Author's Note: Responding to reviews.
ViviTheFolle - Well, I'm pretty sure you figured out the second biggest mystery of the fic maybe a year ago. You read carefully, which I appreciate. The problem was that the mystery had an answer in the text, which is obvious if you're looking for it. I'm pretty sure that after this one, you'll know why I asked for no more speculation…
merendinoemiliano - I actually rewrote Voldemort in this one, which was the main cause for delay, along with the unexpected popularity of what I first considered a joke fic. In the initial version he was more hammy, but I rewrote him to be more realistic, where he just aims to achieve his goals in the most efficient manner possible. I'm really glad you appreciated the rewrite.
This should be the emotional highpoint of the fic, and is my second favorite chapter after the last one. After this chapter, speculate away. You know what time it is. I hope you enjoy…
Chapter 35 - Your Best Friend
Ron sprinted after the Basilisk, following the blood on the carved rocks. He hadn't seen much, but…
Sirius was dead. McGonagall too, probably. All they had left was Snape, and Snape wouldn't… Snape wasn't the type to risk five men to save one… He'd make the hard decisions that were necessary in a war…
…Snape wouldn't… He wouldn't save Ginny…
And his friends… Harry… Harry'd look after Sirius, try to save McGonagall… Hermione and Neville, they heard that Ginny was with You-Know-Who and… She wasn't their sister. Better her than them… Made sense… It was what… What anyone would do… He couldn't ask them to follow him… But… Without them… Without them… He didn't even know where Ginny was. And if he found her, he didn't know how to free her. He couldn't fight You-Know-Who, he didn't even have a clue what You-Know-Who was asking for. In the ransom note, You-Know-Who had addressed Harry and Hermione, the professors, but not Ron and Neville. It made sense. Without Harry and Hermione, he wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. Mum and Dad, all his brothers, they'd always been right about him. He wasn't special, and because of that Ginny was going to-
Ron sprinted up The Grand Staircase, to the first floor.
Even if he wasn't good enough, he was all Ginny had. He had to try. He was the only one who would, and that had to count for somethin- It didn't. If Ginny died, he'd never get over it. He'd never forgive himself. Because the truth was…
She'd never been The Heir of Slytherin. He'd known she wasn't evil, but he still- if he hadn't, if he'd made good with Hermione and actually ever bloody tried to figure out who The Heir was, Ginny would never have been taken. But he'd been so sure- Why?
Ron wasn't good enough. But he could have been. He'd chosen not to. And that was why Ginny was going to d-
"Hiya Ron," said Neville. He was sitting on a bed in the Hospital Wing with a stupid smile on his stupid face, like he hadn't just abandoned Ginny to die. "You must be after the Basilisk right? I saw where it went! That way!"
"Thanks Nev," said Ron sarcastically. "I could never have guessed to follow the big trail of blood. Why didn't you bring bloody Hermione, you useless oaf!"
"Err…" Neville's smile faltered.
Ron had hurt him. Nev was his best friend, and Ron had hurt him. But so what? It wasn't anything new. It was nothing compared to what he'd done to Ginny. Sure he'd pretended not to notice… How The Twins never went down to the Slytherin Common Rooms to visit, how Perce never lent Ginny his nerdy books anymore, how she winced every time someone mentioned the S-word. He could've been nice. He could've told her she was the same as she'd always been. He'd known it had been true. He'd known it would've made her feel better. He'd known it was what she needed more than anything; reassurance from her favorite brother. Instead he'd accused her of being the Heir of Slytherin. Some of it had been out of concern sure- but there had been a far more important reason. It hurt her.
Like she hurt him. For all her scholastic supremacy, for all her dominance on a broomstick, little old Ronnie could still hurt her- and don't you forget it.
Accusing her of being The Heir of Slytherin, putting some of the doubt he always felt into her, it had felt bloody good. So bloody good. Like tearing down Hermione, making Harry guilty whenever he did well, pissing on Perce's book, ruining Charlie's broom. Had he felt bad about it afterwards? Sure… And he claimed he regretted it, but… But if he really regretted it, he'd stop. Hurting those who thought themselves so superior, pulling them down to his level, it brought him a pleasure far beyond joy. Bringing all those golden children down into the mud, forcing them to feel what he felt everyday, it was incomparable. Clipping a hero's wings, making them experience the misery he felt every moment of every day, was far better than flying himself. Nothing could compare.
Absolutely nothing.
"I'm sorry Nev…" Ron whispered. "I understand what you're telling me… But I gotta catch my breath. You go on ahead."
Nev nodded, and went doddering after the streak of blood.
Ron aimed his wand carefully. "Expelliarmus." He murmured, reaching up, snagging his best friend's wand.
Nev stood quite still. But he didn't bother making a denial, or asking Ron what he'd just done. Slowly, slowly, The Heir of Slytherin turned.
"So, you've figured it out at last," said The Heir, with an amused smile, adjusting the black ring on his finger. "Granger must have told you, eh Weasley? A fine strategy, but I hardly need a wand to dispose of rubbish like you. If you'd have just played along I'd have even shown you The Chamber of Secrets. I'd have still killed you of course. I owe it to her. She is about to grant me true immortality, the least I could do is remove her weakness."
And Nev's sweet pudgy face was overtaken by the glossy perfection of a young Tom Riddle.
Ron's wand shook in front of him. He'd gotten himself into a duel with Lord Voldemort in his absolute prime. Bloody brilliant.
"Protego," Ron said.
Voldemort's laugh was high and cruel. He lifted a single elegant finger.
Ron slammed into the top of his own shield charm, shattering it.
Voldemort laughed as Ron hovered, defenseless. "Crucio."
Every nerve in his body exploded, he felt like his skin had been set on fire, his muscles like they'd been electrocuted, his organs like they'd been poisoned. Ron convulsed. He didn't scream. He wouldn't.
When the pain subsided, Ron gasped for air. The agony hadn't left any space for breathing. His wand laid on the marble stone, just a few centimeters from reach. He couldn't lift his arm. "Nev? Are you in there?"
Polished leather brushed delicately against his cheek. With a hungry smile, Voldemort gently lifted him with his shoe.
"Crucio."
Ron convulsed. But still he refused to scr-
"Crucio."
Ron screamed and screamed, until the pain finally relented. Ron gasped on the ground, covered in a layer of sweat, his cloak wet with piss, his knickers slick with shite.
"Please," Ron managed, trying to crawl forward but his legs felt so far away, detached and heavy. His muscles couldn't tense, couldn't contract, and for all his efforts to move he flopped around like an earthworm in the rain. Even talking was hard, not because he couldn't open his mouth but because he couldn't tighten his jaw enough to close it, could barely lift his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "...'Ev, yev gahha figh-"
"Do you really think any part of Neville is left?" Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think he'd torture you with the spell that drove his parent's to insanity?"
"Yes…" Ron let his head rest on the marble, focusing all his strength into forming words. "Nev… You hate your parents."
Voldemort's laughter was high and cold. "True. He did hate them. And yet he offered his soul for the power to avenge them? To kill Barty Crouch Junior? I can't make out the logic of it, but perhaps one of his kind can. Enlighten me."
"You wanted to prove they weren't so great," said Ron. "You, Poor, Stupid Neville did what The Perfect Frank and Alice could not. You killed the man who tortured your parents to insanity. But it's not your power Nev… It doesn't prove anything. Remember?"
But his words didn't have any effect. There could be none of Nev in The Perfect Tom Riddle, all weakness purified away.
"He claimed it was for revenge," said Voldemort thoughtfully. "But you're quite correct on both accounts. You cockroaches really do understand each other… Crucio."
Pain returned…
Ron screamed. He cried… And when at last his suffering subsided, he tossed away his pride entirely.
"Stop, stop, please st-!" Ron choked on snot, gasped a breath. "Please stop! Why are you doing this N-" Another breath. "Nev? I thought we were friends!"
"Crucio," Voldemort drawled, savoring the word.
The pain returned.
"I'll do anything," Ron whispered, with the last of his strength. "Anything you want! I'll tell you anything! Just make it stop!"
The pain retreated. Ron shivered weakly, and even that exhausted him. He desired stillness… Of body… Of mind… He was at the edge, anymore and he felt he would never escape the misery- not even through his soul's annihilation.
"And at last you break," said Voldemort casually. "An acceptable resistance, but not exceptional. Ordinary to your core, there are better prey. Avada Kedavra."
A flash of green illuminated the tile next to him.
"Ron… Run…" Said Nev, his soft eyes already hardening.
His bravery, his duty had long since fled. Ron tried to run. He really did. But his thighs wouldn't stop spasming. His arms refused to work, convulsing on the floor instead. He had no more to give.
"Again? Your interference will be punished, until you are entirely consumed." Voldemort yanked Ron up by his hair. "If it were up to me it would be you who fed Nagini. I eat the weak. It is unbecoming to eat the worthy."
Ron's tongue hung out, drool dribbled off his chin, his entire body limp.
Nev released him, regaining control.
Ron collapsed on the floor. Too weak to move, too weak to even beg for his life. Just another wizard put in the ground by Voldemort. Only now did he truly realize that even death could be a blessing.
"I would never give you to him, Ron." Said Nev weakly. "But I had to give him someone though, if he was to give me the strength to kill Barty Crouch Junior."
What?
Nev's voice softened. "I won't let him kill you. You're going to survive, and maybe you'll never forgive me, but someday you'll realize why I could do it. Someday you'll get over it. She's one of them, afterall. A winner."
WHAT?!
"She's my bloody sister," Ron roared, his magic bursting from his core. And with all his hard-earned control, gained over months of repetitive practice, he expelled it in one concentrated direction. Neville was thrown backwards by a laser bolt of subdued gray light.
Voldemort hadn't overpowered Neville, forced his soul into submission, Nev had given it to him willingly, because he'd given up. Ron held out his wand firmly, and stood his ground. Because winners didn't run, and if he wanted to beat Nev he had to be a bloody winner.
"And besides," said Ron. "I like winners. Ginny, Harry, Hermione, they're my best friends!"
Nev snarled, and got to his feet. "You'll never be one of them! I don't know why some people are born smart and some dumb, some magical and some not, some winners and some losers, but once I experienced what it was like being him, once I went back to being me I knew: some people are just better. And some of us are just worse. It doesn't matter what anyone does, it doesn't matter if it's ugly, it's the truth! People lie about it, but not for us. For them. To make them feel like they deserve what they get, and we deserve what we get!" Four wandless red bolts were rushing at Ron in the space between heartbeats.
"Wingardium Leviosa," Ron pulled a bed in front of him, it exploded, feathers floating down like fluffs of snow. "Protego!"
Nev lifted a single finger, and Ron went falling to the top of his shield charm. "You can't win against one of them."
"Commutatione!" Ron bellowed, switching the stone ceiling's hardness with the feathers's softness. He smushed into the soft stone ceiling comfortably. "Flipendo!"
Ron pushed the stone-hard feathers at Nev. They disintegrated in a wordless shield charm. Ron fell back to the ground, landing on his feet.
"A Switching Spell," Said Ron proudly. "That's fifth year stuff! I got second place in the dueling tournament, ahead of Ginny and Harry!"
"A fluke," Nev said, trembling. "You only did well because you had special lessons with Hermione! If I hadn't tricked Harry and Ginny into thinking they were The Heirs they'd have never sabotaged themselves, and they'd have destroyed you in the tournament! Eventually Hermione will show everyone how to become strong, she said so herself, and you'll just be back on the bottom where you belong!"
Ron shook his head. "Not for long. I'll keep searching, keep trying, until I find a way to claw back out. I'll always get back up, because I'm a wi-"
"Crucio!"
Ron was diving out of the way before Nev had even opened his mouth. Safely covered by a bed, Ron said, "Wingardium Leviosa!" All the pillows in the hospital wing rose.
Nev didn't seem too concerned. "Hermione may like you now, but she'll grow tired of you eventually. And without her, you're nothing! Nothing! You're barely more than me, Ronnie!"
"Bombarda," said Ron, exploding the pillows in feathery bursts. "Commutatione! Immobulus!"
The stone-feathers hung frozen in the air, scattered throughout the hospital wing. They'd deflect any spell, any curse.
"Run," said Nev desperately. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You can't. One of you can never win against us, remember? Because this is my thing Nev. Fighting!" Ron rushed out from behind the bed, his fists covering his chin, and rushed Nev. A few blasts of red light disintegrated the feathers around him into clouds of dust, but Ron pushed through the debris, bobbing and weiving. Closer, slower, he shielded his face from some more stunners, pushing closer, closer, close enough! He gave Neville a quick left jab, 'bout two-thirds of an arm length away, he slammed forward, putting all his weight into a right straight that jammed into Nev's chin.
Nev raised his arm for a curs- Ron slammed him with two right hooks to the side, putting some blood on that perfect face. He belted Nev in the gut with a tightened fist. Ron had been born with five older brothers, and a sister. They were better than him at almost everything, but none of 'em could beat him in a brawl.
Nev snarled and started to glo- Ron kneed him in the groin, and tackled him to the ground. In a struggle of arms and legs- Merlin Nev was strong- Ron tried to take his bac-
Nev's eyes flashed scarlet, and he stopped trying for hexes. Voldemort expertly hooked an arm around Ron's armpit, maneuvered around him, and had Ron restrained against the ground with a knee to the small of his back.
"Petrificus Totalus," Voldemort drawled, reached into his cloak, taking his wand back, floating Ron helplessly to the center of the hospital wing. "What curse should I use next? Should I end this tiresome confrontation at last?" Voldemort caressed the length of his wand delicately with an index finger. "Or should we continue where we left off? And Ronald, I assure you that with a wand it will be much more potent."
The pain would return? Ron retched, emptying the scones he'd eaten for lunch on the ground. He shivered, he sweat, his eyes watered. He couldn't do it, his mind, his soul itself would shatte-
Winners didn't run.
"You've got to fight him, Nev. He's strong, but you'll never win if you don't figh-"
"Crucio!"
Ron screamed. Lost himself to the pain. Until his entire being, all his soul, desired utterly to vanish...
…But eventually the torture subsided, eventually he found himself again.
"You will overcome him, Nev," said Ron. "I'm not leaving until you do."
Voldemort sneered. "Very well. Avada Kedavra."
The green light missed. Ron crashed into the ground, beside the metal leg of a bed stand, and finally he could move again.
Nev fell to his knees. "You've got to run. You've got to stop trying to save me. Because even if you somehow freed me from Riddle, there's no escaping what I've done. Maybe if I were one of the golden children, maybe they'd make an excuse for me. But not for someone like me. Never. They'll feed me veritaserum and they'll know I wanted it. The respect. Frightening all those golden children- frightening Dumbledore himself, hunting them, it was unbelievable. The power was all I ever wanted! Because Ron… The truth is… I still want it. I'm unworthy of salvation."
"Winners don't run," said Ron stubbornly.
Nev's gray eyes watered. "Please… There's enough time… If you hurry, you can still save Ginny."
"Then hurry up and cast him out," said Ron. "And we'll save Ginny together."
"I'm not strong enough for that!" Nev bellowed. "I'm not like you! He's going to take over again, and maybe I can stop him from killing you directly, but he'll find a way around that… You've got to run Ron."
"I'm going to save you," said Ron firmly.
"You're my best friend Ron," Nev whispered, his voice pleading, pathetic, broken. "Don't make me kill you. Please don't make me kill you."
"Neville," said Ron. "Look me in the eyes when you do it."
Nev held up his wand, trembling. Blue eyes finally met gray, as Nev stopped running from his gaze at last. Nev's sorrow, his misery, his surrender to weakness evidenced by every tear.
Ron wished he'd seen sooner. Neville's lies. All that time worrying about Ginny's ambition, Hermione's delusions, never noticing Neville's darkness even though it was right in front of him. He'd always thought Nev his reflection. But Nev was a person. He'd never deserved to be a reflection. If Ron had been paying attention, he would have seen his darkness sooner, and maybe things would have been different… He'd have noticed…
That when they'd all shared something they'd brought from home, Nev's 'remembrall' had lit up whenever anyone had told a lie. He'd have been suspicious when Nev's Gran- the one who knew him best- had written him a Howler about how he'd been acting, and demanding he apologized to the most famous muggleborn at the school. He'd have realized that it had been Neville who had talked Harry out of including Hermione in their investigation of The Heir, Neville who'd always subtly insinuated that it was Hermione. He'd have noticed that Neville had been trying to turn him on Luna, he'd just been more subtle and effective than Hermione. He'd have realized that Neville had been the one who'd made him abandon a girl he loved, who loved him back.
Nev was his own person. He wasn't Ron.
And suddenly Ron knew. He knew everything. Deep down, Neville was weak. Deep down, Neville was resentful. Deep down, Neville was a coward. Neville was going to break. And if Neville broke then what could he… Maybe…
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Neville turned away, gasping. "I'm sorry."
Neville hissed hateful utterances into the wind. Summoning The Basilisk to do his dirty work.
"Diffindo," Ron whispered, slicing off the leg of the metal bed stand, holding it edge up like a spear. Not much of a weapon, but he didn't know any spells which would so much as slow his opponent down. It was something at least, the best he could do.
Ron let his eyelids droop closed, and prepared himself for one last torture before the end. He relived his life. He was teaching Ginny how to fly, spending Christmas with Harry, studying with Hermione, working on a sleeping draught with Neville… He heard the rubbing of winding scales on smooth brick. Already? He'd thought- hoped - he'd have more time. Just a little more time would have been nice. He heard muscles coil, a rushing wind, falling backwards, and searing pain penetrating through his belly, all the way into his stomach. Ron smashed the basilisk with his cut metal bed stand. He felt liquid fire pouring into him, a hiss, and then release. His belly was leaking like a sack ripped open, he tried to patch it with his hands, tried to keep his intestines from spilling out, plugged the hole in his stomach with his bed spear which at last slowed the bleeding. But The Basilisk's venom spread, disintegrating his guts, his core. Ron let himself fall, let himself still. He was almost to the end. Not much longer…
Footsteps… Scared… Reluctant… foot… steps…
Cold… Numb… Far-away… So far-away…
Ending…
Something… A push… Rolli-
Ron grabbed Voldemort by his wrist, yanked the bed spear out of his guts, and stabbed the ring with all his life.
A screaming explosion of magic slammed him against the wall, a hissing darkness spilling from the ring, dissipating in the light.
It was done… And so was he…
But… But he finally knew… He could do it… Win… If he tried… hard enough…
A smile found its way onto his lips. He hadn't run. A winner… at last… He'd just… Had to give…
…Everything…
"Reparo!" Nev bellowed, sprinting to his side.
Ron felt his intestines and guts stitch themselves back together, felt some strength return to him, felt himself pulled back from the precipice. He felt the basilisk venom continue to spread.
"Basilisk venom," said Ron proudly, his vision fading, his thoughts slowing. "Destroys a horcrux. I read all about it in Magick Most Evile, by Godelot. We did so much research…"
"You… You… Let yourself get bit? You let yourself get poisoned, so you could get the venom?"
"Yeah…" Said Ron. "I reckon I did... Don't know The Killing Curse… can't create fiendfyre… it was the only way."
"You gave your life… For mine?" Nev's tears splattered against cement. "I… I don't understand. How could you be so stupid?"
He had… Hadn't he? He'd not thought much of it at the time. Everything had been too fast… He'd just acted. And even though he was dying, he felt whole.
He saw a light in the distance… Bewitching, awe-inspiring, painful but magnetic, brighter and brighter, coming for him. He heard a melody… A sweet, beautiful melody, of life itself… Louder… Louder…
"You could have run," Nev gasped. "You could have saved yourself. I'm destined for a dementor's kiss anyway."
"Nah," said Ron. "Don't tell anyone… Secret…"
Life's melody became ear-splitting. And yet only Ron could hear it…
"Why?" Nev gasped, still confused. "Why do all this? I… I don't understand!"
Sprinkles of warmth… Pain fading away…
Ron smiled gently. "Because you're my best friend, Neville."
Ron's phoenix wept.