Chapter 18: Ron Weasley: Sink or Swim

Ron Weasley

Ron lay on his cot, opening and closing his hands, working out the morning stiffness. Dripping water echoed in the darkness. Farther away, boots clomped and steel doors clanged. The guards were changing shifts. One of them would be here soon.

A narrow hatch on the door slid open automatically, allowing some torchlight from the corridor. He sat up, the metal rim of the cot biting into his legs. Gritty water seeped across the floor and under his bare feet. He splashed across the cell to the opposite corner, which held a self-cleaning chamber pot and a small bowl of clumpy powder that doubled as toothpaste and soap. It took another minute before the wooden pitcher on the floor gurgled with his daily allotment of potable water. He lifted it carefully with both hands. He'd gone thirsty his first day here when his arms had failed him and he'd dropped it.

But he'd gotten better every day, and now he could raise and tilt it to drink from the spout. Once he finished, he lifted and lowered the pitcher. It was the only heavy object in the room that wasn't stuck to the wall or floor, and his only way of strengthening his arms. He kept it up until his arms shook, then poured a bit of water over a torn scrap of his bedsheet and scrubbed himself down. He dabbed carefully over his face. Stripes of stinging welts from the dementor still marked each cheek, although the swelling had gone down.

He was going mad alone in this cell. He'd counted four mornings by the opening of that slot in the wall. That first night, he'd been dragged away from Ginny after only a moment of seeing her. And ever since then, he'd been left adrift, like so much flotsam and jetsam. He'd feared they would immediately put him to work with his useless arms, but this was worse. It seemed that they didn't particularly care if he worked or not, if he learnt to use his arms again or spent the rest of his days lying in his cell like a beached fish. Voldemort's reign would continue, Ginny and the others would suffer in Azkaban, and he'd be left here in the darkness.

That was the thought that kept him working on his arms, through the frustration and pain. He'd lie in the dark, trying to lift them, sweating with the effort. Somebody must have taken notice. Yesterday, a medi-wizard had examined him for the first time. He'd prodded him for a few seconds and declared him able-bodied and fit for work.

Footsteps grew louder, and the familiar eyes of a guard appeared between the bars of the hatch. Digger? No, Drabber.

"Stay where you are," Drabber barked. The door's deadbolts snicked and the hinges squealed. Drabber's shoulders filled the doorway, framed in torchlight.

Ron resisted the urge to glance at a stone set in the wall near Drabber's foot. It concealed his magical pocketknife. When he'd gone through processing and been ordered to strip, he'd found it still in his pocket. He could've sworn it was lost on the barge, but there it was. Some part of him wondered if it had been Percy giving him a chance for escape. But he quickly pushed that hope away. He focused every bit of his strength and concentration into weakly tapping his fingers in the right pattern. The guards had been busy performing searching spells on his stripped body while the knife had slipped into the pocket of his waiting prison uniform.

Now it lay behind that stone until the right moment came along. Drabber tapped his foot in front of that stone, water dripping off his boot and pooling in a puddle. Drabber was soaking wet.

"Is the tower leaking?" Ron asked.

"It's always leaking," Drabber grumbled. "But this is from up top. Storm's still raging."

That meant the supply barges still weren't getting through. "No breakfast, then?"

"Not while we're rationing. You'll survive." Drabber gestured to the corridor. "Out."

Ron stepped closer, and a wet mush filled his hands. His pitcher had transformed into wood pulp.

Drabber shook his head. "Haven't you learnt yet to keep that in the corner?"

Ron dropped the pulp, and it landed with a splat. Another stupid security measure to keep prisoners from handling potential weapons. The day's ration gone. Under the bloody sea with wizards who could perform aguamenti, and they were on water rations. He didn't bother asking for more. Drabber's smug look was answer enough. "It must be a relief to know I can't conk you on the head."

Drabber grabbed his arm in a painful grip and dragged him out of his cell. "You've got some nerve. But we've got time to work that out of you. The rest of your life."

Two floors down, the water found them first. It streamed in thin pools across the corridor floor, deepening as they followed the sound of shouts and sloshing.

A prisoner work crew huddled close to an exterior wall. Water gushed around their arms and legs, obscuring their movements. Guards shouted orders, barely heard over the continuous rumble.

"Go on, then." Drabber shoved Ron towards a guard standing by a water-repelling wooden box. The guard marked down his name and prison number and handed him a wand.

He stared at the wand. For a moment, he forgot to concentrate on his grip and almost dropped it. Of all the things he expected at Azkaban, he hadn't expected this.

"Hey, over here." It was Ginny, beckoning him over. Her mess of braids was plastered to her head. She grabbed handfuls and squeezed, dribbling seawater onto her shoulders.

Relief surged through him and he moved to embrace her, but she jerked her head to the side and stepped back. Ron glanced at the guards and nodded. It had been the same at the prison camp years ago. You couldn't hide who your relatives were, but the guards didn't care unless they saw any sort of bond or affection between prisoners. Then you'd be separated in short order.

"I'll show you the ropes," she shouted over the din. Leaning close to his ear, she said, "tell me everything."

Ron's heart lurched. Ginny had been away for a long time, and might not have heard. "Fred and George."

Ginny stiffened, but slowly nodded. "Interrogators like to give you that sort of news. Break you down." They shared a look. Ginny had brown eyes, just like Fred and George. And she had their knowing look, the one that told him she understood how he felt, even if she'd never say it. But neither of them could afford to show anything more. Not here. After a pause, she let out a breath and waded to the center of the group.

Ron followed. Each prisoner held a wand identical to his. He tapped it experimentally, hoping to get a few sparks. Nothing.

Ginny gave him a grim smile. "It's as worth as much as you paid for it. Lodgepole pine with a flobberworm slime core. No preserving charms cast on it. The wood rots quickly in water and will splinter to pieces if too strong a spell is cast. The core lasts until the slime dries up. And the magic you can get out of it is about as powerful as a newborn kitten."

"Still… I expected to be the one left to rot."

"Why waste magical prisoners when they can work?"

He glanced back at the guards. "They could fix this leak in five seconds."

"Repairs aren't the point." A steeliness entered Ginny's eyes. "I'm told we should be grateful. There's plenty of hard labor here that has no point at all."

The group of prisoners outnumbered the guards three to one. "Aren't they worried we'll fight back and escape?"

Ginny shook her head. "They're really not."

She led him to a barrel, still dry from water-repellent charms. Demonstrating with her wand, she showed him how to levitate the quick-sealing mortar.

It was immediately obvious why they allowed wands. Performing a levitation spell was like walking through treacle. His first attempt barely made a ripple on the surface of the mortar. The second failed when a shout distracted him. He had to get back in the mindset of a first-year, when performing even the simplest spell required absolute concentration. The third attempt got a clump of mortar wobbling through the air, finally spreading across the leak two meters away.

Wiping the saltwater and sweat from his face, he realized his wand arm was shaking. He held it close to his body until it stilled. "This isn't a wand. It's a stickpin."

Ginny siphoned water away from the leak as others patched it. Her shoulders were tense from the strain. "There's one difference. A stickpin is actually useful."

He didn't think his arms were up to it, but he had to ask. "Can't I carry the mortar?"

She shook her head. "Rules. You have to use the wand."

Ron's puzzlement over that caused him to lose focus, and a levitated glob of mortar fell to the floor.

A guard was on him immediately, hitting him with a stinging hex. "Get that back in the air."

Sharp pinpoints ran down his back where the spell hit. "How am I supposed to–" He clamped his mouth shut as another hex hit him. This one was stronger and felt like shards of glass embedding his skin.

"Better learn, or it's off to the Bath with you."

Panting, Ron forced the pain out of his mind and put all his attention into the spell.

It took another two levitations before the guard was satisfied. He turned and targeted a prisoner who'd tripped and was struggling to get up.

Ron got another bit of mortar plastered on the wall while the pain ebbed to an uncomfortable prickling. "Did he just threaten me with a warm bath?"

Shadows darkened under Ginny's eyes. "The Bath is on the lowest level of the tower. Don't let them take you there. You might not come back." She glanced at the guard, who was eying Ron again. "Now quiet. You need to focus."

Of all the things in this world that had been ruined by Voldemort's side, Ron never thought they could ruin magic. Yes, there were terrible curses, but magic was a part of everything. It was a part of everyone he cared about. Mum and Ginny and Hermione. Fred and George. Harry.

But the guards forcing him to use magic in this way brought back the nervous boy who had just entered Hogwarts. The one who had so many older brothers to look up to and worried that he wouldn't measure up. All the other first-years had seemed smarter, more talented, or more special. And now, he was surrounded by witches and wizards performing spells while he struggled with basic levitation. It took all he had to perform this one simple spell. He knew it was the wand. Ginny had told him what a shite wand it was. But he still felt a familiar shame and frustration curling in his stomach.

He was shaking from exhaustion by the time they called lunch. He collapsed against the newly sealed wall with a bowl of millet and beans. A few water fairies buzzed around his food, and he waved them off. "Didn't get breakfast."

Ginny nodded. "Word is that there won't be dinner, starting today. Not until supply barges can get through." She poked at her millet for a few seconds, keeping her eyes fixed on it but not eating. "Mum?"

"Alive." That was something, at least. "Re-education camp. Sirius?"

"Alive, last we heard. They took him down for interrogation. It's been two days." She looked grim. "Bill and Charlie?"

"Free and still fighting, as far as I know. Hopefully, they can join up with Hermione and…" And what? A resistance of three people with no money and no resources. He'd been a massive help, getting captured and shipped to Azkaban. But at least he couldn't be labeled the worst of the Weasley brothers. "Percy's here."

Her face went blank. "I saw him."

He felt a spark of hope. "He came to check on you?"

She shook her head. "Walked past and pretended he didn't see me."

Nodding, he pressed his head against the wall. "He shattered my arms."

Her whole body jerked, and she looked up at him.

"It was an accident. Mostly. I'm healed now."

Ginny glanced at the millet in his bowl, which was shifting as his tremors slowly settled. "Healed?"

He shrugged. "Mostly."

She gazed at the line of guards watching them. "Do you remember that night the first time you returned from Hogwarts for the summer?"

It was after his first year, and he couldn't resist showing off a bit of magic, even though he wasn't supposed to. He'd snuck out the back, and Ginny had followed him. He hadn't realized it until she clapped her hands when his wand released a trail of sparks. Her eyes had shone, and she'd rushed forwards and knocked him over with a bear hug. "I remember."

She looked at him intently. "I'm not so little anymore. But some things never change."

There could be no tumbling hugs in this place, and Ginny could no longer be that doe-eyed little girl. But he understood. He nodded, finding it difficult to speak.

She turned back to her bowl and tucked in, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

Ron ate more slowly, trying to make the food last longer. He'd dealt with low food rations for a while and found slower eating helped ease the hunger. As he ate, he studied Ginny's tattoos. He knew that some could track and punish prisoners. "The guards do that to you? "

Ginny finished her bowl and leaned back, licking her lips. "Nah. Got some from Delia." Her expression flickered momentarily. "She's gone. Learned how to do it myself, afterwards. Every once in a while, a squid breaks through. Give 'em a good jab and you can siphon ink." She held up her arm to display another. "For this one, I used soot. Fire broke out."

Ron glanced at the other prisoners. Three had sharp lines of numbers standing out on their arms, and another two had a series of interlocking runes on their necks. "Just something to pass the time here?"

"Everyone needs a hobby." Ginny said it easily enough, but her eyes flashed a warning.

Not something to discuss near the guards, then. He struggled to remember what he'd learned of runes and numerology years ago. Some offered protection or could invoke spells. And tattoos could be imbued with powerful magic. The Death Eaters certainly took advantage of that.

Ginny's prison uniform was torn at the shoulder, revealing three black circles, each one slashed through. That arrangement indicated a bubble-head charm. He glanced at Ginny questioningly.

"Stuck on my head permanently. Would've suffocated if Delia hadn't slashed them through."

"Is there a way to make them temporary?" On the lower levels, they'd never fight their way to the top, and they'd drown if they tried to break open a wall and swim hundreds of feet below the surface. But a bubble-head charm would give them a chance.

She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head, speaking in a whisper. "We need a wand. A real wand." She pressed her lips together as a guard strode by.

Ron waited until he was out of earshot. "We have to do something. Think of how long you've been here. How long we're going to be here."

She set her empty bowl to the side. A water fairy hovered, eying the scraps. Ginny smiled faintly. "I don't think about that. The only thing in front of me is today."

The water fairy settled on the rim of the bowl, the wings folding into the scales on its back. It scooped up a chunk of millet.

Ginny's hand, resting near the bowl, moved in a flash. She grabbed the fairy in her fist and squeezed. The fairy squealed once, and then there was a sickening snap.

Ron reeled back. "What the hell, Ginny?"

She pulled her necklace of tiny bones free, hanging the fairy on the end. The small creatures drank copious amounts of water, and this one was already beginning to shrivel.

Ron stared at the necklace. "You collect water fairy bones?"

Ginny shrugged, her shoulders hunching. "If I didn't kill them, the guards would. They're a nuisance."

After lunch, they were taken down a floor to another leak. This break in the wall was larger, and water gushed through, leaving him soaked to his knees.

They worked and worked. But it was like emptying pails out of a leaking boat. Whenever a section was patched, another leak opened. The water rose until everyone was half swimming. Dinnertime came and went with no break.

"Why don't the guards fix it?" Ron asked. "At this rate, the whole tower will flood."

"You think the guards at muggle prisons helped break rocks?" Ginny wiped the wet hair out of her face. "They've partitioned the floor to keep the whole tower from flooding. They'll save themselves and seal the area if it comes to it."

"What happens to us?"

Ginny gave him a look. "Don't think about it. Focus and work harder."

"Shite," Ron said.

The line of guards had pulled down thick grates attached to the wall and used them as platforms to stand above the rising water. "It's getting worse," a guard said. "We're going to cast another shield to block off the area. And something needs to be done about the flooding." He called out to the assorted prisoners. "Any of you manage a vanishing spell?"

The prisoners continued their work without a response.

"You know they won't volunteer," another guard said. "Think they can hide what spells they can cast. Where's that new records keeper? What's his name?"

"Weasley, that's it." The guard smiled sardonically. "You know, the minister."

Ron and Ginny glanced at each other.

"Right." The other guard chuckled. He tapped the base of the nearest wall torch with his wand. The hood on the torch fell back. The sputtering flame flared up into a column that reached the ceiling and turned bright green. "Calling Percy Weasley."

Percy's face appeared in the flame. "What is it?"

"Come through. Need your expertise."

A green version of Percy squirmed through until he returned to his normal colors and popped out. The column of flame disappeared and Percy splashed face-first into the water.

He bobbed to the surface and sputtered. "You're supposed to create a soft landing for me!"

"Am I? My apologies, Minister."

Percy's ministry robes puffed up with trapped air as he stood in waist-deep water. He tried to smooth them down, and they squelched loudly. "I told you. My new uniform doesn't fit. Stop calling me…" He gave up on his robes and his shoulders slumped. "What do you want?"

"Which of the prisoners has been observed casting a vanishing spell? None of them will admit to it."

"I don't see why not. I can't imagine wanting to stand in this muck." Percy wrestled his wand out of his wet pocket and cast a spell. "Area: prisoner competencies, subsection: spells. Vanishing spells only." In the air directly in front of him, a scroll popped into existence.

Percy used a drying charm on his hands—he seemed to have finally mastered that, at least—and studied the scroll. "Wheatley, Delia. Performed a vanishing spell in the Bath in April of last year."

A guard grunted. "She's gone. Who else?"

Percy's face paled. "Weasley," he said. "Ginevra. Performed a vanishing spell in June of this year while repairing a leak on level nine."

Ginny straightened and turned. "I only did it the once. We were up to our necks and would've drowned."

"You should be even better at it now, then." The guard gestured at the water filling the corridor.

Ginny said nothing, staring back at him.

"Or do you need to fear for your life to perform the spell? Because that's easily done." He pointed his wand at her.

Ron's heart thumped. "I'll do it," he said loudly, stepping forwards.

Ginny shot him a furious look. "You can barely levitate a handful of mortar. I know squibs more talented than you."

Ron flinched. She couldn't mean it. It was a way to put distance between them in front of the guards. But then he thought about how he'd struggled with even the simplest spells all day. He had to do better than this. He aimed his wand at the rising water and put all his energy into channeling his magic. "Evanesco!"

Nothing. The water continued to rise.

The guards and Ginny all stared at him. He looked down at the water, his face heating.

A guard snorted a laugh. "Get back to the mortar, Squib."

Slowly, he turned back to the barrel. But he barely saw the work in front of him. His focus was on what was happening behind him.

Two guards were shouting at Ginny, ordering her to perform the spell. "I've almost got it," she told them. "Evanesco." Silence. Then, "That got a bit."

"That's not even matching the amount pouring in. The level's still rising. Again. Stronger, this time."

"Evanesco." Ginny's grunt of frustration. "Evanesco!"

A guard muttered something and Ginny yelped in pain.

Ron whirled around, but was stopped by another prisoner grabbing his arm. A man ten years older than himself, whose brown hair was already thinning.

"Don't!" he hissed. "Do your work."

"I can't. Ginny—" He twisted to look over the prisoner's shoulder. Ginny was rubbing her arm and wincing.

"She can handle it. It's not the first time. And she'll drown with the rest of us if you don't get that mortar moving." The prisoner shoved him back towards the barrel.

It was impossible. He couldn't cast a levitation spell using this scrap-wood wand while Ginny was hexed. After three attempts, the surface of the mortar hadn't even rippled. He glanced behind him. Two of the guards were moving closer to their escape routes, and the other two were focused on Ginny.

The hell with it. If he was going to be called a squib, he may as well work like a squib. He shoved his wand in a pocket and grabbed a handful of mortar, carrying it over to the wall. Smearing it across the edges of the leak, he quickly dropped his hands in the water, rubbing them clean before the mortar dried. He kept it up until the gush of water slowed to the rate of a gurgling storm drain.

At that point, he could barely move. His body ached from hours of pushing through the water, his arms trembled from the lifting, and his skin was numb from the cold. Leaning against the wall, he let himself half-float. The water wasn't so bad when he wasn't forcing himself through it. Just like when his family used to travel to the coast for the first swim of the season. The water was only cold on the first jump. Then he could swim and splash his brothers and it was all fine. Until Fred and George slipped underwater, conjured up a tentacle, and wrapped it around his ankle or waist.

Another thing they'd never do again. It hit him suddenly, the way it often did. Missing them so much. Their smiling faces pale and lifeless on the battlefield. Ron squeezed his eyes shut. No, he wouldn't remember them that way. They wouldn't want that. He forced the image away and tried to see them again at the shore. Diving beneath the waves with no fear. Little bubbles surfacing as they tried to hold in their laughter. That fake tentacle tickling him. He tried to hold on to the memory, but it was so difficult. Their faces kept greying, their mouths going slack. The tentacle, though. That feeling was still there. Like a rubbery cord wrapped around his waist, lightly stinging through his clothes.

His eyes snapped open just as the cord tightened and jerked him towards the remaining leak. The prisoner with the thinning hair stared at him and splashed away.

He grabbed the tentacle with both hands. Sharp points, thinner than needles, stung his fingers. Other tentacles flailed on either side of him, picking away the newly set mortar. The tentacle yanked harder, trying to drag him through the opening. The gurgle turned back into a cascade, and an ominous rattle sounded over the rushing water. Through the spray, the dim figures of the guards ran for safety, shouting in panicked voices. Flashes of light on both ends of the corridor told him they'd reset the shields. He and Ginny and everyone else were trapped inside.

Twisting in the tentacle's grip, Ron rolled against the wall until he faced the opening. The incoming water struck him in the face. He sputtered, but kept his eyes open. In the center of the opening was a mouth opened in a wide O, framed by a grotesque red face. That dark mouth seemed to suck all thoughts of struggle out of him. Hanging limply, he let the water rush over him, growing colder by the second. He hoped the creature pulled him out to sea. Ginny shouldn't have to see him the way he'd seen Fred and George.

Arms wrapped around his waist, above the tentacle. Over his shoulder, Ron glimpsed red hair. "Ginny, no. Just let me go."

"Not a chance." Her arms tightened and warmth pulsed through them. A silver glow sprang from a tattoo of a long-tailed horse on her forearm. The light shot through the tentacle.

The dementor shrieked and wrapped another tentacle around Ginny's neck. It dug into the skin.

Ginny gasped and aimed her wand at the dementor's head. A tentacle lashed out and snapped the wand in half.

Ron dug at the tentacle at her throat. Ginny had stopped gasping. She opened and closed her mouth, but no air escaped. The tentacles closed around them and dragged them down.

They crashed beneath the surface and the roar muted to a distant rumble. The water engulfed the wall torches and everything went black.

He held Ginny close, fearful he'd lose her in the darkness. Even though she might already be… no. Beneath her chilled skin, there was still warmth. He felt her pulse thumping in her throat.

But not for long. He knew that. And he couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear to see her the way he'd seen Fred and George. He worked his hand down to his pocket and grasped his wand. His useless wand. But he had to make it work. Even if it killed him, he had to try one last spell.

It was as if everything fell away. The pressure in his lungs as he resisted the urge to breathe, the cold, the sting of the tentacles. All his worries, his frustrations, his exhaustion. The only thing remaining was the thrum of Ginny's heartbeat. He aimed his wand into the darkness and imagined himself shouting the incantation. Light burst from the wand as it shattered into splinters. Several slivers of wood jammed into his palm, and Ron let go of the remnants of wood, thin trails of blood streaming away.

But it was enough. A spotted silver form with an upturned tail leapt from the shattered remains, lighting up the gloom. It bounded through the water as if it were air and launched itself at the dementor, latching on to its red face with its jaws.

The dementor spasmed, breaking apart the stone and mortar. As it retreated, it left behind a wide hole, and the sea surged in.

Ron kicked up to the surface. It was only a few inches below the ceiling now, so he tilted Ginny's face upwards to keep her airways free. His patronus had faded, but a dim light shone at the end of the corridor. Taking gulps of air, he cupped Ginny's chin and pulled her along as he swam towards it.

The light grew brighter until he collided with it. He touched it, feeling the faint tingle of magic. Dimly, he could see the other side. Four figures milled about, and one stood stock-still, face upturned towards them. Ron banged his fist on the barrier, but it was as solid as steel.

There was only a thin sliver of air remaining. He kept Ginny's face upturned, mouth nearly touching the ceiling as she breathed what was left. He took in great lungfuls, wishing he'd dived through the hole to the open sea. They never would've made it to the surface before he lost consciousness, but at least he would have died fighting instead of hopelessly trapped.

The cold water rose over his face and enclosed him. He held onto Ginny, feeling her heart thrum and dreading the moment it would fade away. Everything would be gone soon. He saw his mum's face, etched with worry lines. Take care of Ginny. He'd tried, but his trying was never enough. Maybe one day he could've made a difference. He'd never know.

Light and heat enveloped him, and he shut his eyes against the brightness. His skin tingled and his head spun, as if everything had been turned upside-down. He floated in the white warmth, slowly sinking as his body grew heavier. And then he felt something he never thought he'd feel again: a wisp of air against his face. His eyes snapped open, but everything was too bright. He breathed deeply once before the light shrank to pinpoints and disappeared.