Ron Weasley: Beneath the Surface

Ron Weasley

Ron braced himself, pushing his bound arms against the stacked crates behind him. He was jerked side to side by the rocking barge and thrown backwards by the pull of the sea serpents. They screamed a mournful ululating call as they forged ahead.

A sharp rise made his stomach dip. His mouth tasted foul and his throat burned from vomiting earlier. A sip of water would be a mercy, but there wasn't anyone here who cared enough to offer. He was in the viper's pit now.

Breathing in the salty air, he focused on the wind chilling his drenched clothes. The cold settled his stomach, or maybe just gave him another discomfort to distract him. He always found it harder to be sick if he was cold. He'd never been prone to motion sickness during his brief stint on the Hogwarts quidditch team, before the school closed.

It was Snape's fault, the insufferable bastard. He could've just immobilized him. But no, he'd deliberately spun him until he was sick. His twisted mind reveled in cruelty and malice. Just look at the dark magic he'd used to destroy Hermione's patronus.

The barge bounded over a wave and he was nearly knocked over the crate. Seawater sluiced over the side—no, the gunwale, that's what it was called. Dad had been fascinated by muggle boats one year. Look Ron, I found a diagram in this book. It's called a motorboat. What do you think? It had been Christmas, and Dad's shirt had smelled like cinnamon from helping Mum make biscuits. Ron had stared enviously at the red bristles on his neck. Being a man had felt so far away. But he'd still been young enough to lean into his dad, feel the warmth of his arms. Not cold, not bloodless on a ministry floor.

Ron shut his eyes for a moment and breathed in. The bloated odor of seaweed grew stronger, which didn't help his twisting stomach. Merlin, he was not going to sick up in front of these four. Well, he didn't give a toss about the captain. But not in front of the smug faces of Malfoy and Snape, and certainly not in front of his bloody brother.

Percy fussed over his robes, jumping when the serpents shrieked. The other side could have him. He wouldn't have lasted five seconds in the resistance. The resistance needed men who could fight, not skinny little clerks who dressed up in ministry robes to look important.

Not that he looked important now, sopping wet and muttering to himself as he tried one drying charm after another. A little boy playing dress-up, trying to impress others. He'd been that way ever since his second year, when he'd won some stupid achievement award. He'd puffed up that day from their parents' praise and never deflated.

Ron stared at the boards of the deck, not wanting to look at Percy too closely. Even with all Percy had done, there was still a flash of something when he saw one of his brothers' faces. Some sense inside him that told him he belonged. He didn't want to feel that with Percy anymore.

It had been bad enough listening to him after Malfoy and Snape had left. Percy had summoned everything out of his pockets. His wand, bits of change, even the photo of his family he always kept with him. Percy's mouth had tightened as he looked at it, and Ron hoped he felt a stab of guilt looking at their dad and Fred and George. But he hadn't said a word and simply tucked it away in a large envelope. Then he'd stuck his nose up and started lecturing, talking about how Ron wasn't using his head.

Ron knew what he was thinking. Percy had finished school, while Ron had dropped out after Hogwarts closed, more interested in searching for Harry and joining the fight than taking classes. "I don't need NEWT scores to know right from wrong."

"I just mean you've been unduly influenced. You've spent too much time with the wrong sort of people."

"Ha. Look in the bloody mirror." He twisted in his bonds, wishing he could give Percy a good shove.

Percy shifted from foot to foot. "I'm sorry about how things turned out."

"No, you're not. You got what you wanted. A nice job at the Ministry."

"I know you're angry." Percy glanced over his shoulder, even though they were well beyond any remaining Brigadoon buildings and the Death Eaters had already left. "But Mum never sent me one howler. I think she understands, on some level."

"You complete berk. She never sent you a howler because we didn't know if you could trace it back to us and send her off in chains." He jerked his head in the direction their mum had gone. "Like you did just now."

Percy rounded on him. "This is your fault. What did you expect to happen, carrying on like that? You could've just…" He stopped, his gaze darting to Ron before looking away.

But Ron knew. He knew Percy, and he knew the type of people who stayed in the Ministry. "Go on, say it. We could've just left our friends and blended in with the new wizarding society. Be proper purebloods and keep our heads down. Ignored what's happening to muggles and muggle-borns."

"It's not as bad as it looks—"

It was like talking to a stranger. He felt the sudden pain of loss, as if Percy were as unreachable as Fred and George. "Let's go." There was almost a tremor, so he hardened his voice. "Being in Azkaban is better than being with you."

And here he was, on a barge to Azkaban. Him and his stupid mouth. Not that Percy was going to be swayed no matter what he said, even if he'd gotten on his knees and begged. And he'd die before he did that.

Percy fussed with a drying charm as Snape and Malfoy looked on. It was disgusting that Percy would rub shoulders with the likes of them. Malfoy kept buttering him up whilst Snape poked at his inflated ego. It was like some dark version of Fred and George, playing some game to amuse themselves while Percy huffed. Did Percy even think about the fact that their side was responsible for their deaths? Did he even care?

His eyes stung, so he turned until the oncoming wind hit the side of his face. Like hell he was going to let them see that. They'd probably think he was crying in fear, and he wasn't. The future was empty of feelings, empty of everything. It was a black void in front of him.

He used to be able to see where he was going, to feel it. The picture had changed, as Hogwarts closed and the war heated up. But he was safely inside it, surrounded by his friends and family. They were all in it together. Then he lost Harry and Dad. Then Fred and George and so many others, and now even Hermione and Mum were out of reach. He floated through that dark void, searching for solid ground.

The last light of the setting sun disappeared behind the horizon and darkness followed, turning the sea black. The wind grew colder, and his skin chilled and numbed. A tremor ran through him and he tensed, willing his body to stay still. He wasn't going to look like some pitiful urchin, shivering in wet clothes.

He had to be strong. When Mum had said goodbye, she'd tried to keep her chin up. But her hand tightened on his arm and her voice rasped. Arthur and I raised Gryffindors, through and through. Be brave for me. Take care of Ginny.

He'd swallowed several times before replying, to make sure she didn't know how close he was to falling apart. How much he wanted to shout that he couldn't lose her, too.

After Fred and George had died, the effort of holding back had become too much. He'd gone off alone and howled into the sky, as if the power of his need could change things. As if there were someone out there who could turn back time or breathe life back into his father and brothers.

But in the end, he was left with a raw throat and an emptiness inside. He'd tried so hard. To live up to Harry's example, to protect his family, to keep Hermione happy. Why didn't it count for anything? He'd put everything he had into it. All he'd managed was to stay alive, and what good was that when no one was left?

Mum had tried to buoy his spirits. We'll see each other again. A thread of hope to hold on to. He gathered these threads and clung to them. Seeing Mum again. Winning the war. Finding Harry alive, somewhere.

Hermione had given up arguing with him about Harry. She'd listened, saying nothing, her brows bunched together and her mouth turned down. But it was a possibility. That was what she didn't understand. It didn't matter what the odds were. There was a chance, and that was what he needed. Someone to fight for.

Take care of Ginny. Find her and protect her, whatever it took. He wouldn't fail this time. He'd find a way to fight back, to rescue her from that place. Harry would've done it. Fred and George would've done it. He had to try.

He'd mastered a single wandless spell after months of practice. But it was useless if his hands were bound. He leaned back, fingers searching for a sharp edge, a nail, something.

The captain gripped his wand tightly, his gaze on the sea serpents as he sent commands through the reins. Ron followed his movements. He'd need to work those spells to escape if he got free.

His fingers found nothing but the softwood boards of the crate he sat on. He shifted in his seat, hoping his trousers would catch on a loose nail. Nothing on the crate, but something shifted in his back pocket.

He froze. A pocketknife Hermione had given him on his nineteenth birthday. She'd charmed it to stay hidden until needed and resist summoning spells. A thoughtful gift, but one he rarely needed when he had his wand. He'd kept it for sentimental value, but it rarely left his pocket.

He leant forwards, freeing his back pocket. His fingertip brushed the metal edge, but he couldn't get a grip. There'd been a finger movement that would call it. Touch the index finger twice and then the ring finger once? Or the other way round? That was it. The knife slid out of his pocket and into his hand. Another tap would release the blade. He shifted his shoulders up to give his hands more space.

Snape's gaze darted to him immediately, despite the dim light. That was a problem. Maybe the overgrown bat actually had radar detection. He played off the movement as a shiver, which was hardly an act. Maybe a pitiful street urchin look wasn't a bad idea to keep their guards down. He let his muscles loosen, and several more shivers ran through him.

Malfoy lit a nearby lantern, his gaze on Percy. His wand must be in his pocket. He'd lost his pretentious cane-wand-thing years ago in battle, when Sirius had blasted it to pieces. The look on Malfoy's face had been priceless. They weren't perfect, and they weren't all-powerful. He could do this.

Percy was still fussing with a drying charm. Had he actually grown stupider since Hogwarts? Had someone cursed the brains out of his skull? That would explain things.

Ron worked at his bonds, careful to avoid telltale signs of movement. Not that it mattered now. His wet clothes now felt ice cold and his arms shook. Shivers ran up his back and his teeth chattered. He focused on keeping the knife steady as he sawed through the ropes. But he couldn't control the shivers, and the knife jerked, slicing the side of his hand. He stomped his feet, trying to warm himself up.

Percy wasn't doing much better. His wet robes drooped from his shivering shoulders. His wand shook in his hand as he tried a warming charm.

Snape watched Percy, shaking his head. "Merlin, you are having trouble. Most fourth years can manage that spell. And your lack of ability in other areas has gotten you demoted. At this rate, the year will end with you in the coveted position of cleaning out the bins. Ah, forgive me. That's the work of house-elves, and your skills don't seem up to their standards. Perhaps they'd offer you remedial lessons?"

"I've almost got it. I don't n-need…" Percy's teeth chattered as pinpricks of color rose on his cheeks.

"Don't fret. I'll take care of it." Snape raised his wand. "Reminds me of my teacher training. We were expected to use the charm for any first years who wet their beds. Not that my Slytherins ever had problems." His eyes glittered as he paused before casting. "Although I heard a rumor about your first night."

"Shut up." Percy fired a stinging hex at Snape.

Snape dodged, sliding across his bench, his arm going wide. The charm he'd cast hit Ron instead. Water steamed off him and blew away in the wind. The blast of warmth didn't last long, but the dry clothes calmed his shivering. He got a better grip on his knife and kept sawing through the ropes. It was steadier now, but still agonizingly slow.

Percy froze, staring back at Snape, mouth hanging open.

Snape rose in one fluid movement, striding towards Percy as his robes swept behind him. He stopped inches from Percy's face, his gaze icy. "I'm not one of your idiot brothers. You don't hex me without consequences."

Compared to Snape's imposing presence, Percy looked like a wet sack. "I just reacted…"

"Lack of self-discipline is no excuse. A file clerk—ah, I mean a prison guard—attacking a minister is a grave offense. I don't recall the exact punishment, but perhaps you do?"

Percy paled. "I didn't mean to—"

Snape circled him like a hyena with a fresh kill. "You didn't mean to cast a stinging hex? I suppose I could let your behavior go unreported if you're admitting gross incompetence. It would hardly reflect well on someone in my position if I occupied myself with blundering amateurs." He tilted his head, almost coquettish. "You are admitting your incompetence?"

Ron couldn't help leaning forwards to catch Percy's response. Percy would rather eat his own tongue than admit incompetence. But the punishment for anyone attacking a minister would be severe, even for a toady like him.

Percy swallowed. His shivering settled a bit as he flushed deeply. "With all that's going on, I—I might've gotten confused. Temporarily."

"That shivering isn't helping your wand work," Malfoy said. "If you would allow me?"

"No," Percy said firmly, then quickly looked at Malfoy. "Thank you, but I can do it. I received top marks in my NEWTs, I'm not some…" He took a shuddering breath. "I can do it."

"You should let a more experienced wizard help you," Snape said in a cloyingly soft voice. He slid back into his seat, a superior smile on his face. "The Dark Lord isn't likely to be impressed by your freezing to death."

That actually seemed to bother Percy. Ron felt the stab of betrayal as if it were new. His own brother worried about impressing Voldemort. He scoffed. "Let him freeze."

Percy's eyes bulged before his face twisted into a grimace. "That's fine. Merlin! You think you're a big hero. Everyone looks up to Ron. You're not so great."

"I never said I was a hero." The fresh anger that surged from him was cold and made his voice calm. "But I'm better than you."

Percy made a stuttered and mangled sound. He had to take a deep breath before he could get his words out. "So tough. We'll see how you fare under interrogation."

His whole body tightened, but he did his best to give no sign. "I won't give anything up. Not to you lot."

Malfoy laughed lightly. "They all say that."

His heart froze. "They?"

Malfoy gestured carelessly. "Your comrades. Your friends. They all refuse to confess, but we don't need them to, these days. Not with interrogators trained in legilimency. Their reports are filled with all sorts of interesting details."

Snape's dark eyes watched Ron. "Their minds are weak. Legilimency extracts their secrets."

Malfoy stood to the side of Percy, murmuring. He retrieved his wand and subtly cast a spell against Percy's back.

Percy didn't seem to notice, and his robes remained drenched, but he stopped shivering. Either that or Malfoy's words calmed him, because his shoulders relaxed as he nodded.

"Yes, I saw that report." Malfoy turned to Snape. "You've heard as well? Of this so-called Phoenix?"

Snape gave a bored nod. "Rumor and conjecture. The rebels likely invented him themselves to look less feeble."

Feeble? Each one of them had risked their lives for the cause. It wasn't their fault the Phoenix had been bloody useless. "Shows what you know," Ron retorted. He wanted to make them feel small and cornered, for once. "He's real. Maybe he's one of you."

"Indeed?" Something dangerous glittered in Snape's eyes.

Ron realized he was adding to their knowledge like an idiot. Someone like Snape would like nothing more than to torture the Phoenix for information.

"And what would this Phoenix have to gain from supporting the losing side? Such a person would have to be motivated by a friend or relative." Snape glanced at Percy. "Don't you think, Mister Weasley?"

Percy reared back, nearly toppling over as the barge tilted. "I—it's not me! I would never betray—"

Ron laughed harshly. "That's rich."

Percy straightened. "—never betray my duties. I swore an oath to the Ministry—"

"Indeed you did." Malfoy patted him on the back. "Really, Severus. No need to impugn his character. Many wizards have a relative or two who might…" he gave Snape a pitying smile. "…muddy their reputation."

Snape gave Malfoy a cool look. "I'm merely speculating on the motivations of this supposed Phoenix. It can't be for financial gain." He eyed Ron's torn robes. "As I doubt they could scrounge up a sickle between the lot of them."

Ron's cheeks warmed. It was too much like the insults that followed his family his whole life. "We could've had money if we wanted. Once we captured—" He stopped. His temper was getting the better of him again.

Malfoy had gone quiet, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"Do tell." Snape looked between Ron and Malfoy. "What do the reports say about those who were captured by the rebellion?"

"Very little," Malfoy said tightly.

"But apparently the youngest Weasley boy knows something." A smile hooked the corner of Snape's mouth. "I hope you read my interrogation reports, Lucius. Merlin only knows the treasure troves of information I'll discover."

Snape interrogating him. Shite. Ron turned away, staring out into the raging sea. Something cold crept inside him, and it wasn't the wind. It was a chill he remembered from his third year at Hogwarts. One that made him feel as if he'd never be warm again. They were getting close to Azkaban.

There were no landmarks, nothing on the horizon except more black water. But he knew this place. His very bones remembered it. Gripping his broom as he'd rolled and spun towards the swirling sea. Breaking and pulling up underneath a Death Eater, Ron had shot curses at the other's broom until it had splintered, and he'd fallen, screaming. He'd moved without conscious thought, his broom and wand extensions of his body, his heart thumping in his chest and his mind clear, knowing the position of the enemy and how they were moving, when to ascend and when to dive.

Dumbledore and Voldemort battled in the distance, the light and rumble from their spells like a storm on the horizon. One flash of sickly yellow light contorted, then barreled towards the island.

The impact cracked the rocky surface, splitting off a section. Orange and yellow light burned from the crevasse. The stone edges melted and the light spread across the island.

Dumbledore approached, flying frantically, Voldemort in pursuit. For a moment, Ron thought Dumbledore was fleeing. But he directed his wand at the island. A protective spell wrapped itself around the tower and spun outward, like a bubble with a hollow core. It encased the island and the surrounding water.

The molten rock reached the edge of the water. For a fraction of a second, the water inside the shield churned and glowed, even though it was the dead of night. Then everything exploded.

Even outside the bubble, the reverberation struck Ron, spinning his broom wildly until he got it under control again. The shield filled with steam, and violent surges of water struck the interior.

Without Dumbledore, they would've all been killed. Ron turned to thank him, and was blinded by a flash of green light. He heard Hermione's strangled scream, and then a hideous splash. His vision cleared enough to see Dumbledore's body disappearing into the depths.

He stared at the spot until it was obscured by a low-lying fog. Steam released from the fallen shield spread across the sea. The tower shifted in the glowing center of the island, as if bowing to them all, and began to sink.

The barge lurched, and Ron looked away from the sea, working on his bonds with renewed energy. Malfoy and Percy now sat close to each other, murmuring. Snape gazed out at the sea, his eyes distant. Maybe he was reliving that battle, too. It was an enormous victory for their side.

The sea serpents veered, pulling the barge to the left. Portside, his father said, smiling. They entered the treacherous waters surrounding the prison.

The ropes loosened as the blade cut through. He kept his arms behind his back while gripping the knife. His gaze landed on the envelope under Percy's arm that held his wand.

When the barge took a treacherous dip, Ron launched himself forwards. He switched the knife into his left hand and used his one wandless spell, the one he'd learnt to remember Harry by: "Expelliarmus!"

He directed it at Snape, the watchful one, then at Malfoy. They both cursed as their wands flew out of their hands. With Percy, he didn't bother, simply tackling him to the deck. He wrestled the envelope away from him, and Percy's wand rolled into the shadows.

He cracked the seal on the envelope and grabbed his wand. To his left, a wand swung down. Ron ducked and fired a stunning spell.

Snape had already retrieved his wand and had nearly hit him with some wordless curse. Malfoy was still searching for his wand, calling out accio in every direction.

Snape had dodged the stunning spell and targeted him again. Ron cast protego and dove behind a stack of crates.

The captain shouted, and the sea serpents screamed. The barge slowed to a stop.

Ron pocketed his knife and took a few breaths to settle his pounding heart. He risked a glance around the crates. No one in sight. The sea serpents quieted but still twisted in the reins, their heads high above the water. Their massive bodies blocked the dim moonlight and plunged half the barge into darkness. Ron held his breath and listened. The waves slapped against the barge, and the sea serpents snorted. But there was something else. The scuff of a boot to his right.

He crept between the crates and waited. Another scuff and an exhale. This close, he could hear something else. A slow dripping onto the deck. Percy and his soaked robes. That wet towel was hunting him, trying to corner him like a rat. The injustice of it all. His hand tightened into a fist, and his heart thumped. Turning the corner, he tackled the figure and punched him hard in the face.

Percy let out a screech and tried to twist away.

Ron punched him again. "This is what you get for Mum. For all of it!"

He raised his arm again, but something wrenched him away, dragging him across the deck.

"Got him," the captain said. Light burned away the darkness. The captain stood above Ron with his wand in one hand and a lamp in the other. "Never lost a prisoner on one of my runs. Not going to start now."

Percy approached, stumbling, his wand drawn. His lip and nose bled heavily. He wiped at it, horrified at the bright red stain on his fingers. "Right." He straightened, aiming his wand at Ron. "I suppose I've been too lenient with you. From now on, you're just a prisoner."

Percy was rejecting him? Acting like Ron was the black sheep? Two punches to the face weren't nearly enough. He pushed his weight onto his back and kicked up with both feet, knocking the captain's wand and lantern out of his hands.

The lantern glass smashed on impact, and the flame flared up in a pool of oil. Ron rolled to his feet and charged at Percy again.

Percy stumbled back, shouting in a high-pitched voice. "Petrificus totalus! Bracchia post terga!"

Ron's entire body froze, his arms still reaching for Percy. Then the second spell hit him. The magic grabbed his frozen arms and tried to force them back. He crashed to the deck as the opposing forces built and built, tearing through muscle and bone. He tried to scream, but his mouth was frozen, and only a strained wail escaped his clamped teeth. The pain was blinding and inescapable. He wanted to twist and hold his arms and make it stop, but he could do nothing.

Something cracked, again and again, and his vision went white.

xx

He woke up gasping.

Snape filled his sight. "—spells shouldn't be used in combination. Bracchia post terga, which secures the arms behind the back—"

Pain stabbed his arms viciously. His gasps turned to groans. The need to scream crawled up his throat.

Malfoy swore, somewhere out of sight. "Nothing. The expelliarmus must have sent my wand overboard." Boots stepped near his head. "Can't you freeze his vocal cords? I'm getting a headache."

Snape's dark gaze bored into Ron. "I can certainly do that if he doesn't have the sense to shut up."

With effort, Ron swallowed his screams. The pain was still white-hot and overwhelming. He barely had a sense of where he was or if he could move. Something shifted in his right arm, and the pain contracted and pulsed. He ground his teeth as the screams threatened again.

"I didn't mean to." Percy sounded frantic. "We were taught that spell to immobilize aggressive prisoners. It's not meant to hurt them."

"And it wouldn't have, if you hadn't cast the body-bind first." Snape spoke in clipped tones. "It tried to keep his arms in place, while your second spell forced them behind his back."

"But I didn't mean—"

"You obviously meant to. Magic is created with intention." Snape tapped his wand lightly over Ron's arms. "Torn muscles and tendons, and the bones are broken in nine places. Two in the right ulna—"

"We hardly need a diagnosis," Malfoy said. "And certainly not a cure. He's a dangerous prisoner, and thanks to Mr. Weasley's quick wandwork, he's been incapacitated. He can serve his life sentence with or without the use of his arms. If they become a bother, the medical staff know how to perform amputations."

Ron's heart slammed against his ribcage. I'm sorry, Mum. I'm stupid and impulsive and I can't help anyone.

"It's a work camp," Snape replied, his voice cold. "I'll not have him lounging in a hospital bed when there's hard labor to be done."

"We're supposed to bring able-bodied prisoners," Percy said hesitantly.

Snape grunted and continued working.

Percy was silent for a moment. "Why is it taking so long? Madame Pomfrey used to—"

"You cast it with unusual strength, and it's resisting healing due to the familial bond. Masking itself in his magical signature. Spells cast with focused determination by close family members—"

"We're not close," Ron said through gritted teeth.

"Close on the family tree, you dolt. Do you think I care about your inane personal squabbles?"

Hexes from his brothers had always itched more, stung more, swollen more. He figured they'd been good casters. He could hear Hermione lecturing him. Like a muggle organ transplant, the body can welcome certain spells as part of itself.

"Usually, the bond is used to strengthen healing spells." Snape looked up. "Are you familiar with bone-knitting spells?"

"I once studied…" Percy cleared his throat. "I mean, not since my NEWTs…"

Snape shook his head. "My fault, really, for thinking you could be useful for once in your life."

Something shifted inside his upper arm, and the stabbing lessened to a radiating throb. He took shallow breaths, careful not to shift his body. The sharp tang of his own sweat filled the air. The barge started moving again. Each bump of the waves was like a fresh set of daggers. But he could handle it now, if he could lay still.

Snape grabbed a handful of hair and yanked his head back. Ron gasped in shock and Snape poured something vile down his throat. He choked, trying to expel it, but Snape clamped his jaw shut and hissed in his ear. "Spit it out and I'll have you lap it off the deck while your brother watches."

He would do it, the sadist. But he couldn't tell what he'd been given. Veritaserum? Was he already being prepared for Snape's interrogation? He tensed his tongue, holding the foul liquid.

"So headstrong." Snape laid a hand on the interior of Ron's elbow. "But I suspect you'll cooperate with a bit of arm-twisting."

His bravery failed him. Closing his eyes, he swallowed.

The barge lurched to a stop. Snape stood, brandishing his wand.

Ron felt himself rise from the deck. Instinctively, he threw out his arms to maintain his balance, and the shock of pain made him cry out.

"Try to remain still," Snape said.

Like you aren't enjoying this, you bloody bastard. Ron held himself stiffly as he was rotated onto his feet. Someone had lit more lanterns, and the captain levitated ropes and tied them to the dock.

Lightning flickered, illuminating the roaring waves that crashed against the shore. Seawater eddied on the uneven ground scattered with broken tower stones. But the tower that had once stood on the island was gone. What remained above the surface was a combination of rippling black rock and the ruined ramparts that once rimmed the uppermost level. Crenelations like broken teeth opened to the sky. A single window opening gaped like an empty eye socket.

Distantly, metal clanged. A guard waded through the swirling water until he reached the dock. He had a look of hardness about him, as if he spent his days using his wand more than his words. "Got word of a prisoner and new staff." He frowned when he saw Ron. "Restraints?"

"He's broken both his arms," Snape replied. "It'll be several hours before he can use them. Another few days for complete recovery."

"I had to curse him," Percy babbled. "He was trying to escape."

The guard nodded. "Problem prisoner? We've got a maximum confinement cell."

Snape pushed Ron down the gangway. "I doubt he'll be any more trouble than the rest. Certainly not while his injuries heal."

Ron walked slowly as the barge shifted with the waves. The dock was a welcome sturdiness under his feet.

"Nothing like a good curse," the guard said. "Makes 'em easier to manage."

"I'll keep that in mind," Snape said. "I'm joining as well, as a temporary interrogator until the replacement arrives."

The guard glanced at Percy. "New guard?"

"Yes." Percy's response was low and dispirited.

"Another minister." The guard eyed Malfoy's robes. "What're you here for?"

Malfoy gestured at Percy. "I have business with Mr. Weasley."

"Couldn't do that business on the barge?"

Malfoy frowned. "We have private matters to discuss."

"Guards here sleep in barracks and eat in the dining hall. No privacy at Azkaban. And no visitors or social calls. He'll get leave in a few weeks. You can talk then."

Malfoy stood on the gangway, looking stunned. "But I…"

The guard stretched his shoulders, staring Malfoy down. Malfoy opened and closed his hands, wandless, until he sniffed and looked away.

The guard nodded at the captain. "Take him back?"

"No problem. Come on, then." He guided Malfoy back on board.

"Mmm, bad luck." Snape's voice had gotten nearly cheerful. "And without a wand, you'll have to take the slow boat to the mainland. Have a safe trip back, Lucius. Say hello to Narcissa from me. And, of course, Draco."

It wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, but Ron got a bit of enjoyment from watching Malfoy's frustrated face as the sea dragons reared up and the barge pulled away.

The dock met land on a raised stone platform, but the path to the sunken tower ran through small pools formed by the uneven ground. The waves flowed over the rocks, filling the twisting gullies. He waded slowly through frigid seawater that rose to his knees, his shoes sliding over green muck that lined the bottom. Brown algae and kelp stuck to his trousers. A thick, rotting smell penetrated everything.

The last time he'd seen this island, it had been a churning mass of lava. Clouds of billowing steam bordered the land as molten rock met the sea, the continuous hiss punctuated by debris-laden explosions. At the center, the dark tower sank into a blazing red-orange whirlpool, dragging hundreds of prisoners into the hellfire.

Even the guards were desperate, happily handing over their keys for the promise of rescue. They'd formed an airborne human chain on their brooms, carrying prisoners and guards away.

Ron and Sirius ran headlong into the tower. They opened cells as they went, sending everyone upwards whilst they went deeper and deeper. Everything grew darker and hotter, until the cell doors glowed from the heat, and the screams of prisoners died away. They'd had to turn and dash back, casting bubble charms over their heads to keep the smoke and searing-hot air out of their lungs. They'd flown off with their broom bristles smoking, and Ron had cast aguamenti, taking one last glance backwards. The tower had disappeared into the inferno.

The lava was gone now, solidified into grey and black rock. Ron slid into a deep pool and plunged to his waist. He froze as sensitive parts hit the icy water.

The guard poked him in the back with his wand. "C'mon, then. Get a move on."

Neither the guard nor Snape seemed bothered by the wet or cold. They could indulge in protection charms, keeping their skin and clothes dry. But Percy struggled, which was some comfort. He stumbled and squeaked. "Something touched my leg."

"Just seaweed," the guard grumbled, although his gaze searched the water. "Nothing to worry about."

Then something brushed Ron's leg. It did feel like seaweed, but there was something different in the movement. Something intentional. He looked down his body, but couldn't see more than an inch into the murky water. "You're certain?"

He never heard the answer. Something rose out of the water, rattling like a desiccated husk.

Black rippling folds fluttered wetly underneath a pulsing head that glowed in mottled red and coral. Thin white tentacles stretched out from that head, latching onto the sides of his face. The energy drained out of him, and the world shrank to that pulsing thing. A hole opened in the center, wide and perfectly round. The edges darkened to blood red and twisted like convulsing muscles.

Fight back, a faint voice from deep inside said, but he couldn't quite grasp what it meant. All that existed was that gaping mouth and the ropy tentacles that pulled him closer.

"Expecto patronum."

Something silvery touched one tentacle. The thing recoiled, detaching itself from Ron's face with a sickening pop. It fled, flying just above the surface as its ragged body flapped in the wind.

Both sides of his face stung. Ron tried to touch his cheek, but could only swing his useless arms through the surrounding water. His voice sounded distant as he spoke. "What was that?"

"Dementor," Snape replied. "They've adapted to better reach their prey."

"Don't normally see them on the surface anymore," the guard said. "Must be a young one testing its strength."

"Its body was gone," Percy said. "It didn't look human."

"They were never human," Snape said. "They merely imitated our shape for convenience."

The gate hadn't been there when Ron and Sirius had burst into the tower. It had weathered quickly and bore red rust and clumps of shaggy moss between its hexagonal bars. The guard snapped his wand in quick diagonal patterns.

Ron tried to follow, but he felt disconnected from what was happening. Snape had him by the shoulder, nearly dragging him along, and he tried to steady himself and get his bearings. Escape. Ginny. They were the only things that mattered now. He had to pull himself together.

The gate creaked open, splitting in an uneven pattern along the hexagonal lines. Inside, grates along the walls drained the standing water, although the floor remained wet. A steel hatch with a hand wheel sat in the center of the floor.

"C'mon, then." The guard gestured to Percy. "I'll show you how this works."

Percy twitched, hand swatting the air. "What is that?"

The guard fired his wand at the air, and something ignited, plunging down in flames until it landed in a tiny smoking lump at Ron's feet. He could make out a figure with blackened wings.

"Water fairies. Pests. Ignore 'em."

The handwheel squealed, and the hatch banged open. A stench of mildew and sweat rose from the dark hole.

The guard studied Ron. "Can he use a ladder?"

Before Ron could answer, he felt his feet leave the floor. Snape had him in a levitation spell again. The memory of those stomach-turning somersaults woke Ron up with a start, but the spell was steady this time, lowering him to the next level. He landed in a puddle. The watertight seal of the hatch didn't appear to do anything, as everything was just as wet in the tower's interior. Steel hoods protected wall torches from grey-fingered stalactites dripping from the concrete ceiling. The drips collected into streams that fed shallow pools on the uneven floor.

The guard gestured at Ron. "I'll take him for processing. You can report to the main office. One floor down, on the right."

Percy stood uncertainly. "Ron, I'm…" He stopped and straightened. "I hope one day you'll understand."

Ron wished he had something devastating and witty to say. But he felt as though he'd been wound down, like one of his father's muggle toys that stopped working. The best he could do was stare through Percy as though he weren't real. Right now, nothing felt real.

xx

They left Percy and Snape one floor down and kept descending. Window openings disgorged rippled stone. The molten rock had poured in and solidified years ago. Most of the overflow had been chiseled away, although some still jutted into the stairwell landings.

Ron's heart pounded with every step. Deeper and deeper. Further and further away from his friends, his family, his freedom. An ominous pressure built in his throat and ears. The torches dimmed as if they fought against an unseen force. On one floor, a scream pierced the air, echoing up the stairwell. The guard didn't even blink, merely prodding Ron to keep moving.

They exited the stairs to a corridor lined with thick steel doors. Metal clangs and sharp shouts echoed through the space, becoming louder as they turned a corner. A work crew of prisoners clustered by multiple leaks trickling from the wall.

"Clear way!" the guard shouted. The guards overseeing the work crew snapped their wands, and the prisoners shuffled aside.

Just as Ron passed, the leaks cracked, and a jet of water blasted him. He staggered and fell against the opposite wall as seawater filled his mouth and nose with brine. He struggled to brace himself against the wall and get back up.

"It's all right. I've got you." Someone grabbed him around his chest from behind and dragged him out of the water's path. Prisoners and guards shouted over the spray and dashed through the standing water.

Ron turned to the person who had pulled him clear. The skin showing through the ragged prison uniform revealed intricate tattoos of runes, bands of dots, and long strings of numbers and symbols. The prisoner shook her head, rattling a necklace of tiny bones looped around her neck. Fraying braids crisscrossed her head in a dripping, shaggy mess.

Ron stared at her. "Ginny?"

Ginny grinned. "Hello, Brother. Welcome to hell."