Chapter 1, Capture.
Ron looked at the commotion about him. He didn't care. All he noticed was everything that they didn't. Ron's eyes flicked about the clearing that his brothers were playing a not-so-quiet game of quiddich in. He was only sitting at the sidelines; Fred and George (along with the silent scorning of Charlie, Bill, Percy, and Ginny) had kicked him off his broom, telling him he dropped the Quaffal too much, that he should just watch. It took a whole of a half a minute for them to forget he was there. Through their shouting, none of them could hear the silent night, not usual, seeing it was only a warm summer night and all the birds should have been chirping like the non-existent crickets!
As Ron looked about he could almost hear the long cloaks circling the entire area. Or was it his imagination? Ron found he had to pretend a lot, with all his family treating him as though he was either transparent or some warped and worthless stress ball. He looked around, not satisfied he disregarded the growing lump of fear in his throat and pushed himself up to check out the surrounding trees. He didn't bother informing his 'siblings'.
"Hello? Is anyone here?" Ron asked the air when he felt safe that no one was in hearing distance. He did not want the twins to joke about 'Little Ikkle Ronniekins hearing a bump in the woods!' "Hello? ----I said- AH!" He never finished. Red light the color of his hair had surged from nowhere, the knockout curse Ron noted, and had stuck him unconscious...
"Wha? Where?" Ron blinked the sleep from his eyes, fuzzy pictures swirled, and he vaguely saw hooded figures. As they began to sway into focus, He could see he was in some dank dungeon. Groundwater from soil overhead seeped into the stonewalled catacomb and the depressing drip of water pounded into his skull like a hangover.
"Quiet! You're here only to serve as the bait, you worthless weasel!" One of the ominous figures spat. Ron shrunk away, trying to remember what happened. Suddenly, like a tidal wave, the rush of memory washed over him and he was at a loss of words, not that he could speak anyway. His throat was like sandpaper dried for a week under intense sun.
He risked a glance at his black robed captors, he studied them carefully. One was broad in the shoulder, and thicker in the arm, a man who used brute force to do hard labor if his knarled hands gave any indication. The other was fair, frail, but held himself with a proud, almost insufferable, ego. The posture of a Malfoy. 'Must have picked up the habit of calling me weasel from his son.' Thought Ron, doing his best to drag his mind into a more functioning mode.
Briefly noticing the shackles on his wrists and ankles that kept him bound to the wall, Ron dragged himself to the darkest corner he could reach before leaning against it to wait for the next 'shock of a lifetime' with any luck, he would fall asleep.
After silence for what seemed hours on end, broken only with the death eaters hushed whispers, Ron heard footsteps echoing into the small casement. Malfoy stood at attention to the door, waiting for the visitor. Ron glanced upward, during the silence he had slid to lay on the floor. He almost cried out, it was Voldemort. The most feared wizard in the world. Voldemort was gazing with red eyes, gazing strait into Ron's mud brown ones. Ron was almost sure that the evil man could sense his fear, if not see it as it was most likely plastered onto his face.
"Lucius, get any information you can out of him, but don't kill him, we still can use him. I don't care what you have to do." All was said with little pity for the trembling boy shackled to the wall. "Little Weasly, do you know what you are here for? You are the bait, you see, your father has become a threat, and he needs to be eliminated. Once he notices your disappearance, we will name our price, his life, or yours. He refuses, and you die."
"Sorry to burst your bubble," said Ron, "but you'll be waiting awhile. He won't notice, nor will anyone else, not for a long time. End of summer, maybe. My mother usually needs to yell at someone around that time, no way would she yell at someone else." Voldermort's eyes narrowed, he doubted that a family like the Weaslys would ignore one of their own.
"We'll see, LUCIUS! Get on with it!" With that, the dark lord was gone.
Chapter 2, torture and talks.
It had been a week, Ron was covered in dried blood, mostly on his back, where Malfoy's whip had cut his flesh into ribbons. Half scabbed, red marks, and angry bruises covered his half naked form. Shirt and Robe had literally been ripped from his back causing large welts to form. His eyes had large circles under them, from the lack of sleep due to nightmares that ritually plagued his dream world. He was barely surprised as the sound of the cook passed his stall again; he was starving for another meal, having not eaten since being snatched from his home licking water from the damp walls was not Ron's idea of a good life. Ron was sure he would die, but by now he welcomed the solace that would accompany death. Footsteps echoed down to him, alerting the caged boy to another soul approaching.
"Boy, it has been a week since I told you where you were. Since you told me not one person would notice, I did not believe you then. Why is it, that even with my servants watching your muggle-loving family day and night, they have gone on without worry or outburst?" Asked Voldemort. His eyebrows rose in question. Ron had held his own against the Death eaters that came daily to torture him, his fear long having gave way to the feeling of indifference. So he answered with a voice empty of emotion.
"My eldest siblings do not think of me as their equal, so they ignore me by habit. The twins believe that I get in the way too much. Ginny and I have never held much of a bond, she likes Percy much better. My mum has to deal with all the other things going on in the house, and my father is always at work. I am ignored in my family, and that is a fact. If you wanted a ruckus, you should have taken the twins." Ron's eyes hadn't moved from the stone wall opposite him. Voldemort stood stock still, as though he were shocked. He stepped forward a few feet, leaving the gate open.
"So they just haven't noticed your disappearing?"
"More as though they don't care whether I'm gone. Bloody annoying." Voldemort sat down.
"Have you ever had that feeling of hopelessness?" He asked after getting comfortable on Ron's dirty cell floor.
"That feeling where you have no control, but want it so badly you'd die? Yes. Have I the courage to die?" Ron looked at the feet of his captor, and then slowly raised his eyes to meet Voldemort's. "No." 'His eyes look haunted.'Thought Tom Riddle, the lord Voldemort. His lips moved before he realized what he was saying.
"I used to have that feeling too, boy. Right after my father left my mother."
"Really now? That's uncalled for. Leaving a family behind." Voldemort almost chuckled.
"He was a muggle, boy." Ron raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise.
"Well my family is pureblood. Are they so different?" The answer took the dark lord by surprise, and his head snapped from its leisurely position to stare at the young red head. Abruptly he stood up to take his leave.
"McNair! 100 lashes to the prisoner!!" was what he shouted as his pacing footsteps raced up the staircase.
One month. Voldemort now fed him at least. One meal a day. Sure, it was only soggy bread, but he was willing to eat most anything for the fact that he was being fed. Voldemort came often, once or twice a day. Ordering out his mindless minions. Sometimes asking questions that Ron would sometimes answer, sometimes the odd pair sat in the dungeon's suffering silence.
Tap tap tap Familiar footsteps descending to the cell. "Hello, Ron." "Hello, Lord." It was their greeting. Voldemort seemed to be in a pleasant mood, and Ron sat indifferent. And Voldemort did something unusual. He began to speak. He told a story of his past. And Ron listened. He was very good at listening. Ron didn't fake it; it was an interesting story of Voldemort's Hogwarts years fifty years ago. The Tale took all day to tell, and Ron was allowed to ask questions. "So that is why Malfoys always have a Crabbe and Goyle?" "Yes." "And why you framed Hagrid?" "Yes." "And the reason why?" Ron said suddenly serious. Voldemort looked at Ron confusion written on his face. "I just explained everything, what do you mean, why?" "Why you hate muggles, your muggle father left you and your mother, so you hate them all now. Or have I not got it right?" Voldemort stared at Ron for a moment, then answered. "Yes, I suppose that is why I hate mudbloods and muggles." Voldemort rolled the thought over in his head a few times, before deciding yes, it was the reason he hated them so. 'Odd, it took a child to help me with that decision. No, not a child, nor a boy. But Ron isn't yet a man either.' Voldemort looked at Ron, who was once more silent in his own thoughts. "Ron?" "What?" "Do you want to take a bath?"
Chapter 3: Of friends
"Yes, I do. Why do you ask?" Asked Ron. This was not expected in the least.
"Come upstairs, there is a nice bath near my quarters." Voldemort looked at the very thin and ghastly pale teenager before him, with a flick of his wand the shackles dropped to the floor. Ron followed silently on shaky feet.
The bathroom was black marble with a spacious tub, which had emerald snakes, leaves, and various silver knot works decorated the black liquid like surface. The mirror on the opposite wall took up nearly all the space, the rest family portraits of the Malfoys. Somehow before Voldemort and He got there, a house elf had put out a set of robes for him to wear.
"Thank you lord." Said Ron, already stripping and about to dive in.
"Please, call me Tom." Ron turned out of surprise before speaking.
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes, Ron, I think I do." Ron smiled so brightly then that Voldemort knew that he had meant his words. Ron had gone though the same discrimination and pain that he had. Ron understood him better then he knew himself. On some levels it was frightening, but when Ron smiled, he felt a warm comfort overcome him. Looking at Ron, Tom Riddle felt a love, for who then on was the prince of the dark one. Voldemort saw Ron as his confidant, and his son.
Ron slipped into his new robes; they were solid black with silver buttons in the fashion of the Chinese. Beneath them was a black tee, Dress pants that gathered at the mid calf, tucked into the top of his new black combat boots (complete with over numbered and sized silver buckles). The outfit fit perfectly, snug in all the right places, with the exception of his back, which was still tender from all the abuse it had received over the past weeks. A silver Cobra gauntlet adorned his left forearm, encrusted with emerald scales and ruby eyes. The snake's head rested comfortably on the back of Ron's hand. The entire ensemble was gothic in its beauty compared to his pale skin, from so long in the dark, and the blood red hair of his heritage.
"Thank you very much Lor-Tom. I appreciate this, greatly." Said Ron carefully to Voldemort.
"No need to be so flighty! I've taken a liking to you, somehow, and have a room prepared for you to stay in. Would you like to go there, and then go for a tour of my palace?"
"Yes please! Thanks Tom!" Another smile from Ron had Tom's heart melting.
"Come along then!" Voldemort said. His snake like features fading into more human ones. The Dark Lord reverted to a normal human appearance, leaving only his blood red eyes to remind Ron of who he was to the rest of the world.
In his new room, Ron fetched a long black cloak, fastened with a sliver dark-mark brooch. A hood hid his face from wind that whipped about his face now that he was outside. Tom had given him a mask to wear as well, almost no one important walked in the palace without one. Ron watched as a few of the death eater's sons played an exuberant game of quiddich.
"You may join them later, if you wish. Once your tour is over with." Tom said.
"That would be great!" Ron replied.
The palace was expansive, and seemed to have no end. Tom showed Ron all the passages, a few not even the most trusted of his followers were allowed to tread. Ron took it all in, not at all put out by the gothic décor of dark marks and such. So much was his enthusiasm; he actually put effort into memorizing its layout as to not ever get lost. At dinner, Ron ate at Tom's immediate right, a position of highest honors. He briefly noticed, that at the bottom of his plate, a green snake pentacle was painted. But then the food arrived and activity whirred about him as he took part in an exciting conversation of quiddich and its needed tactics. Most of the dark followers were more than surprised at his ability to strategize. Tom announced to him then and there that he would have to learn to duel. And that Lucius Malfoy and himself were going to teach him. Ron was glad that Tom was glad. And that was the way it was.
Life was easy for Ron. He woke up to Tom's persistence, ate at his side. Studied dueling for a few hours, then dark spells and such before tackling a bit of his summer homework with his designated tutors. After lunch was all free time that was often spent with the sons of whichever death eaters were presently there. Dinner was always an event; he got in many an argument with McNair, who was his self-appointed manservant. Later he would have time alone with Tom in Tom's private common room, talking of whatever was on their minds. On the last day of summer, that talk was one neither looked forward to. "Ron, you know, summer is ending. You will have to enter school again soon. We received your letter, and have gotten your supplies." Tom said slowly, wanting to avoid the inevitable. "Thanks. Will you write?" "Yes, though I'm not sure how often." "Good." "Yes, good." The silence was painful for Ron, until Tom broke it. "Ron, I know you are a close friend to Potter. It will be fine if you fight against me." He said. "No, it won't!" Ron shouted, startling the dark lord with his outburst. Ron had to take a few deep breaths before calming enough to talk again, finally speaking as Tom's arms encircled him. "I tell you what; I won't fight for you or against you! That way, I don't have to hurt either side." He said with finality, his mind made up. Tom gave Ron a grateful smile before reaching out to the teen adolescent. "Take this, it was mine at your age, and it is the key to your room. You won't be able to take anything else with you, they are to easily seen." He said, pressing a cold something into Ron's palm, closing his hand around it. Ron looked at it and gasped at its simplistic beauty. It was a simple silver chain with an emerald snake pentacle pendant. The symbol looked familiar, but Ron did not dwell on that fact. "Thank you! I will treasure it always." Ron put the unique chain about his neck, and after a while, said his goodnights, and left for bed.
The next morning, clad in black cloak and mask, Ron showed the Necklace to Draco. "Bloody awesome, prince!" Draco exclaimed, using the term that the lesser death eaters knew him by. Anyone out of Tom's inner circle and his 2 guards, Lucius and McNair, did not know his identity. "It is, isn't it? I'm amazed that he would just give it away!" "You've wormed your way into his heart, Prince, he might just do anything for you!" "Yeah, right! Like anyone cares for me that much!" "It's true!! Even I care!!" Said Draco. Ron froze. "Really? You?" "Yes, me. You've been though a lot, Prince. And I usually give credit where it's due." The conversation would have gone on longer, but McNair and Mr. Malfoy called for the boys.
Chapter 4: School again.
Ron sat in silence with McNair during the ride to Kings Cross Station, conversation was too painful. Each had gotten used to the other's almost shadow-like presence, and McNair felt as though he were losing a son, or at least something to that effect. Ron didn't know what to say to break the awful space. But eventually they stood inside the station, in front of the platform, so he didn't have to say anything at all. The pair walked through slowly, side-by-side. The Weaslys were already there, Molly sternly telling the twins to behave, for Ginny to have a good year and whatnot. Ron turned to McNair, "Thank You for everything. You've been wonderful hosts and friends. Can we arrange for this again over next summer? I'd like to stay again." He said, slowly at first, then more confident.
"I'll miss you too, Ron. I sure hope you can. I'll see what we can do. See you next summer."
"Until then." Ron put out his hand, and received a hearty shake. McNair turned on his heel and left, Ron Jogged up to his mother. "Mum!"
"OH! Ron! The train is about to leave! Why aren't you on it? Go, Go! Here are some sandwiches!" Mrs. Weasly ushered her son to the train without noting his sudden appearance.
"Hey Ron! It's been a rough day hasn't it?" asked Harry, who was putting his trunks above. Ron looked at him puzzled, and Harry continued without waiting for Ron's answer. "The twins being as awful as usual, I didn't think they'd snoop so low, did you? Of course you did, they're your brothers! Silly me. Summer was great, but I think." He spoke not noticing Ron's silence. Which was by all means fine for Ron because he wanted time to think and Harry's constant jabbering gave him time to do just that.
'I miss the palace already. What irony, the place I feared before summer I miss when summer is over! I wonder what McNair is doing? He's probably at his house already. I envy any one who can apparate, legally. Just my luck, what changed in Tom to make him actually like me? I just don't see it! Same with Malfoy, how could I have made them stand, much less enjoy, my company? Well-'
"Ron are you listening to me? I told you to get your robes on! I don't want to have to mess with it later!" Harry snapped.
"Sorry Harry! I was thinking about what you were telling me." Replied Ron, Harry was quick to believe him and with a 'humph!' turned around and began pulling on his robe. Ron reached above his head and retrieved his trunk before doing the same. 'WHAT is up with Harry?!'
The sorting was as bland as usual; Ron only clapped when his peer's own applause were thundering around him. Dumbledore's speech was as interesting as cockroach guts, the only highlight being the announcement of dinner. Ron chowed down, listening to clips of speech surrounding him. Mostly on the Death eater attacks that had taken place that summer, Ron knew it all, and more: the planning, the execution, the dates, and who was there, and how many each killed, and if anything, what was stolen too. It was amazing how much even Rita Skeeter didn't know. "I hear that You-Know-Who is somewhere in Romania, I feel sorry for the Durmstrang students!" said Seamus. "I know! But you have to think about it this way: They're learning the dark arts already, so that is the school to take over first!" answered Dean. Ron nearly choked from stifling a laugh. He knew for a fact that that was a rumor spread by McNair in the Ministry, and that Tom was in fact in Switzerland countryside in none other than Malfoy's summer retreat. "You know what I think?" asked Harry. The boys looked at him like a pack of dogs staring adoringly at their master, "I think he is too scared to do anything! We'll have plenty of time to relax, we wiped out a lot of Death Eaters this summer, and he won't be able to do much until he's gathered more recruits! Ron looked down while the others laughed, and congratulating Harry on his genius thought. The parties sent out on raids were small and in all truth, the Aurorers had suffered more casualties than the dark side. Ron briefly remembered the laugh of a young Death Eater who had been captured by them early in his stay with Tom. He had not known him long, but they had been friends. That was enough for Ron. He tuned back into the conversation, which had turned to Quiddich.
Chapter 5: Potions
Ron skidded into the Potions room barely on time. He had overslept for not the first time since school started a month back, he was still adjusting to having to wake up on his own. Snape looked at his wrinkled robes in disgust as Ron ran his hand though his hair and took the final remaining seat, next to Neville. Ron could hardly believe such a nice Guy like Snape could pull off the kind of deception he did every year. When Tom had him studying 'black potions', the potions used more often than not for evil purpose, Snape had treated him as though any normal person treated a favored nephew. It didn't take him long to gain Snape's unwavering trust, and for Snape to reveal he was very much a like a kind Hufflepuff. Snape's Syltherin roots would have not allowed him to show it anywhere but with the closest of friend or kin, though.
Than again, he didn't know he was talking to Ron Weasly, either.
"Mr. Weasly, care to explain your tardiness?" He asked, voice drooling venom.
"I'm sorry sir, I overslept." And noticed too late it sounded just like back that summer, already an eternity away, when he gave excuses in the exact same manor. Snape looked at him, he recognized it too.
"I will speak to you in my office after class, Mr. Weasly." And he swept away. Ron let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and potions resumed as usual with only a few odd looks directed at him.
"I feel sorry for you, mate." Said Harry in a fake sympathetic voice. Over summer he had not only come to terms with Cedric's death, but, got an overly pompous attitude. Ron didn't really know how, only it had to do with the news reporters finally learning where he lived, if not being aloud to tell where. "Snape is the biggest pain in the arse I know. Well, besides Malfoy anyway. Hope you get away without too much detention!" He left then, waltzing to Dean and Seamus. Ron sniffed at his retreating back before turning to face his doom.
Upon entering Snape's office, Ron remembered all the horrors of it seen during his short visit on the first night of second year. Dust that clotted around dripping water puddles, and jars of pickled and preserved animals and such lined the walls of the dank closet like space lit with a single torch whose light was magnified by mirrors set skillfully around the compact area. Snape faced him with an unreadable expression. "Well?" Snape asked.
"Well, what?" Ron asked trying to play dumb. Snape gave him a look. Ron looked down, and asked. "Where's your real office?" Snape blinked, shook his head, looked at Ron, before laughing and standing up.
"So it is you, Prince. Somehow I couldn't quite believe it. This way." Ron followed Snape to the blank wall behind a menacing desk of carved wood. Snape took out his wand and tapped a brick. The wall opened to reveal a much more comfortable chamber office. Still no window, but it wasn't dank, had more pillows than anything else, and was brightly lit. One small writing desk in the corner had a small stack of un-graded papers. Here, they began to talk.
Ron and Snape's talk had lasted deep into the night, skipping all classes. Snape demanded a swearing to keep secrets and Ron never saw end to his persisting questions. At 2 in the morning he finally told Snape that they had the rest of the year to talk, and he should take 50 points from Griffindor as to not look suspicious. After a brief visit to the kitchens, Ron stumbled to the dorms, where he presently collapsed onto the bed, and fell asleep.
Chapter 6: The beginning of Chaos
The year passed too slowly for Ron. Slow from fall to winter. Slow from winter too spring. Letters from Tom were few, and far between, but the ones that he got were long in length. As if to make up for all the letters missed in between. Most outlines how the "home life" was going. In simpler terms: coded plans that weren't yet official. Ron would send replies about how school was going, codes for what to do or not to do. He did not always answer though. Life was tolerable for Ron Weasly.
Ron was eating breakfast, desperately trying to study for a divinations test during the first class of the day. Usually he didn't, Professor Trelawny ate up anything painful or agonizing, but he just didn't want to sit though Harry's chatter today. Harry had become completely insufferable. Somehow his previously non-existent ego had blown up to a huge mass rivaling Malfoy's own. Any time he opened his mouth it seems, Ron could feel a headache begin right between his eyes and pounding in the back of his skull.
Harry walked into the great hall wearily. His exuberant and haughty mannerisms were missing from his step. Ron looked up as he trotted to Dumbledore and began to talk really fast. Dumbledore's eyes widened and he stood to make an announcement.
"Students, please return to your dorms as soon as possible. Professors, please come here. All classes canceled until further notice.NOW!" A note of urgency was placed on the final word, and the students and faculty slowly began to rise. Ron stuck behind to play the loyal sidekick.
"Ron! I had a vision dream last night! Aragog and the spiders were all killed! Voldemort isn't in Romania at all! He's tricked us! He's somewhere in the forbidden forest!! Oh my gosh, Ron, what are we going to do? Hagrid will be heartbroken!" Ron, was momentarily confused. Slowly trying to absorb what it was exactly Harry had said. Then, another thought struck him. Tom was early. In his letters, it was said he was going to wait at least another month until he came to try a raid on Hogwarts. Noticing Harry was staring at him, waiting for an answer, Ron quickly replied.
"I have no Idea, Harry." He didn't need to fake honesty. Suddenly, Dumbledore went stiff.
"They've entered the grounds. Hogsmeade has fallen." The teachers gasped, and Snape looked at Ron very quickly before his gaze returned to the Headmaster.
"Harry, I've got to go tell Hermione." Said Ron. He waited just long enough to see Harry nod his agreement before tearing off to Griffindor tower.
"HERMIONE! FRED! GEORGE! GIN!" Ron shouted into the rowdy commons. They arrived in short order. "Harry told me to tell you, get to the forbidden forest! That's where the Death Eaters are, but they won't go looking there either. Stay away from Hogsmeade, that's where they're headed from. Go, quick!"
" Death Eaters? Here at Hogwarts? I thought they were in Romania!" Squealed Ginny. The others had similar reactions. Fred and George wanted to get Lee, and Ron said fine, but to do it quietly. If too many people went missing and unfound, they would probably realize where they were.
"Ron, are you coming?" Asked Hermione as she was stepping out of the portrait hole.
" I will be in a moment. Go on, I can catch up! Wait in the woods behind Hagrid's hut! I'll meet you all there." Ron felt a twinge of guilt of sending them to meet Death Eaters, but Tom said anyone They met in the forest would be safe: by the order of the Prince. Once they disappeared behind a bend in the hall Ron streaked up the stairs to the 5th year dorms.
He dashed into their bathrooms and brushed his teeth, he figured by the time he was done they would be safe in the trees. Spitting into the sink, he dashed out again, and unnoticed in the crowd, slipped out the portrait hole and made a beeline for the Dungeons.
He dodged Filtch easily and ducked into a certain unused classroom. There, he waited.
Chapter 7: Chaos
McNair entered not much later, bearing a package under his thick arm. Ron smiled at him, but spared the greetings, more than likely McNair was running late. Anytime he wore the white death eater mask he seemed to lose his sense of time. He'd told Ron it was because he always felt as though everything would go his way: even time.
Ron stepped into an attached and unused office to change into the robes of his prince persona. Lastly he held the white mask with the three horizontal lines over his each of his eyes and his mouth to his face. He whispered the spells that kept it in place, and returned to the classroom. Ron felt McNair smile, and they exited.
Ron's black cloak billowed behind him, as McNair was walking fairly fast. "McNair! Why the rush? Is something wrong?" Ron asked, tugging on the large man's sleeve. McNair slowed, and looked at Ron, the prince, and heaved a heavy sigh. "No, nothing's wrong, but, when we first started out on this attack, I was really pumped up about it. Just now though, I got a really bad feeling. Right when you stepped out of that office. You know, one of those really bad feelings you get when you know something is going to go really, horribly wrong?" McNair looked at Ron through the white mask of the damned. "I'm, I think I'm, worried, about you. I think that you may get hurt." He said, with much difficulty. Ron felt himself smile, someone was worried about him! "Don't worry, Mc. I'll be fine! I'll be out of all the hard fighting, nothing should happen to me. I know how to care for myself! Besides, why did I take all those dueling lessons from Mal and Tom for?" He said offhandedly. He waved a hand at the broad shouldered man and continued through the corridors. McNair didn't seem convinced, but he followed.
McNair led Ron to the back lawn of the castle, and out to where the fighting was near non existent: The quiddich field. It had been planed that way so that Ron would be relatively safe from wand fire. Tom hoped. McNair then left, to join the fighting. Ron hoped that he'd come out alive. He waited a long time by the Slytherin stands, amusing himself by drawing pictures in the safety sand pit with a small stick. He looked toward the fighting every once in awhile to try and assess which side was winning. He was doodling a snitch when he suddenly heard a disturbance in the fighting. It was quieter. As if the majority of fighters had stopped tossing curses back and forth. Beneath the mask, Ron's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. He rose stiffly, worked out a few tight muscles, and began to climb the stands. Upon reaching the top, he looked out to the battlefield. Letting out a stream of curses, he climbed back down. Ron whispered profanities at the north tower, which perfectly blocked his view of the fighting. He would have to go through the forest. Ron exited the stand and, with his cloak whispering against the primly cut grass, entered the forest. He circled around the castle, making as little noise as possible for a person with a cloak that bushed the leaf-covered ground. When he finally came into view of the battle he saw why everyone else was silent and near motionless. Harry and Tom were locked into a duel. Everyone else, the death eaters, teachers, and scattered 7th years, were watching with rapt attention. They knew that the outcome of the entire battle was waged on the outcome of that single duel. Ron did not root for either side. How could he? Harry, though having become egotistical, was still his best friend. And Tom was like an uncle to him! Choosing sides was like saying 'I like you better!' even though only Tom would know it. The duel took a sudden turn, and Tom was forced to his knees, Harry 20 feet away, holding both wands, and smiling triumphantly. Ron's heart tore in two at that very moment. Harry spoke then. "Now, Voldemort! All your power? All your allies? Where are they, Voldemort? Your men, frozen, they stopped fighting! And your magic? I have your wand! There's no escaping it, Tom. Look! You're on your knees and bleeding your life away!" He sneered. Ron saw it too, Tom was bleeding from his right arm, and his hand over the wound did nothing to stifle the bleeding. Blood was dripping from between his slicked fingers. Dumbledore said something to Harry that Ron couldn't hear, but Harry nodded and spoke again. "Now, Voldemort, for all your crimes, you will die! Once and for all, so we can be free!" Harry pointed the wand. Ron was moving before he could think. Harry's mouth was moving, forming the forbidden words. Ron's eyes were leaking salty tears and his vision blurred for a split second before they fell onto his hidden face. He shoved his way into the still crowd of onlookers, and flung himself between Tom and Harry. "NO!!" Ron shouted, latching to Tom's robes. Tom's eyes widened with fear. "Get off! Get out of here! What are you thinking?!" Tom whispered. He franticly tried to pry the clinging boy off with his uninjured hand, but it was so slick with blood he couldn't get a grip on him. Ron was suddenly aware of someone trying to pull him off from behind; the thick arms could have only belonged to McNair. Between Toms shouted pleas, McNair's curses, and his own sobs. He couldn't hear the terrified death eaters. Or Harry's curse.
Then, Ron knew oblivion.
Chapter 8: Snape
Snape woke to the blank white of the Infirmary. Madam Pomfry bustled over in the blink of an eye and began to chat nonchalantly. She saw it her civic duty to cheer him up whenever he got hurt somehow. At the moment though, he really didn't give as to whatever she was saying. Quickly raising a hand he efficiently stopped her chatter. He gave her one of his patented looks from behind his dark lashes and asked, "How long have I been here?"
He remembered parts of the battle, but most of it was as battles are: a big blur. "You've been knocked out by means of a stupefy for about five hours," she said. He opened his mouth to ask another question when she continued, "During that time Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord once and for all even if in strange circumstance. You have been here for the past hour." She smirked at him, and he could only join in for fact that she had answered the exact question he was going to ask. She was getting good at predicting him. Snape raised himself up off the cot and looked about the room. There were several cots set up and most of the beds had the last of the recovering patients in them. Pomfry smiled down on him and her eyes clearly said she was only too happy to have the war over. Before he could ask if he could get up, she was engulfing him in a crushing hug.
"Don't exert yourself, Severus. You should be fine in another half an hour." She said, patting his head as if he were a child. He found himself rolling his eyes at her before swinging his legs off the bed, still with shoes on, and stood to look out the infirmary's windows. It was sunset, which Snape found fitting, as it was the end of an era of terror. He looked about the grounds and saw with satisfaction many death eaters being hauled away and Voldemort's body being loaded into a ministry van. Poppy Pomfry followed his gaze and sighed wistfully.
"Pity that boy had to die as well." She muttered. Snape froze.
"Potter died too?!" He yelped. She gave him a look.
"No, Severus! Mr. Potter did not! Some boy the death eaters called 'The Prince' did! My, Severus, are you alright?" she asked, her condescending tone shifting to concerned in the span of a moment. Snape had felt the blood drain from his face. His usually sickly pallor had gone sheet white to match the bedding of all the cots. Eyes wide, he choked, hand raised to his mouth in shock. His eyes stopped working correctly and he began to step backward blindly before the back of his knees hit his cot and he sat on it harshly.
Madam Pomfry quickly rushed to his aid, but he was on his feet just as suddenly, his hands pressed to the window, eyes searching fast. Praying silently to gods he hadn't spoken to in a while that what she said wasn't true. But he saw.
The Princes silver gauntlet was gleaming in the sun's fiery light. The white mask stared at nothing, a ring of Slytherin students kept a small crowd away. Among that crowd were foul speaking students, reporters who wanted to know who he was, and Dumbledore himself, who seemed to be there only to figure out this unknown piece of the puzzle.
Snape didn't realize what he was doing until he noticed Madam Pomfry was yelling at him from behind, he was running down the corridor, tears streaming down his face.
Snape burst through the front doors of Hogwarts: School of witchcraft and wizardry. Without pause, he sprinted to the congregation of people trying to see the prince, who had died in protection of the Dark Lord Voldemort. He shoved his way through, the angry shouts viciously thrown at him falling on deaf ears. He reached the Slytherin ring, and looked at Malfoy, who's morose face mirrored his own exactly. Malfoy waved a hand, and the ring opened to let him through. The masses went quiet as if they knew what happened next would be big.
Snape stumbled to the fallen boy, whose mask was still in place. He kneeled to stoke the mask, then felt his neck and hands. They were cold. Too cold. The tears re-doubled in number as Snape took the limp figure into his arms and cried into the dead boy's still chest. A hand landed on his shoulder. He twisted his head to look at the questioning headmaster.
"Dumbledore?" Snape asked in his daze.
"Severus? Why are you crying? That boy was a death eater, wasn't he?" Dumbledore suddenly looked unsure of himself. Snape set the boy down and dragged his sleeve over his eyes; the tears stung his cheeks because it had been such a long time since he last had.
"No, Dumbledore. He was not a death eater. He was just a boy! A boy who gained the trust and love of someone who knew nothing about such things, Lord Voldemort! He brought thought and civility to the death eaters he met. None opposed him because he did not fight with them, and somewhere inside them, he invoked a peace. Peace of mind, heart, soul. He let them find peace. No, Dumbledore. He was not a death eater. He stated blatantly that there was no way, on pain of death, that he would join. No. He was not a death eater." He said. The ring of Slytherins that surrounded them, now facing inward, were either nodding sorrowfully, or wiping fresh tears away. A few did both.
Dumbledore looked quite taken aback at the choked voice of the School's renowned Potion Professor. Then looked down in shame. "I'm very sorry for your loss then, Severus. And I'm sorry to say, that I was the one who told Mr. Potter to fire the curse. It is no excuse, but we were in battle! It could have been over, if only the young boy hadn't leapt in front of Voldemort! I was not thinking of lives hurt by loss, all I saw was a regrettably young death eater trying to protect a monster of a man."
Snape stared at Dumbledore for a long moment that stretched for hours. Then turned when the headmaster could no longer hold his gaze. He lifted the prince and began to walk away. The crowd parted like water for him. The Slytherins followed like a weak imitation of a burial procession.
"I'll hold his funeral, if you don't mind." He said, half turning his head to the headmaster, but he didn't really look at him. He was too deep in thought.
Chapter 9: Funeral Finale
Snape stood at the podium of a modest funeral home that was overrun by anybody that was anybody in the English wizarding world. Many were reporters trying to get the story of the boy who gave his life for the Dark Lord, but many were students at Hogwarts and their families. Harry, the guilty party for killing the Prince, was predictably with the Weaslys, who did their best to comfort him in his halfhearted shame. He was guilty, but he saw reason in his actions, and felt moderately justified. But he still felt bad.
Snape looked around for a moment while the attendees, who were so great in number they crammed against walls and still had a line out the door, calmed and settled down.
"Well, I suppose," said Snape, "I should start at when he was kidnapped. Yes, settle down, he was kidnapped. His father was becoming a problem to the Dark Lord, so he lured the boy out into the woods behind his house, and then stupefied him.
"He was taken to the Lord's Palace, obviously. There, he told the dark lord to his face that he should expect nothing for taking him. He said that his disappearance would go unnoticed. A week later, the boy had been put through torture, beatings, and interrogation. Nor had his family noticed his disappearance. The Lord returned to him to ask how he'd known nothing would happen. Calmly, the boy said that he was always unnoticed. Loved with the same passion, but he did nothing to call attention to himself, and so went through his life in the shadows.
"At this point, Voldemort seemed to see in the boy a piece of his own past. Now, no one knows what was said in their next conversation, but during their next several hours together, they bonded in a way. This bond only grew with time. Voldemort took the lost child in, clothed him, and protected him. It was found the boy could strategize, so he was trained to duel well. He was taught dark curses, and their counter-curses. It seemed as though Voldemort was perfecting a new human weapon for a while. Many death eaters were sure that was the case. But he turned around on them when he showed what they lacked, compassion. His compassion was beyond their comprehension. He cared so much for everything he did, and for everyone he did it with, that they found their own hearts melting. Given time, he may have stopped this war. Bloodshed would have stopped by words, not more bloodshed.
"I was more than honored to have figured out the identity of the 'Prince'. I did it when he came back to school. Hogwarts students, did you notice one of your own was dead?" When Snape said this, the students, parents, and the house heads looked about in shock.
"He and I talked for a long while about how he came to be called the prince. Then we talked about me. I had taught to him the potions he had learned in the palace, you see. I had opened up to him then, and revealed, willingly no less, some of my most harshly kept secrets.
"In short, to all of you who have come to the last goodbye of this remarkable person, how many of you actually care? I don't doubt you feel something, you came after all. But did you know who died? Can you find the missing face among you? I see his family; they're looking around in confusion just like the rest of you! " Severus Snape waited patiently for everyone to begin shaking their heads. A hand rose.
"Yes, Potter?"
"You know, he sounds as though he really was a, well, he was a really great guy. Is all." Harry said.
"Mr. Potter, it is quite ironic that you were the one to say that, especially after killing him." Snape sneered. He walked to the sleek, shiny, black casket. The prince's white mask and black hood still hid him. Snape covered him, and the audience watched as the mask was placed over the dead boys hands. "I'm sorry Mrs. Weasly, you just spread yourself too thin." He said, just loud enough for them to hear. Snape walked out of the funeral home, the door cutting off her scream.
End Notes: This is the end. No more, you want to write more, e-mail me, ask permission, and we'll see. I wrote this over a span of almost a year, and I admit, it stinks. I'm an amateur! This is the first complete thing I have EVER written. I used Microsoft Word, so if the paragraphing sucks, I'm sorry, I don't know how to fix it, if I ever learn I will. Disclaimer: I NO OWN! PLOT MINE! NOTHING ELSE! THE REST BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS! Now if you'll excuse me, I want to go to sleep! (It's 4:12 AM)
Ron looked at the commotion about him. He didn't care. All he noticed was everything that they didn't. Ron's eyes flicked about the clearing that his brothers were playing a not-so-quiet game of quiddich in. He was only sitting at the sidelines; Fred and George (along with the silent scorning of Charlie, Bill, Percy, and Ginny) had kicked him off his broom, telling him he dropped the Quaffal too much, that he should just watch. It took a whole of a half a minute for them to forget he was there. Through their shouting, none of them could hear the silent night, not usual, seeing it was only a warm summer night and all the birds should have been chirping like the non-existent crickets!
As Ron looked about he could almost hear the long cloaks circling the entire area. Or was it his imagination? Ron found he had to pretend a lot, with all his family treating him as though he was either transparent or some warped and worthless stress ball. He looked around, not satisfied he disregarded the growing lump of fear in his throat and pushed himself up to check out the surrounding trees. He didn't bother informing his 'siblings'.
"Hello? Is anyone here?" Ron asked the air when he felt safe that no one was in hearing distance. He did not want the twins to joke about 'Little Ikkle Ronniekins hearing a bump in the woods!' "Hello? ----I said- AH!" He never finished. Red light the color of his hair had surged from nowhere, the knockout curse Ron noted, and had stuck him unconscious...
"Wha? Where?" Ron blinked the sleep from his eyes, fuzzy pictures swirled, and he vaguely saw hooded figures. As they began to sway into focus, He could see he was in some dank dungeon. Groundwater from soil overhead seeped into the stonewalled catacomb and the depressing drip of water pounded into his skull like a hangover.
"Quiet! You're here only to serve as the bait, you worthless weasel!" One of the ominous figures spat. Ron shrunk away, trying to remember what happened. Suddenly, like a tidal wave, the rush of memory washed over him and he was at a loss of words, not that he could speak anyway. His throat was like sandpaper dried for a week under intense sun.
He risked a glance at his black robed captors, he studied them carefully. One was broad in the shoulder, and thicker in the arm, a man who used brute force to do hard labor if his knarled hands gave any indication. The other was fair, frail, but held himself with a proud, almost insufferable, ego. The posture of a Malfoy. 'Must have picked up the habit of calling me weasel from his son.' Thought Ron, doing his best to drag his mind into a more functioning mode.
Briefly noticing the shackles on his wrists and ankles that kept him bound to the wall, Ron dragged himself to the darkest corner he could reach before leaning against it to wait for the next 'shock of a lifetime' with any luck, he would fall asleep.
After silence for what seemed hours on end, broken only with the death eaters hushed whispers, Ron heard footsteps echoing into the small casement. Malfoy stood at attention to the door, waiting for the visitor. Ron glanced upward, during the silence he had slid to lay on the floor. He almost cried out, it was Voldemort. The most feared wizard in the world. Voldemort was gazing with red eyes, gazing strait into Ron's mud brown ones. Ron was almost sure that the evil man could sense his fear, if not see it as it was most likely plastered onto his face.
"Lucius, get any information you can out of him, but don't kill him, we still can use him. I don't care what you have to do." All was said with little pity for the trembling boy shackled to the wall. "Little Weasly, do you know what you are here for? You are the bait, you see, your father has become a threat, and he needs to be eliminated. Once he notices your disappearance, we will name our price, his life, or yours. He refuses, and you die."
"Sorry to burst your bubble," said Ron, "but you'll be waiting awhile. He won't notice, nor will anyone else, not for a long time. End of summer, maybe. My mother usually needs to yell at someone around that time, no way would she yell at someone else." Voldermort's eyes narrowed, he doubted that a family like the Weaslys would ignore one of their own.
"We'll see, LUCIUS! Get on with it!" With that, the dark lord was gone.
Chapter 2, torture and talks.
It had been a week, Ron was covered in dried blood, mostly on his back, where Malfoy's whip had cut his flesh into ribbons. Half scabbed, red marks, and angry bruises covered his half naked form. Shirt and Robe had literally been ripped from his back causing large welts to form. His eyes had large circles under them, from the lack of sleep due to nightmares that ritually plagued his dream world. He was barely surprised as the sound of the cook passed his stall again; he was starving for another meal, having not eaten since being snatched from his home licking water from the damp walls was not Ron's idea of a good life. Ron was sure he would die, but by now he welcomed the solace that would accompany death. Footsteps echoed down to him, alerting the caged boy to another soul approaching.
"Boy, it has been a week since I told you where you were. Since you told me not one person would notice, I did not believe you then. Why is it, that even with my servants watching your muggle-loving family day and night, they have gone on without worry or outburst?" Asked Voldemort. His eyebrows rose in question. Ron had held his own against the Death eaters that came daily to torture him, his fear long having gave way to the feeling of indifference. So he answered with a voice empty of emotion.
"My eldest siblings do not think of me as their equal, so they ignore me by habit. The twins believe that I get in the way too much. Ginny and I have never held much of a bond, she likes Percy much better. My mum has to deal with all the other things going on in the house, and my father is always at work. I am ignored in my family, and that is a fact. If you wanted a ruckus, you should have taken the twins." Ron's eyes hadn't moved from the stone wall opposite him. Voldemort stood stock still, as though he were shocked. He stepped forward a few feet, leaving the gate open.
"So they just haven't noticed your disappearing?"
"More as though they don't care whether I'm gone. Bloody annoying." Voldemort sat down.
"Have you ever had that feeling of hopelessness?" He asked after getting comfortable on Ron's dirty cell floor.
"That feeling where you have no control, but want it so badly you'd die? Yes. Have I the courage to die?" Ron looked at the feet of his captor, and then slowly raised his eyes to meet Voldemort's. "No." 'His eyes look haunted.'Thought Tom Riddle, the lord Voldemort. His lips moved before he realized what he was saying.
"I used to have that feeling too, boy. Right after my father left my mother."
"Really now? That's uncalled for. Leaving a family behind." Voldemort almost chuckled.
"He was a muggle, boy." Ron raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise.
"Well my family is pureblood. Are they so different?" The answer took the dark lord by surprise, and his head snapped from its leisurely position to stare at the young red head. Abruptly he stood up to take his leave.
"McNair! 100 lashes to the prisoner!!" was what he shouted as his pacing footsteps raced up the staircase.
One month. Voldemort now fed him at least. One meal a day. Sure, it was only soggy bread, but he was willing to eat most anything for the fact that he was being fed. Voldemort came often, once or twice a day. Ordering out his mindless minions. Sometimes asking questions that Ron would sometimes answer, sometimes the odd pair sat in the dungeon's suffering silence.
Tap tap tap Familiar footsteps descending to the cell. "Hello, Ron." "Hello, Lord." It was their greeting. Voldemort seemed to be in a pleasant mood, and Ron sat indifferent. And Voldemort did something unusual. He began to speak. He told a story of his past. And Ron listened. He was very good at listening. Ron didn't fake it; it was an interesting story of Voldemort's Hogwarts years fifty years ago. The Tale took all day to tell, and Ron was allowed to ask questions. "So that is why Malfoys always have a Crabbe and Goyle?" "Yes." "And why you framed Hagrid?" "Yes." "And the reason why?" Ron said suddenly serious. Voldemort looked at Ron confusion written on his face. "I just explained everything, what do you mean, why?" "Why you hate muggles, your muggle father left you and your mother, so you hate them all now. Or have I not got it right?" Voldemort stared at Ron for a moment, then answered. "Yes, I suppose that is why I hate mudbloods and muggles." Voldemort rolled the thought over in his head a few times, before deciding yes, it was the reason he hated them so. 'Odd, it took a child to help me with that decision. No, not a child, nor a boy. But Ron isn't yet a man either.' Voldemort looked at Ron, who was once more silent in his own thoughts. "Ron?" "What?" "Do you want to take a bath?"
Chapter 3: Of friends
"Yes, I do. Why do you ask?" Asked Ron. This was not expected in the least.
"Come upstairs, there is a nice bath near my quarters." Voldemort looked at the very thin and ghastly pale teenager before him, with a flick of his wand the shackles dropped to the floor. Ron followed silently on shaky feet.
The bathroom was black marble with a spacious tub, which had emerald snakes, leaves, and various silver knot works decorated the black liquid like surface. The mirror on the opposite wall took up nearly all the space, the rest family portraits of the Malfoys. Somehow before Voldemort and He got there, a house elf had put out a set of robes for him to wear.
"Thank you lord." Said Ron, already stripping and about to dive in.
"Please, call me Tom." Ron turned out of surprise before speaking.
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes, Ron, I think I do." Ron smiled so brightly then that Voldemort knew that he had meant his words. Ron had gone though the same discrimination and pain that he had. Ron understood him better then he knew himself. On some levels it was frightening, but when Ron smiled, he felt a warm comfort overcome him. Looking at Ron, Tom Riddle felt a love, for who then on was the prince of the dark one. Voldemort saw Ron as his confidant, and his son.
Ron slipped into his new robes; they were solid black with silver buttons in the fashion of the Chinese. Beneath them was a black tee, Dress pants that gathered at the mid calf, tucked into the top of his new black combat boots (complete with over numbered and sized silver buckles). The outfit fit perfectly, snug in all the right places, with the exception of his back, which was still tender from all the abuse it had received over the past weeks. A silver Cobra gauntlet adorned his left forearm, encrusted with emerald scales and ruby eyes. The snake's head rested comfortably on the back of Ron's hand. The entire ensemble was gothic in its beauty compared to his pale skin, from so long in the dark, and the blood red hair of his heritage.
"Thank you very much Lor-Tom. I appreciate this, greatly." Said Ron carefully to Voldemort.
"No need to be so flighty! I've taken a liking to you, somehow, and have a room prepared for you to stay in. Would you like to go there, and then go for a tour of my palace?"
"Yes please! Thanks Tom!" Another smile from Ron had Tom's heart melting.
"Come along then!" Voldemort said. His snake like features fading into more human ones. The Dark Lord reverted to a normal human appearance, leaving only his blood red eyes to remind Ron of who he was to the rest of the world.
In his new room, Ron fetched a long black cloak, fastened with a sliver dark-mark brooch. A hood hid his face from wind that whipped about his face now that he was outside. Tom had given him a mask to wear as well, almost no one important walked in the palace without one. Ron watched as a few of the death eater's sons played an exuberant game of quiddich.
"You may join them later, if you wish. Once your tour is over with." Tom said.
"That would be great!" Ron replied.
The palace was expansive, and seemed to have no end. Tom showed Ron all the passages, a few not even the most trusted of his followers were allowed to tread. Ron took it all in, not at all put out by the gothic décor of dark marks and such. So much was his enthusiasm; he actually put effort into memorizing its layout as to not ever get lost. At dinner, Ron ate at Tom's immediate right, a position of highest honors. He briefly noticed, that at the bottom of his plate, a green snake pentacle was painted. But then the food arrived and activity whirred about him as he took part in an exciting conversation of quiddich and its needed tactics. Most of the dark followers were more than surprised at his ability to strategize. Tom announced to him then and there that he would have to learn to duel. And that Lucius Malfoy and himself were going to teach him. Ron was glad that Tom was glad. And that was the way it was.
Life was easy for Ron. He woke up to Tom's persistence, ate at his side. Studied dueling for a few hours, then dark spells and such before tackling a bit of his summer homework with his designated tutors. After lunch was all free time that was often spent with the sons of whichever death eaters were presently there. Dinner was always an event; he got in many an argument with McNair, who was his self-appointed manservant. Later he would have time alone with Tom in Tom's private common room, talking of whatever was on their minds. On the last day of summer, that talk was one neither looked forward to. "Ron, you know, summer is ending. You will have to enter school again soon. We received your letter, and have gotten your supplies." Tom said slowly, wanting to avoid the inevitable. "Thanks. Will you write?" "Yes, though I'm not sure how often." "Good." "Yes, good." The silence was painful for Ron, until Tom broke it. "Ron, I know you are a close friend to Potter. It will be fine if you fight against me." He said. "No, it won't!" Ron shouted, startling the dark lord with his outburst. Ron had to take a few deep breaths before calming enough to talk again, finally speaking as Tom's arms encircled him. "I tell you what; I won't fight for you or against you! That way, I don't have to hurt either side." He said with finality, his mind made up. Tom gave Ron a grateful smile before reaching out to the teen adolescent. "Take this, it was mine at your age, and it is the key to your room. You won't be able to take anything else with you, they are to easily seen." He said, pressing a cold something into Ron's palm, closing his hand around it. Ron looked at it and gasped at its simplistic beauty. It was a simple silver chain with an emerald snake pentacle pendant. The symbol looked familiar, but Ron did not dwell on that fact. "Thank you! I will treasure it always." Ron put the unique chain about his neck, and after a while, said his goodnights, and left for bed.
The next morning, clad in black cloak and mask, Ron showed the Necklace to Draco. "Bloody awesome, prince!" Draco exclaimed, using the term that the lesser death eaters knew him by. Anyone out of Tom's inner circle and his 2 guards, Lucius and McNair, did not know his identity. "It is, isn't it? I'm amazed that he would just give it away!" "You've wormed your way into his heart, Prince, he might just do anything for you!" "Yeah, right! Like anyone cares for me that much!" "It's true!! Even I care!!" Said Draco. Ron froze. "Really? You?" "Yes, me. You've been though a lot, Prince. And I usually give credit where it's due." The conversation would have gone on longer, but McNair and Mr. Malfoy called for the boys.
Chapter 4: School again.
Ron sat in silence with McNair during the ride to Kings Cross Station, conversation was too painful. Each had gotten used to the other's almost shadow-like presence, and McNair felt as though he were losing a son, or at least something to that effect. Ron didn't know what to say to break the awful space. But eventually they stood inside the station, in front of the platform, so he didn't have to say anything at all. The pair walked through slowly, side-by-side. The Weaslys were already there, Molly sternly telling the twins to behave, for Ginny to have a good year and whatnot. Ron turned to McNair, "Thank You for everything. You've been wonderful hosts and friends. Can we arrange for this again over next summer? I'd like to stay again." He said, slowly at first, then more confident.
"I'll miss you too, Ron. I sure hope you can. I'll see what we can do. See you next summer."
"Until then." Ron put out his hand, and received a hearty shake. McNair turned on his heel and left, Ron Jogged up to his mother. "Mum!"
"OH! Ron! The train is about to leave! Why aren't you on it? Go, Go! Here are some sandwiches!" Mrs. Weasly ushered her son to the train without noting his sudden appearance.
"Hey Ron! It's been a rough day hasn't it?" asked Harry, who was putting his trunks above. Ron looked at him puzzled, and Harry continued without waiting for Ron's answer. "The twins being as awful as usual, I didn't think they'd snoop so low, did you? Of course you did, they're your brothers! Silly me. Summer was great, but I think." He spoke not noticing Ron's silence. Which was by all means fine for Ron because he wanted time to think and Harry's constant jabbering gave him time to do just that.
'I miss the palace already. What irony, the place I feared before summer I miss when summer is over! I wonder what McNair is doing? He's probably at his house already. I envy any one who can apparate, legally. Just my luck, what changed in Tom to make him actually like me? I just don't see it! Same with Malfoy, how could I have made them stand, much less enjoy, my company? Well-'
"Ron are you listening to me? I told you to get your robes on! I don't want to have to mess with it later!" Harry snapped.
"Sorry Harry! I was thinking about what you were telling me." Replied Ron, Harry was quick to believe him and with a 'humph!' turned around and began pulling on his robe. Ron reached above his head and retrieved his trunk before doing the same. 'WHAT is up with Harry?!'
The sorting was as bland as usual; Ron only clapped when his peer's own applause were thundering around him. Dumbledore's speech was as interesting as cockroach guts, the only highlight being the announcement of dinner. Ron chowed down, listening to clips of speech surrounding him. Mostly on the Death eater attacks that had taken place that summer, Ron knew it all, and more: the planning, the execution, the dates, and who was there, and how many each killed, and if anything, what was stolen too. It was amazing how much even Rita Skeeter didn't know. "I hear that You-Know-Who is somewhere in Romania, I feel sorry for the Durmstrang students!" said Seamus. "I know! But you have to think about it this way: They're learning the dark arts already, so that is the school to take over first!" answered Dean. Ron nearly choked from stifling a laugh. He knew for a fact that that was a rumor spread by McNair in the Ministry, and that Tom was in fact in Switzerland countryside in none other than Malfoy's summer retreat. "You know what I think?" asked Harry. The boys looked at him like a pack of dogs staring adoringly at their master, "I think he is too scared to do anything! We'll have plenty of time to relax, we wiped out a lot of Death Eaters this summer, and he won't be able to do much until he's gathered more recruits! Ron looked down while the others laughed, and congratulating Harry on his genius thought. The parties sent out on raids were small and in all truth, the Aurorers had suffered more casualties than the dark side. Ron briefly remembered the laugh of a young Death Eater who had been captured by them early in his stay with Tom. He had not known him long, but they had been friends. That was enough for Ron. He tuned back into the conversation, which had turned to Quiddich.
Chapter 5: Potions
Ron skidded into the Potions room barely on time. He had overslept for not the first time since school started a month back, he was still adjusting to having to wake up on his own. Snape looked at his wrinkled robes in disgust as Ron ran his hand though his hair and took the final remaining seat, next to Neville. Ron could hardly believe such a nice Guy like Snape could pull off the kind of deception he did every year. When Tom had him studying 'black potions', the potions used more often than not for evil purpose, Snape had treated him as though any normal person treated a favored nephew. It didn't take him long to gain Snape's unwavering trust, and for Snape to reveal he was very much a like a kind Hufflepuff. Snape's Syltherin roots would have not allowed him to show it anywhere but with the closest of friend or kin, though.
Than again, he didn't know he was talking to Ron Weasly, either.
"Mr. Weasly, care to explain your tardiness?" He asked, voice drooling venom.
"I'm sorry sir, I overslept." And noticed too late it sounded just like back that summer, already an eternity away, when he gave excuses in the exact same manor. Snape looked at him, he recognized it too.
"I will speak to you in my office after class, Mr. Weasly." And he swept away. Ron let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and potions resumed as usual with only a few odd looks directed at him.
"I feel sorry for you, mate." Said Harry in a fake sympathetic voice. Over summer he had not only come to terms with Cedric's death, but, got an overly pompous attitude. Ron didn't really know how, only it had to do with the news reporters finally learning where he lived, if not being aloud to tell where. "Snape is the biggest pain in the arse I know. Well, besides Malfoy anyway. Hope you get away without too much detention!" He left then, waltzing to Dean and Seamus. Ron sniffed at his retreating back before turning to face his doom.
Upon entering Snape's office, Ron remembered all the horrors of it seen during his short visit on the first night of second year. Dust that clotted around dripping water puddles, and jars of pickled and preserved animals and such lined the walls of the dank closet like space lit with a single torch whose light was magnified by mirrors set skillfully around the compact area. Snape faced him with an unreadable expression. "Well?" Snape asked.
"Well, what?" Ron asked trying to play dumb. Snape gave him a look. Ron looked down, and asked. "Where's your real office?" Snape blinked, shook his head, looked at Ron, before laughing and standing up.
"So it is you, Prince. Somehow I couldn't quite believe it. This way." Ron followed Snape to the blank wall behind a menacing desk of carved wood. Snape took out his wand and tapped a brick. The wall opened to reveal a much more comfortable chamber office. Still no window, but it wasn't dank, had more pillows than anything else, and was brightly lit. One small writing desk in the corner had a small stack of un-graded papers. Here, they began to talk.
Ron and Snape's talk had lasted deep into the night, skipping all classes. Snape demanded a swearing to keep secrets and Ron never saw end to his persisting questions. At 2 in the morning he finally told Snape that they had the rest of the year to talk, and he should take 50 points from Griffindor as to not look suspicious. After a brief visit to the kitchens, Ron stumbled to the dorms, where he presently collapsed onto the bed, and fell asleep.
Chapter 6: The beginning of Chaos
The year passed too slowly for Ron. Slow from fall to winter. Slow from winter too spring. Letters from Tom were few, and far between, but the ones that he got were long in length. As if to make up for all the letters missed in between. Most outlines how the "home life" was going. In simpler terms: coded plans that weren't yet official. Ron would send replies about how school was going, codes for what to do or not to do. He did not always answer though. Life was tolerable for Ron Weasly.
Ron was eating breakfast, desperately trying to study for a divinations test during the first class of the day. Usually he didn't, Professor Trelawny ate up anything painful or agonizing, but he just didn't want to sit though Harry's chatter today. Harry had become completely insufferable. Somehow his previously non-existent ego had blown up to a huge mass rivaling Malfoy's own. Any time he opened his mouth it seems, Ron could feel a headache begin right between his eyes and pounding in the back of his skull.
Harry walked into the great hall wearily. His exuberant and haughty mannerisms were missing from his step. Ron looked up as he trotted to Dumbledore and began to talk really fast. Dumbledore's eyes widened and he stood to make an announcement.
"Students, please return to your dorms as soon as possible. Professors, please come here. All classes canceled until further notice.NOW!" A note of urgency was placed on the final word, and the students and faculty slowly began to rise. Ron stuck behind to play the loyal sidekick.
"Ron! I had a vision dream last night! Aragog and the spiders were all killed! Voldemort isn't in Romania at all! He's tricked us! He's somewhere in the forbidden forest!! Oh my gosh, Ron, what are we going to do? Hagrid will be heartbroken!" Ron, was momentarily confused. Slowly trying to absorb what it was exactly Harry had said. Then, another thought struck him. Tom was early. In his letters, it was said he was going to wait at least another month until he came to try a raid on Hogwarts. Noticing Harry was staring at him, waiting for an answer, Ron quickly replied.
"I have no Idea, Harry." He didn't need to fake honesty. Suddenly, Dumbledore went stiff.
"They've entered the grounds. Hogsmeade has fallen." The teachers gasped, and Snape looked at Ron very quickly before his gaze returned to the Headmaster.
"Harry, I've got to go tell Hermione." Said Ron. He waited just long enough to see Harry nod his agreement before tearing off to Griffindor tower.
"HERMIONE! FRED! GEORGE! GIN!" Ron shouted into the rowdy commons. They arrived in short order. "Harry told me to tell you, get to the forbidden forest! That's where the Death Eaters are, but they won't go looking there either. Stay away from Hogsmeade, that's where they're headed from. Go, quick!"
" Death Eaters? Here at Hogwarts? I thought they were in Romania!" Squealed Ginny. The others had similar reactions. Fred and George wanted to get Lee, and Ron said fine, but to do it quietly. If too many people went missing and unfound, they would probably realize where they were.
"Ron, are you coming?" Asked Hermione as she was stepping out of the portrait hole.
" I will be in a moment. Go on, I can catch up! Wait in the woods behind Hagrid's hut! I'll meet you all there." Ron felt a twinge of guilt of sending them to meet Death Eaters, but Tom said anyone They met in the forest would be safe: by the order of the Prince. Once they disappeared behind a bend in the hall Ron streaked up the stairs to the 5th year dorms.
He dashed into their bathrooms and brushed his teeth, he figured by the time he was done they would be safe in the trees. Spitting into the sink, he dashed out again, and unnoticed in the crowd, slipped out the portrait hole and made a beeline for the Dungeons.
He dodged Filtch easily and ducked into a certain unused classroom. There, he waited.
Chapter 7: Chaos
McNair entered not much later, bearing a package under his thick arm. Ron smiled at him, but spared the greetings, more than likely McNair was running late. Anytime he wore the white death eater mask he seemed to lose his sense of time. He'd told Ron it was because he always felt as though everything would go his way: even time.
Ron stepped into an attached and unused office to change into the robes of his prince persona. Lastly he held the white mask with the three horizontal lines over his each of his eyes and his mouth to his face. He whispered the spells that kept it in place, and returned to the classroom. Ron felt McNair smile, and they exited.
Ron's black cloak billowed behind him, as McNair was walking fairly fast. "McNair! Why the rush? Is something wrong?" Ron asked, tugging on the large man's sleeve. McNair slowed, and looked at Ron, the prince, and heaved a heavy sigh. "No, nothing's wrong, but, when we first started out on this attack, I was really pumped up about it. Just now though, I got a really bad feeling. Right when you stepped out of that office. You know, one of those really bad feelings you get when you know something is going to go really, horribly wrong?" McNair looked at Ron through the white mask of the damned. "I'm, I think I'm, worried, about you. I think that you may get hurt." He said, with much difficulty. Ron felt himself smile, someone was worried about him! "Don't worry, Mc. I'll be fine! I'll be out of all the hard fighting, nothing should happen to me. I know how to care for myself! Besides, why did I take all those dueling lessons from Mal and Tom for?" He said offhandedly. He waved a hand at the broad shouldered man and continued through the corridors. McNair didn't seem convinced, but he followed.
McNair led Ron to the back lawn of the castle, and out to where the fighting was near non existent: The quiddich field. It had been planed that way so that Ron would be relatively safe from wand fire. Tom hoped. McNair then left, to join the fighting. Ron hoped that he'd come out alive. He waited a long time by the Slytherin stands, amusing himself by drawing pictures in the safety sand pit with a small stick. He looked toward the fighting every once in awhile to try and assess which side was winning. He was doodling a snitch when he suddenly heard a disturbance in the fighting. It was quieter. As if the majority of fighters had stopped tossing curses back and forth. Beneath the mask, Ron's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. He rose stiffly, worked out a few tight muscles, and began to climb the stands. Upon reaching the top, he looked out to the battlefield. Letting out a stream of curses, he climbed back down. Ron whispered profanities at the north tower, which perfectly blocked his view of the fighting. He would have to go through the forest. Ron exited the stand and, with his cloak whispering against the primly cut grass, entered the forest. He circled around the castle, making as little noise as possible for a person with a cloak that bushed the leaf-covered ground. When he finally came into view of the battle he saw why everyone else was silent and near motionless. Harry and Tom were locked into a duel. Everyone else, the death eaters, teachers, and scattered 7th years, were watching with rapt attention. They knew that the outcome of the entire battle was waged on the outcome of that single duel. Ron did not root for either side. How could he? Harry, though having become egotistical, was still his best friend. And Tom was like an uncle to him! Choosing sides was like saying 'I like you better!' even though only Tom would know it. The duel took a sudden turn, and Tom was forced to his knees, Harry 20 feet away, holding both wands, and smiling triumphantly. Ron's heart tore in two at that very moment. Harry spoke then. "Now, Voldemort! All your power? All your allies? Where are they, Voldemort? Your men, frozen, they stopped fighting! And your magic? I have your wand! There's no escaping it, Tom. Look! You're on your knees and bleeding your life away!" He sneered. Ron saw it too, Tom was bleeding from his right arm, and his hand over the wound did nothing to stifle the bleeding. Blood was dripping from between his slicked fingers. Dumbledore said something to Harry that Ron couldn't hear, but Harry nodded and spoke again. "Now, Voldemort, for all your crimes, you will die! Once and for all, so we can be free!" Harry pointed the wand. Ron was moving before he could think. Harry's mouth was moving, forming the forbidden words. Ron's eyes were leaking salty tears and his vision blurred for a split second before they fell onto his hidden face. He shoved his way into the still crowd of onlookers, and flung himself between Tom and Harry. "NO!!" Ron shouted, latching to Tom's robes. Tom's eyes widened with fear. "Get off! Get out of here! What are you thinking?!" Tom whispered. He franticly tried to pry the clinging boy off with his uninjured hand, but it was so slick with blood he couldn't get a grip on him. Ron was suddenly aware of someone trying to pull him off from behind; the thick arms could have only belonged to McNair. Between Toms shouted pleas, McNair's curses, and his own sobs. He couldn't hear the terrified death eaters. Or Harry's curse.
Then, Ron knew oblivion.
Chapter 8: Snape
Snape woke to the blank white of the Infirmary. Madam Pomfry bustled over in the blink of an eye and began to chat nonchalantly. She saw it her civic duty to cheer him up whenever he got hurt somehow. At the moment though, he really didn't give as to whatever she was saying. Quickly raising a hand he efficiently stopped her chatter. He gave her one of his patented looks from behind his dark lashes and asked, "How long have I been here?"
He remembered parts of the battle, but most of it was as battles are: a big blur. "You've been knocked out by means of a stupefy for about five hours," she said. He opened his mouth to ask another question when she continued, "During that time Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord once and for all even if in strange circumstance. You have been here for the past hour." She smirked at him, and he could only join in for fact that she had answered the exact question he was going to ask. She was getting good at predicting him. Snape raised himself up off the cot and looked about the room. There were several cots set up and most of the beds had the last of the recovering patients in them. Pomfry smiled down on him and her eyes clearly said she was only too happy to have the war over. Before he could ask if he could get up, she was engulfing him in a crushing hug.
"Don't exert yourself, Severus. You should be fine in another half an hour." She said, patting his head as if he were a child. He found himself rolling his eyes at her before swinging his legs off the bed, still with shoes on, and stood to look out the infirmary's windows. It was sunset, which Snape found fitting, as it was the end of an era of terror. He looked about the grounds and saw with satisfaction many death eaters being hauled away and Voldemort's body being loaded into a ministry van. Poppy Pomfry followed his gaze and sighed wistfully.
"Pity that boy had to die as well." She muttered. Snape froze.
"Potter died too?!" He yelped. She gave him a look.
"No, Severus! Mr. Potter did not! Some boy the death eaters called 'The Prince' did! My, Severus, are you alright?" she asked, her condescending tone shifting to concerned in the span of a moment. Snape had felt the blood drain from his face. His usually sickly pallor had gone sheet white to match the bedding of all the cots. Eyes wide, he choked, hand raised to his mouth in shock. His eyes stopped working correctly and he began to step backward blindly before the back of his knees hit his cot and he sat on it harshly.
Madam Pomfry quickly rushed to his aid, but he was on his feet just as suddenly, his hands pressed to the window, eyes searching fast. Praying silently to gods he hadn't spoken to in a while that what she said wasn't true. But he saw.
The Princes silver gauntlet was gleaming in the sun's fiery light. The white mask stared at nothing, a ring of Slytherin students kept a small crowd away. Among that crowd were foul speaking students, reporters who wanted to know who he was, and Dumbledore himself, who seemed to be there only to figure out this unknown piece of the puzzle.
Snape didn't realize what he was doing until he noticed Madam Pomfry was yelling at him from behind, he was running down the corridor, tears streaming down his face.
Snape burst through the front doors of Hogwarts: School of witchcraft and wizardry. Without pause, he sprinted to the congregation of people trying to see the prince, who had died in protection of the Dark Lord Voldemort. He shoved his way through, the angry shouts viciously thrown at him falling on deaf ears. He reached the Slytherin ring, and looked at Malfoy, who's morose face mirrored his own exactly. Malfoy waved a hand, and the ring opened to let him through. The masses went quiet as if they knew what happened next would be big.
Snape stumbled to the fallen boy, whose mask was still in place. He kneeled to stoke the mask, then felt his neck and hands. They were cold. Too cold. The tears re-doubled in number as Snape took the limp figure into his arms and cried into the dead boy's still chest. A hand landed on his shoulder. He twisted his head to look at the questioning headmaster.
"Dumbledore?" Snape asked in his daze.
"Severus? Why are you crying? That boy was a death eater, wasn't he?" Dumbledore suddenly looked unsure of himself. Snape set the boy down and dragged his sleeve over his eyes; the tears stung his cheeks because it had been such a long time since he last had.
"No, Dumbledore. He was not a death eater. He was just a boy! A boy who gained the trust and love of someone who knew nothing about such things, Lord Voldemort! He brought thought and civility to the death eaters he met. None opposed him because he did not fight with them, and somewhere inside them, he invoked a peace. Peace of mind, heart, soul. He let them find peace. No, Dumbledore. He was not a death eater. He stated blatantly that there was no way, on pain of death, that he would join. No. He was not a death eater." He said. The ring of Slytherins that surrounded them, now facing inward, were either nodding sorrowfully, or wiping fresh tears away. A few did both.
Dumbledore looked quite taken aback at the choked voice of the School's renowned Potion Professor. Then looked down in shame. "I'm very sorry for your loss then, Severus. And I'm sorry to say, that I was the one who told Mr. Potter to fire the curse. It is no excuse, but we were in battle! It could have been over, if only the young boy hadn't leapt in front of Voldemort! I was not thinking of lives hurt by loss, all I saw was a regrettably young death eater trying to protect a monster of a man."
Snape stared at Dumbledore for a long moment that stretched for hours. Then turned when the headmaster could no longer hold his gaze. He lifted the prince and began to walk away. The crowd parted like water for him. The Slytherins followed like a weak imitation of a burial procession.
"I'll hold his funeral, if you don't mind." He said, half turning his head to the headmaster, but he didn't really look at him. He was too deep in thought.
Chapter 9: Funeral Finale
Snape stood at the podium of a modest funeral home that was overrun by anybody that was anybody in the English wizarding world. Many were reporters trying to get the story of the boy who gave his life for the Dark Lord, but many were students at Hogwarts and their families. Harry, the guilty party for killing the Prince, was predictably with the Weaslys, who did their best to comfort him in his halfhearted shame. He was guilty, but he saw reason in his actions, and felt moderately justified. But he still felt bad.
Snape looked around for a moment while the attendees, who were so great in number they crammed against walls and still had a line out the door, calmed and settled down.
"Well, I suppose," said Snape, "I should start at when he was kidnapped. Yes, settle down, he was kidnapped. His father was becoming a problem to the Dark Lord, so he lured the boy out into the woods behind his house, and then stupefied him.
"He was taken to the Lord's Palace, obviously. There, he told the dark lord to his face that he should expect nothing for taking him. He said that his disappearance would go unnoticed. A week later, the boy had been put through torture, beatings, and interrogation. Nor had his family noticed his disappearance. The Lord returned to him to ask how he'd known nothing would happen. Calmly, the boy said that he was always unnoticed. Loved with the same passion, but he did nothing to call attention to himself, and so went through his life in the shadows.
"At this point, Voldemort seemed to see in the boy a piece of his own past. Now, no one knows what was said in their next conversation, but during their next several hours together, they bonded in a way. This bond only grew with time. Voldemort took the lost child in, clothed him, and protected him. It was found the boy could strategize, so he was trained to duel well. He was taught dark curses, and their counter-curses. It seemed as though Voldemort was perfecting a new human weapon for a while. Many death eaters were sure that was the case. But he turned around on them when he showed what they lacked, compassion. His compassion was beyond their comprehension. He cared so much for everything he did, and for everyone he did it with, that they found their own hearts melting. Given time, he may have stopped this war. Bloodshed would have stopped by words, not more bloodshed.
"I was more than honored to have figured out the identity of the 'Prince'. I did it when he came back to school. Hogwarts students, did you notice one of your own was dead?" When Snape said this, the students, parents, and the house heads looked about in shock.
"He and I talked for a long while about how he came to be called the prince. Then we talked about me. I had taught to him the potions he had learned in the palace, you see. I had opened up to him then, and revealed, willingly no less, some of my most harshly kept secrets.
"In short, to all of you who have come to the last goodbye of this remarkable person, how many of you actually care? I don't doubt you feel something, you came after all. But did you know who died? Can you find the missing face among you? I see his family; they're looking around in confusion just like the rest of you! " Severus Snape waited patiently for everyone to begin shaking their heads. A hand rose.
"Yes, Potter?"
"You know, he sounds as though he really was a, well, he was a really great guy. Is all." Harry said.
"Mr. Potter, it is quite ironic that you were the one to say that, especially after killing him." Snape sneered. He walked to the sleek, shiny, black casket. The prince's white mask and black hood still hid him. Snape covered him, and the audience watched as the mask was placed over the dead boys hands. "I'm sorry Mrs. Weasly, you just spread yourself too thin." He said, just loud enough for them to hear. Snape walked out of the funeral home, the door cutting off her scream.
End Notes: This is the end. No more, you want to write more, e-mail me, ask permission, and we'll see. I wrote this over a span of almost a year, and I admit, it stinks. I'm an amateur! This is the first complete thing I have EVER written. I used Microsoft Word, so if the paragraphing sucks, I'm sorry, I don't know how to fix it, if I ever learn I will. Disclaimer: I NO OWN! PLOT MINE! NOTHING ELSE! THE REST BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS! Now if you'll excuse me, I want to go to sleep! (It's 4:12 AM)