Spring 1992

Ronald Weasley

The Alley had never been so quiet, the sounds of chatter, the shrieks of children, and the scrape of shoes against the cobblestones were entirely absent. All of London seemed to stand still, waiting in a quietness that pressed in on Ron from all sides. The air was heavy in his lungs, dense with the smell of smoke and something else that Ron couldn't quite place, a mixture of metal and sourness.

Long thin shadows stretched unnaturally across the empty streets, interrupted only by the flickering remains of shattered lanterns. The shops were destroyed, windows smashed and gaped open with jagged shards of remaining glass. The shops he had known his entire life, Flourish and Blotts, Ollivanders, and even Gringotts, were nothing but husks of what they once were. The front doors of Flourish and Blotts hung open, barely hanging on their hinges. Books lay scattered across the ground, a small amount of wind occasionally turning one page or another. Among the books there was a broom with its handle snapped in half. One of the newest models from the Quidditch supply store.

Ron stepped forward through the remains of London, his boots crunching on the glass. His entire head felt as if it was on fire, sharp pains sprinkling down his neck. He found it hard to think, he found it hard to understand what he was seeing. He could hardly even remember arriving in Diagon Alley, hadn't he been at Hogwarts? He can't I think straight?

His breath misted in front of him as he walked, and his pulse pounded in his ears. He couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. He reached for his wand and pulled it from the holster Tracey had given him. It felt odd, not quite as warm as he remembered.

The wind shifted and another scent of metallic coppery sourness reached his nose. He froze and looked down at his hands.

Blood.

Blood covered his palms and fingers, caked to him like makeup and mud and yet it was wet at the edges of his wrist. His sleeves were damp, soaked through with blood in large dark patches.

- SS -

Ron jolted upright, his heart pounding so hard that he thought it might burst out of his chest and fumble onto the floor of the dormitory. Somehow, in his sleep, he had managed to grasp his wand, his fingers wound so tightly around it that they were starting to hurt as the wood bit into the palm of his hand. He couldn't remember grabbing it, he couldn't even remember laying down for the night.

His eyes darted quickly around the dimly lit room, the green curtains of his bed were parted slightly just so he could faintly make out the window and the cold water of the lake. He wasn't in Diagon Alley, he wasn't surrounded by shattered glass or scattered books. He took a deep breath, his hands weren't covered in blood. His hands were as pale as they had ever been, perhaps even more so since he had trouble sleeping.

Ron sucked in large deep gasps of air doing his best to calm himself and let the adrenaline die down. It had only been another bloody nightmare, or so he hoped, the kind that kept him awake at night and made sleeping more of a chore than any other of his daily activities. Ron exhaled shakily and did his best to steady himself. He pushed back the covers of his bed and threw his legs out over the side, sitting up and pushing his hands into his face. His hair was damp with sweat. His mind spiraled in a million different directions.

The details of his nightmare lingered in his mind, the way the glass crunched underfoot and the smell of the blood. It was nearly enough to make him sick, and he was glad he hadn't eaten much the night before. The eerie stillness of the world seemed to press on him even now in the dormitory. He bit the inside of his cheek.

What if it wasn't just a dream?

Ron swallowed hard, his throat dry. His nightmare hadn't felt like either his vision of Charlie's death or the one about the night the Potters died… still… his stomach twisted into knots. He had felt as if he was present, he had felt as if he had actually been standing in Diagon Alley. Which meant he couldn't be sure. It all felt too real to be just another Fuck Fuck!

Ron swung his hand into the bed next to him creating a hushed noise that reverberated throughout the room. He took another deep breath and started to shiver all over again. He pulled himself up from his bed and pulled on a set of nearby robes hastily, not even bothering to button them properly as his hands were trembling.

Ron glanced toward the other beds in the dormitory. Blaise's steady breathing was barely audible, while Theo snored as heavily as ever. Carefully, Ron slid his feet into his shoes and tiptoed toward the door. His heart thundered in his chest, he half-expected Blaise or Theo to hear it. He moved through the room and pushed the door open enough just to slip through into the hallway.

The flickering green glow from the underwater windows cast eerie patterns on the walls of the common room. The room was empty, the fires crackling dimly as if they hadn't been filled in quite some time. Ron moved quickly, sticking to the edges of the room and keeping his steps as light as possible until he reached the common room door and slipped out into the dungeons.

Ron tightened his grip on his wand as he walked down the corridor, he couldn't help but imagine someone lurking in the darkness just like the night he had broken into the library with Tracey. He , I should have brought someone with me.

He ascended the steps from the dungeons and into the main areas of the castle, his heart still pounding and the sound of glass beneath his feet reverberating in his ears. His stomach gnawed at him hungrily, warning him that something was wrong and that he had absolutely no idea how to fix it.

From somewhere up ahead, faint hushed voices floated down the corridor. Ron's heart froze solid and he skidded to a stop, half-expecting to come face-to-face with Filch or worse. For a moment he thought about going back the other way and finding a different staircase up towards the seventh floor, but instead, he pressed himself quietly against the wall and crept forward.

The voices grew somewhat clearer as he approached but not enough for him to make out any individual words. They were urgent, low and hushed as if it was a conversation that wasn't intended to be overheard. Ron knew immediately that whoever was in the hallway wasn't a professor, they sounded like students. He felt the warmth of his wand surge through his arm as some relief washed over him. He had probably just run into another group of students breaking curfew, after all, it wasn't entirely uncommon.

Ron reached the edge of the corner and pressed his back to the wall, his breath shallow. He listened intently, trying to piece together anything useful that was being discussed, but before he could decipher a single phrase, the voices stopped abruptly. The silence lasted for a few seconds before it was interrupted by the sound of a heavy thump and a small chorus of hurried footsteps that slipped away into the ?

Ron's stomach sank and he peaked around the corner. Once again his heart froze still and his stomach dropped out from underneath him. Alone in the middle of the hallway, crumpled on the floor, was a girl.

Ron's feet moved before he even had a chance to think. He stepped out from the shadows and hurried toward her, his wand raised and ready just in case. His eyes searched for any sign of the people who had been there moments before, but they were gone. It was just the girl. She was sprawled on her side, her Hufflepuff robes unmistakable even in the dim light, her tie askew and her blonde hair failed out messily on the cold stones. She didn't move.

Ron paused and watched her carefully, fear creeping up his chest and his veins running hot with fire. He waited a second, and then two, his skin beating red as his entire body tensed. The girl breathed; one small shallow breath.

Ron knelt beside her, his hands trembling as he leaned down. "Hey," he whispered urgently. His voice cracked slightly. "Can you hear me?"

She didn't respond. Her face was pale, almost as pale as the moonlight streaking across her skin, but her chest rose and fell faintly again.

Ron took another shallow breath, his heart pounding against his ribs as he scanned the corridor shit shit shit.

At the other end of the corridor a faint but familiar sound broke the silence. Ron whipped his head around and pointed his wand in the direction instinctively. Out of the shadows slinked a dust-coloured cat with bulging yellow, lamp-like eyes. The cat padded closer, deliberate and Norris…

"Go get Filch," Ron whispered, his voice shaking. He gestured toward the girl with one trembling hand. "Please…"

The cat gave him a questioning look before turning around and heading back into the dark shadows from where it had emerged.

Ron hesitantly touched the girl's forehead, nearly flinching as he was met with ice-cold flesh. Whatever had happened, the girl was far colder than anyone should have been. So cold that Ron was worried she could die at any second. His thoughts cut off as the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Mrs Norris reappeared first, quickly followed by the unmistakable shuffle of the caretaker Filch. Filch was an old squib with hunched shoulders, a pasty face, and bulging, pale eyes, but in that moment Ron was glad to see him. So glad in fact, that he nearly missed the second set of footsteps behind him. Appearing around the corner came Professor McGonagall, her eyes filled with worry which quickly followed through into stern lines across her face as she took in the scene before her.

"Weasley," McGonagall's voice was sharp but not unkind, "Explain yourself, at once!"

Ron stumbled to pull himself to his feet, his hands still shaking. "I found her like this, Professor. I didn't see who did it."

Filch muttered something that Ron couldn't quite make out. In his left hand, he held a small lantern, which he pointed out towards the girl dragging the yellow-ish light across her face.

McGonagall looked from Ron to the girl before crouching down beside the Hufflepuff and placing a hand to her neck.

"Still breathing," she said quickly, turning her head towards Filch. "Fetch Madam Pomfrey immediately!"

- SS -

An hour of Ron's life passed by in a complete blur. He barely registered the arrival of Madam Pomfrey, though he knew she had come in a flurry of urgent whispers and swift, practised movements. Dumbledore and Snape had followed, the latter drilling into Ron with a dark warning-filled glare.

He had stood frozen, and watched carefully as the girl, a first-year named Sally Smith, was carefully levitated onto a stretcher. She looked so small, so pale, her blonde hair matted against her forehead. The blue tinge to her lips sent an uneasy shiver down his spine. He could still feel the cold of her skin on his fingertips. Madam Pomfrey's voice was hushed but urgent as she murmured to Snape about blood replenishment loss. Ron swallowed hard. He hadn't noticed any blood on her, but the idea that it had been drained from her, stolen in some way, made his stomach twist painfully.

What the hell had happened?

The Headmaster's office didn't seem quite as welcoming as it usually did, there was a coldness that lingered despite the heat of the hearths and Ron could feel Snape's eyes burrowing into the back of his skull. It made him anxious, almost enough for him to want to tell the full truth. But he bit his tongue and held his thoughts as close to his chest as he could.

"And that's all you remember?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes shimmering slightly behind a pair of blue crescent moon glasses that didn't seem to match his pink-spotted pyjamas.

Ron nodded stiffly, his stomach flipping over and over as he did so.

"Curious," Dumbledore finally murmured, leaning back in his chair. "Quite curious indeed."

"I can assure you that Mr Weasley would not do anything as unbecoming as assaulting a fellow student. Am I right to say so, Mr Weasley?" Snape hissed behind him.

Ron flinched, not missing that Snape had seen him punch Malfoy in the nose. "Right, sir."

"I don't believe you are to blame, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore added, his tone almost gentle. "In fact, I think Ms. Smith was fortunate that her path should cross yours. You acted quickly and with care, and in doing so, prevented her from potentially slipping further into danger. We could only begin to guess what might have happened had you not interrupted whatever was transpiring."

Ron's mind ? had barely done anything. He had heard the voices before she had fallen, he could have done something more. He could have stepped around the corner earlier.

"As for Ms. Smith's condition," Dumbledore continued, leaning forward slightly, his expression now serious, "it is most peculiar indeed. Her blood has been drained, but not in a manner that would be typical for a simple injury. No, this was done magically, and the method employed is one that is far beyond the capacity of a first-year student, or even most students in this school. It's clear that whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing."

"Perhaps we should dismiss Mr Weasley for the night," Snape suggested.

Dumbledore smiled a little knowingly. "Yes, perhaps. But first, I must ask what you think. Tell me, Ronald, who do you think did this?"

Ron froze and bit his tongue—thesame person who let the troll into the school."I don't know," he lied.

Dumbledore studied him for a moment before nodding. "Very well, I think Professor Snape is quite right. It is late, and I understand that you have already had one nightmare. I should not want to keep you any longer from your sleep. Tomorrow is, after all, a regular day of classes."

"Sir?" Ron asked. "Will you tell me if she… recovers?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I am sure that Ms Smith will wish to speak to you herself once she has recovered. There is no if about that, Madam Pomfrey is one of the most capable healers in all of Europe. I am sure that Ms Smith will be on her feet again in no time, it is only a matter of making sure that this incident does not affect her thoughts too heavily. These sorts of things, as I explained to you before, often leave unseen scars."

Ron nodded. "Thank you, Professor."

"One more thing, Mr Weasley," Snape sneered, his sharp eyes narrowing as he stepped around to stand in front of Ron's chair. "You may have done the right thing tonight, but that doesn't absolve you from your blatant disregard for house rules. Sneaking around the castle after curfew. You should know better than to act so foolishly. I once again must remind you, Mr Weasley, that you are not a Gryffindor."

Ron opened his mouth to argue but shut it again.

"I'm afraid you'll be spending tomorrow evening helping the groundskeeper," Snape continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "Since you've shown such initiative in helping Ms Smith tonight, perhaps you'll enjoy a little extra time providing another sort of charity tomorrow night."

Ron clenched his jaw, swallowing the words that nearly escaped his lips. He didn't care about Snape's punishment, not really. It was the least of his concerns. He still had to talk to Sal, now about more than one thing. He could still see the scattered books in Diagon Alley, and he could feel the coldness of Sally Smith's skin on the tips of his ,he thought bitterly,is falling apart.