushed his body harder, jogging as best he could.
"No…"
Like a hand pulled him, coaxing him, he stood before the forest.
"No… no, no, no…."
His body was flushed from the effort of running and by God his lungs hurt so bad he almost wished he could stop breathing. But it wasn't possible; he couldn't have run all the way toward the forest. How long had he been ambling around aimlessly? He compulsively licked his forever chapped lips.
Suddenly it was no longer a good idea. A drunk man trying to weave complicated spells in freezing temperatures against an unseen and unknown enemy sounded a lot more reasonable after a good drink. After many drinks.
Even then, he felt the pull of the forest. His legs seemed to move of their own accord, dragging his paralyzed form closer to the woods, so black in the night that they looked like a mammoth abyss. He whimpered when he stopped just a few feet from the first tree.
The wind stopped and his heartbeat slowed until he could only hear his erratic breathing. Nothing moved or changed but his instincts were on full alert. There was something watching him. He could feel it under his skin.
His fist curled around the chalk in his pocket, trying to ignore the growing panic coursing through his body.
"COME OUT!" he screamed, as goose bumps spread over his body. They were watching. "COME OUT DAMN IT!"
Clouds covered the sky completely… he was immersed in pitch black. His breath came out in short gasps as he felt Them surround him, all over, just observing him. He could feel it and he knew it and the fear was too intense. The chalk in his fist broke and he let out a mangled cry at his mistake. There was a faint whining noise in the back of his throat as panic set in. Blind and alone he stood before the trees and They did nothing. Like some sick joke, he stood there body numb with terror.
It was far too silent. His ears began buzzing only to disorient him further. There was too much space, he extended his arm and wished he were near something solid, a wall to put his back to so he could know where the danger faced him. The dread was so intense he broke out into a cold sweat and shook.
"Leave me alone…" he whimpered softly to the suffocating darkness. "Please… just leave me alone… I'll go back to bed, I promise." A weak sob escaped him. When a small burst of wind touched him, he flinched so violently to face it that he tumbled over onto his knees. A noise! He flung his arm out in hysterics, touching nothing. For a few terse minutes he frantically convulsed on the earth, screaming in horror, trying to fend off unseen monsters. Exhaustion finally slowed his body.
"What do you want from me?!" He cried out weakly. "What are you?"
He squeezed his eyes shut but couldn't tell the difference. When he reopened them, light had trickled through the parted clouds… and something was there.
Ron's fragile body tensed, wide eyes riveted to the large dark shape that stood low to the ground. He couldn't make out what it was in the meager light. It stood there without moving, without a sound.
"H- hello?"
It didn't react. He could feel it watch him with passive curiosity. As far as he could make out, the creature had pointed ears. He shifted on the ground, trying to get to his knees without taking his eyes off it.
A soft, almost sensual growl flowed through the air…
He stopped, half squatting, as the creature moved. It stood up on four legs, covered in a luxurious silver fur. Ron squinted in the faint light, noting its long snout and glowing blue-grey eyes.
Wolf…
He had read about them… never seen one before in his life, except for illustrations in books. Ron didn't even know they had wolves in the forest. He frowned in confusion. The tribal members didn't say anything about wolves. As far as he knew, They weren't wolves.
"Go away..." the animal continued to watch him intently, an indiscernible glint in its eyes. "I said: go-a-way," he tried more boldly. The animal lowered its head, as if considering him. Ron waved his arm at the wolf, trying to scare it but it didn't respond. If it weren't for the few times it stirred, Ron would have thought it a statue. Feeling less frightened and more perturbed, he relaxed a little, looking at it more closely. It was very large but lithe; he had the urge to run his fingers through its svelte fur. His fingers actually itched to touch it.
A cloud passed overhead, so quickly thought he'd blinked, and when he refocused his attention, the wolf was gone. He paused for a brief moment before he heard a ruffling noise behind him. He jerked toward it only to see nothing.
They're playing with me…
The pounding in his heart rose. He stared at the black forest, slowly moving backwards toward the village.
Another soft growl… right behind him…
When he frantically turned to meet the sound he was only met with the benign sight of his village outline in the darkness. It was too much, his chest burned with fear and the tension got to him.
"Shit –" He broke into a run, pushing himself hard. Home, home was safe, home was where he had to go.
He turned his head briefly and caught a glimpse of the wolf, gazing at his retreating form. It was smiling at him.
"Ah!" He ran faster, panic coursing through his veins as he barreled toward the town. His body felt like it was ready to collapse in on itself, lungs screaming in agony, joints loosening, and muscles cramping but he kept going. Half mad, he barreled through the village, not even sure of his direction.
It wasn't long before he was out of steam. He ran into an alleyway to hide and catch his breath. Panting heavily he tried to make out where he was. To his despair he realized he was half an hour's walk back to his house.
The merciless clouds converged, leaving him in the dark's embrace once again.
He lost sight of the world. This time he flattened his back against the wall and pointlessly stared wide eyed at the blackness. Nothing happened. There was silence. The quiet was unnerving his already frayed mind.
He forced himself to breathe slowly, heighten his hearing. The alcohol felt like it was out of his system, senses revitalized and alert. For that small space of time he almost felt safe. Then something's warm breath caressed his face.
He was petrified. Completely and totally immobile. If he shifted, even slightly, he would come into contact with Them. They were right there. Right in front of him. The hairs on his body stood to full attention. An unnatural sound emanated from his throat, pitiful and scared. He could sense Them. The warm breath continued to gently touch his face. Whatever They were, They had to be tall because Ron was one of the tallest boys in the village. A large, vicious creature was standing right in front of him. Doing nothing, just… looking at him.
A warm wetness trickled down his leg and he had to stifle a pained groan. The smell of ammonia reached his nose but the warm breath didn't leave.
A chuckle broke through the air.
Ron jerked back, smacking his head soundly. Without thinking he turned and ran, reeling around madly in the darkness.
"HELP! HELP SOMEONE!" They knew he was there, They had been watching him. Malfoy was wrong, They were thinking creatures. They were hunting him and They could see him.
"HELP!" He tripped and fell, quickly scrambling to his feet.
Another soft jeering laugh danced through the air.
His foot hooked onto something. A step. He was in front of a house. Forgetting that it was completely useless, he clamored up the slippery, misshapen stairs and started pounding on the door.
"Open up! Open up! Help! Please help! Help! Please, please, please, please plllllllllllease!" His screams went unheard as did the sound of his fists slamming the door.
A small shift in the skies and light whispered through…
There was a human shaped shadow crouched on the handrail.
With a scream of utter horror he hurled himself in the other direction, slipping on the icy stairs and landing hard on his back. The wind was knocked out of him and the pain so intense his eyes rolled into his head. For a moment he blacked out. When he awoke he couldn't move. His back hurt so much he could scarcely breathe. He grunted weakly and was confused as to why he couldn't move his arms or legs.
"Uhh… ahh… wha…" It was so cold. His right arm was near his head, it was blue. "Oh… Oh…" He gasped in surprise.
Something was panting.
His mind felt heavy and slow but he noticed the large shape in front of him. It was a black wolf nuzzling his stomach.
"Eh?"
His voice made its ears perk. When it lifted its head Ron couldn't help but gawk at it. Blood was dripping off its snout.
"Ah!" he cried faintly.
It licked its fangs before it leaned down again.
"Wha… what… wait! Ah…" He had to have lost his mind. This was all a hallucination. This wasn't happening. Couldn't be happening. Was not happening.
When it leaned back to eat the long piece of meat, he realized in a sort of numb haze, that the wolf wasn't eating his stomach. The sounds of wet squishing and hungry gulping made him dry heave. Things snapped and slurped and all he could do was lay there and listen, half delirious. The metallic smell of blood was thick in the air, its warmth melting the ice he rested on. His mind was clouded with incomprehensible beastlike howling. Yet all he managed to do was a bit of twitching.
"Ohhhhhh nnnnnnnnooooo" he groaned in agony as the sound of crunching reached his ears. The wolf tilted its head back and swallowed, dark blood matting its fur. A grey wolf stalked over and joined in the meal.
"Mommmmmmmmmmy" he sobbed, his mind completely lost.
*****
It was an inhumanely long time before Ronald Weasley was finally enveloped by the benevolent, the understanding, the ever forgiving, arms of Death.
The silver wolf watched it all, sitting off to the side as the other fed. Snowflakes placidly swam in the air, visible by the now bared moon. And the wolf smiled in satisfied misery.
A/N: Hmmm... poor Ron. I felt really bad for him throughout this, however it was important to write his death for reasons that will become clear later on in the story.
Random: My beta asked what happened to Charlie as I never mention him as part of the Weasley family. I dont say this outright but childbirth was very risky back then, many children were stillborn or killed the mother. So Charlie died in childbirth.
Thank you for all your well thought out reviews. I apologise for some very late review replies *smacks forehead* I have thanked each of you individually. Thank you to my anonymous reviewers: Alios, Lion, Brii, and Sidth. Thanks for adding my story and me to faves/alerts to my lurkers as well ;)
March will be very messy for me, exam/papers all over the place. I shall try to write a one-shot between this story and Walking a Mile, as a sort of apologetic buffer lol It's easier to write one shots as I dont have to worry about plot continuity so I thought I'd write one up to hold you all over :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter, or rather, that this chapter was written well (cant quite enjoy the depressing...).
Please review if you can, I promise to do a better job of replying in a timely manner *shame*