FEST EXCHANGE GIFT FOR TARIE!
TITLE: Edenbeam
RECIPIENT: tarie
AUTHOR: it's a secret :D
RATING: R
PAIRINGS (other than D/R): Harry/Hermione
SUMMARY: What happens to a soul when it gets stolen by a Dementor? Ron searches for answers and learns the darkest depths of pain and, most importantly, the true meaning of love.
SPOILERS: None
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
WARNING: Angst, non-graphic sex, use of alcohol, kind of dark.
AUTHORS NOTES: A huge thank you to my three amazing betas. I couldn't have pulled this off without their help and encouragement!
The sun was just beginning to peek over the trees of the Forbidden Forest, casting the snowy Hogwarts grounds in pale pinks and oranges; the shadows of the trees were long and deep blue against the thick blanket of white. Snow drifted slowly from the heavens, glinting in the dim light.
Everything was over. Voldemort was dead, Harry was a hero; all was as it should be.
There was a sense of peace and happiness through Hogwarts that hadn’t been there in years. The hallways were always filled with laughter and everyone could smile for no reason at all. There was no more fear that they would die before they could live their lives.
Ron pushed open the front door with a mitten-clad hand and stepped out into the untouched snow, grinning as the cold wind nipped at his cheeks and fluttered through his hair. The grounds were silent except for the quiet crunch of Ron’s boots as he walked aimlessly through the winter wonderland. He welcomed the silence and solitude; it was the only thing that made sense anymore.
He, Harry, and Hermione had become so involved in the war that they were detached from the light-hearted celebrations. There weren’t many others who had seen what they had seen. Even now, months after Voldemort’s death, Ron still dreamed of blood and pain. How could he possibly be happy with everyone else when the terror had never truly left him?
But here, alone and surrounded by beauty, Ron forget all of that, even if it was just for a little while. His mind could wander freely, and he could dream of all the things that he secretly longed for, all the things that he loved and cherished.
Harry and Hermione had gotten together shortly after the war had ended. Maybe it was because they really loved each other, or maybe it was just because they needed each other. It was hard for them to be alone, and they were the only ones who could understand each other; sympathise with and pity each other.
Being excluded should have hurt, but Ron didn’t mind. He had his hopes and dreams, and sometimes, if he thought hard enough, he could pretend they were real.
His hand curled slightly, and he could feel the warmth of another hand in his; the presence of someone else wandering through the snow with him.
They walked together down to the edge of the frozen lake, gazing across the gleaming ice. Ron smiled and shifted closer to his companion, longing to rest his head on a shoulder. But he didn’t move.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Ron asked quietly. His words were blown away in a gust of wind.
He tightened his hold on his companion’s hand, and guided him along the edge of the lake and over to a small bench. They sat down, probably closer than they should have, their hands remaining tightly clasped between them.
If there were such a thing as peace, Ron knew it had to be moments like this. The scenery was as beautiful as a photograph, almost glowing as the sun slowly rose higher and higher into the sky. He was warm and happy, accompanied by someone who would listen to his every word; someone who would love him, regardless of what he said.
They sat together for what felt like hours in comfortable silence, the breeze flowing through their hair, the cold forcing them to move a little closer for warmth. As much as Ron loved solitude, he also longed for this companionship. He needed this-every single morning he needed it. He was never one for keeping something as ridiculous as a diary, but why should he? He already had someone to spill his deepest thoughts to.
Ron told him everything, every single morning. He talked about his nightmares, the fears he would never let anyone see. He would finally confess his fears and insecurities, and how hard it was to cling to one tiny thread of hope.
Harry and Hermione could never know these things; it would just make their lives more difficult. Ron was always the happy one. He still was, in a way, because at least he had hope-even if it was just a little.
He gazed up at the sky, trying to make a guess at the time. It was bright enough-everyone would probably be waking up soon, which meant it was time for him to go back inside.
He sighed and took one last look around before standing up and following his lone set of footprints back up to the castle.
* * *
He sat in the common room with Harry and Hermione later that evening. The two of them sat together on one of the couches, Harry’s arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder, with her tucked close to his side. Despite what they had, despite the warm kisses they pressed to each other’s lips, the two of them looked so dead.
“Neither can live while the other survives.”
Voldemort was dead, so why wasn’t Harry living?
Ron tore himself away from the bleak scene and went upstairs to the dorm, pausing as he passed a mirror. He turned, confronting his reflection. He looked as pale and tired as Harry and Hermione did, but with one major difference: his eyes weren’t dark and sunken in. They were still bright; proud and determined. He believed in himself, even if no one else did.
Hermione would pat his shoulder sometimes, smiling at him with sad eyes. She would tell him how sorry she was, how the Wizengamot had been completely unfair, and how she wished there was something more that they could have done. Ron was tired of hearing it. Apologies meant that he had lost. And he hadn’t, not yet.
“Hey Weasley!” Draco called, shoving his way through a crowd of first years who were giggling at the outcome of the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin Quidditch game.
Ron continued walking, pretending he hadn’t heard him. They had become quite civil for a while, almost even friends, but the tension between them had grown to be unbearable. So Ron did what he always did in uncomfortable situations: he fled.
But that didn’t stop him from watching Draco’s Quidditch matches from afar, watching how light and elegant he was on a broom. But Ron wouldn’t, couldn’t, talk to him. What could he possibly say?
“Weasley!” Draco called again, a hint of frustration in his voice.
Ron quickened his pace, but was brought to a jarring stop when a hand gripped his arm and yanked him backward.
Ron spun around, mouth agape, struggling for something to say. Draco’s face, flushed pink from the Quidditch game, was set into a firm, almost angry, expression. “Stop avoiding me,” he snarled, his grip on Ron’s arm tightening.
Before Ron had a chance to respond, Draco yanked him forward and crushed their lips together.
Ron smiled, sliding up onto the cool stone of the window ledge in the common room. He rested his forehead against the glass, watching the snow fall. The other boys were asleep, and had been for a few hours, but Ron was faced with another bout of insomnia. Well, it wasn’t that he was incapable of falling asleep, he just didn’t want to yet. He had discovered that the later he stayed up at night and the earlier he woke up in the morning, the less chance he had of remembering his nightmares.
His breath puffed against the glass, forming a small oval of condensation. He brought his finger up to it, delicately tracing a small heart in the centre of it, his finger making a quiet squeaking sound against the glass. He stared at the crooked little heart for a moment, his smile faltering, and then quickly rubbed the heart away. There was no use in upsetting himself. He had to stay happy for Harry and Hermione. And, most importantly, he had to stay happy for himself.
He watched the snow fall for a few more minutes, letting his mind wander. He could almost hear the crunch of snow being pounded under running feet and the distant laughter of two carefree boys. And, if he really thought hard enough, he could feel the cold and heaviness of a snowball crashing into the side of his face.
His eyes fell closed and he brushed his fingers gently over his cheek. There had been an awful bruise, he could remember that vividly. Pomfrey had refused to heal it because he shouldn’t have been sneaking out in the middle of the night to begin with.
He hadn’t regretted it, though. It had been the first snowfall of the year, and it had already piled up thick. They just couldn’t wait to go out until morning. He and Draco were the first ones to leave their footprints in the snow, the first ones to roll around and kiss and hug with no one else there to see them. After that night, a lot of other couples would sneak out and do that very thing. But they were the first, and that was how they liked it.
Ron sighed and quietly slid out of the window, giving the snowy scene one last fleeting glance. He would be out again tomorrow morning, as always, and then maybe he’d allow himself to reminisce just a little more.
He tiptoed back to his bed and slipped beneath the blankets, burying himself in warmth. Soon, everything would be okay again. Soon.
“There will be a mass trial for all known Death Eaters tomorrow evening. Those who do not arrive at the appointed time will-”
Ron switched off the radio and pulled Draco closer, resting his hand over the Dark Mark. Draco was innocent; he was forced to become a Death Eater. He would have been killed. Surely the Wizengamot would understand that.
But still, he couldn’t stop the uneasiness that gripped him. He pressed his lips to the top of Draco’s head and let his eyes fall closed. It shouldn’t feel like this was their last night together, but somehow, it did.
“We could run,” he said quietly. “We could flee the country and never come back.”
“And if they caught us, we would both be guilty. At least this way there’s a chance.”
Draco lifted his head and captured Ron’s lips with his own, his hands sliding up to cradle Ron’s face.
There was nothing left to say.
Ron’s eyes snapped open, and he stared out into the dimly lit dorm room. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, and he struggled to force the memory out of his head. There were so many things he could have said, so many things that he wished he had. But there had been nothing but silence.
He shook his head and struggled out of bed. It was much earlier than the time he usually went outside, but he didn’t want to fall back asleep and let the dream continue. He knew where it went from there, and he didn’t want to relive it again.
“Guilty as charged.”
“No!” Hermione cried, jumping to her feet. “He was invaluable to our side! If it weren’t for him we-”
“Someone please escort Miss Granger to the door.”
“You’re making a mistake!” she continued, even as the door was slammed in her face. “He’s innocent!”
“Draco Malfoy will be sentenced to the Dementor’s Kiss. That is all for today.”
The courtroom erupted in noise, and all Ron could do was stare sightlessly in front him. This wasn’t happening... this couldn’t be happening.
He focussed on Draco, who looked unsurprised; resigned, even. Ron’s vision blurred with tears as two members of the Wizengamot grabbed Draco’s arms and led him out a back door.
Draco didn’t even put up a fight.
The rest of the memory was a blur to Ron. According to Harry, Ron had sprung to his feet with an agonised scream, fighting and attempting to jump over the barrier and follow Draco. The Aurors had been forced to stun him and drag him out of the room. There were no goodbyes, no final kiss; he never saw Draco again.
Tears stung at the corner of Ron’s eyes and he fought them back, determined to keep himself together. Draco’s soul had been sucked out the following day. The Wizengamot didn’t want a chance for new evidence to surface, proving his innocence. They were determined to eliminate each and every surviving Death Eater-guilty or innocent. The trial was just for show.
Ron shuffled through the snow, leaving deep, dragging marks behind him. He wasn’t concerned enough to lift his feet-this morning, he only wanted comfort. He closed his eyes and imagined the sound of Draco’s footsteps walking lightly beside him, the sound of heavy breaths, and the warmth of an arm as it slid around his waist.
He shivered, absently leaning closer to the warmth. Sometimes he wondered if there was something wrong with him; as far as he knew, it wasn’t normal to be able to imagine the presence of someone else this well.
They made their way over to the bench by the lake-a favourite spot of theirs. He smiled; he could even feel Draco shifting beside him as he tried to get comfortable. It was such an accurate illusion, how could he resist spending time with it every morning?
“What happens to a soul when it gets stolen by a Dementor?” Ron asked quietly, toeing at the snow. There was no answer, of course, other than the low howl of the wind. “Can it-it can’t be stuck inside the Dementor forever, can it?”
There was silence for a moment as Ron thought over his own words. Why wouldn’t a soul be stuck inside of a Dementor forever? But he couldn’t allow himself to think that. There had to be another option.
“What if I can get it back?” Ron whispered, clenching his fists. “I would do whatever it takes.”
There had to be a book or a spell or something that would tell him what to do. He knew that magic couldn’t bring someone back to life, but the soulless body left behind by a Dementor wasn’t dead. He had heard that they could still breathe, that their hearts still beat in their chests.
He sighed. “I don’t even know where his body is,” he admitted, his voice strained. “Still in Azkaban, maybe? But why would they waste space locking up someone that’s not going to run?”
He stared sightlessly at the beams of sunlight sparkling on the frozen lake, his mind slowly forming a plan. He would get Draco back, even if it killed him.
* * *
For the rest of his seventh year, Ron spent every spare moment he had in the library searching for anything that could be of use. He read every book he could find that contained any information about Azkaban and Dementors, but none of them mentioned what happened to the soul. The only mention of the victims of the Dementor’s Kiss was that their bodies would live on in an almost coma-like state. That’s why the Kiss was considered worse than death-it was eternal suffering.
It was difficult to read about Draco’s fate, but there would be no way to help him if Ron didn’t force himself to continue. He stayed up late every single night, reading until his eyes crossed and he could no longer make sense of the words. Then he would go to sleep only to wake up early the next day, take a book outside, and start the process all over again. No matter what happened, he had to continue to sneak out in the mornings. After breakfast, though, he would go to his classes, and then retreat into the library.
It was a stressful, tiring lifestyle, and he knew his grades were slipping, but he didn’t care. Every day, he woke up with the feeling that he would finally find what he needed.
If Harry and Hermione noticed his behaviour, they didn’t comment on it. They continued to spend their time in silence, simply holding one another and praying for a better tomorrow. Ron sometimes wondered if they realised that happiness wouldn’t come unless they strived for it.
Once he had worked his way through all of the relevant books he could find, there was only a month of school left. Feeling rushed and a little discouraged, Ron made one last effort to get information: he borrowed Harry’s Invisibility Cloak and started sneaking into the Restricted Section at night. And that’s where he found the one bit of information that gave him the encouragement he needed.
The book was old and decaying; the splotchy brown cover only hanging on by a few threads. And on the cover was the word DEMENTORS written in an old, almost unreadable script. Ron sat down on the floor and gently opened the book, which crackled in protest. The pages were thin, brittle, and yellowed with age. He carefully flipped to the table of contents, struggling to read the faded writing. It seemed to be handwritten by someone very old; the wavering, spindly script reminded him of Dumbledore’s handwriting.
He trailed his finger down the page, looking for what he needed. It may have helped to read the whole book, but Ron was a slow reader, and time was running out. He wasn’t aware of any other place that would have such dark books available.
He found a chapter titled The Kiss and he started to turn the page, but stopped when another word caught his eye. Victims-the very last chapter in the book. With restrained eagerness, Ron slowly turned the book over and opened to the last few pages. With only the dim light from his Lumos spell, he began reading.
“The very presence of a Dementor leaves victims soulless and evil; they have nothing left but the worst experiences of their life. If the Kiss is used, the victim becomes no more than an empty shell, alive, but irretrievably gone.
“The bodies require no care; they will live as long as possible before rotting away with age. As for the soul, it does not reside inside of a Dementor, as one might think. A Dementor’s very nature is to be without a soul, and it is therefore incapable of retaining a single soul for more than a few minutes.
“But what happens to the soul? As of this time, that remains unknown.”
Ron sighed and looked up from the book, rubbing at his tired eyes. So Draco’s soul was definitely not inside of a Dementor, but... he was “irretrievably gone?”
Ron slipped the book under the cloak with him and snuck out of the library. Draco was not gone and he’d prove that once and for all.
“You’re not making any sense,” Draco sighed, rolling his eyes.
“I’m making plenty of sense! You’re just not listening!”
Draco shoved himself to his feet, glaring up at Ron. “Why would I want to waste my time listening to every excuse you can come up with?”
Ron stamped his foot in exasperation. “You can’t expect me to spend every moment of every day with you! You’re just...” he growled, raking his hands through his hair. “You’re just selfish!”
“Oh, bravo,” Draco said sardonically, “Twenty points to Gryffindor. It took you long enough to figure that one out.”
Ron couldn’t suppress the small smile that tried to creep onto his face. “You’re a selfish prat and you’re proud of it?”
“Of course,” Draco responded, his tense, defensive posture melting away. “So I want to spend time with you,” he said, poking Ron’s chest. “Honestly, you should feel flattered.”
Ron sighed and looped his arms around Draco’s shoulders. It was becoming harder and harder to remain angry with Draco. “Alright,” he said finally, gazing into sparkling grey eyes. “What do you want to do?”
Draco smirked triumphantly and leaned up to brush his lips against Ron’s cheek. “Did you know that it’s snowing?”
Ron was surprised that he managed to pass his N.E.W.T.s. His concentration had been slipping more and more each day; he thought about the future and the past, and all of the things that seemed so impossible.
No matter how badly he wanted it, he didn’t think he’d ever see Draco’s eyes light up again, and sparkle in that way that was unique to him alone. He found it harder and harder to imagine that he would hear Draco’s snide laugh again, and it was even harder to imagine Draco’s soft, gentle laugh.
It all seemed so far away, and every thought, every memory, made Ron hurt even more. As hard as it was to accept that Draco was gone, it was even harder to remember how it was when he was around.
Ron finally let himself cry the night after graduation. He had moved into a small flat in wizarding London that his parents had been furnishing for him as he finished school. It was nice enough, nothing too extravagant, but when he finally fell into his new bed-the bed much too large for one person-he was finally hit with a horrible realisation: he was alone.
Draco should be there, right next to him, and Ron reached out his hand, feeling nothing but the empty expanse of cool, untouched sheets. And he cried, without even trying to stop himself. Even though Draco had never been there before, it seemed so wrong without him.
Ron wanted to hold him, feel his warmth, and never, ever let him go. He closed his eyes and imagined Draco’s arms wrapped around him.
“Hush, just relax,” Draco whispered, trailing the tip of his nose up Ron’s cheek. His breaths came out in strained puffs against Ron’s neck as he supported himself with trembling arms.
Ron took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to find a way to adjust to the insufferable pain. He hadn’t expected this to hurt so much. He wrapped his arms tighter around Draco’s sweat-slicked back, digging blunt nails into Draco’s shoulders. It hurt, it hurt so much and he wanted it to stop, but at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting it. He trusted Draco, and Draco had told him it would be okay.
Draco slowly, carefully began to pull out, and Ron only held on tighter. A quiet whimper filled the room, and Ron didn’t realise it was his own until Draco asked quietly, “Do you want to stop?”
It took a moment for Ron to regain control of himself long enough to shake his head. He forced his eyes open, staring blearily up at Draco. He looked so lovely-his face just the lightest shade of pink, his hair hanging down loosely, and his eyes... his eyes were focussed on nothing but Ron.
Draco dipped down at the same time as Ron leaned up and they pressed their lips together clumsily.
“I love you,” Ron said breathlessly, keeping his eyes trained on Draco’s.
Draco smiled and pushed back into Ron’s body, causing Ron to throw his head back and let out a low moan. The pain was already starting to fade.
“I love you.”
Ron spent his days reading every word in the book on Dementors he had stolen from the Restricted Section. He had every intention of returning it one day, but he had a greater use for it at the moment. Besides, who would notice that it was gone?
He knew he should probably get a job, but he couldn’t make himself leave his flat. The only time he went outside was to step out onto the little balcony on the backside of his flat in the early morning. It didn’t quite compare with taking long walks around the school or going down to the lake, but it worked just as well. There was a small bench nestled over in the corner and he would sit there, imagine Draco beside him, and watch the sun rise.
Hermione had begun to bring over groceries for him every now and then, and every time he promised that he’d pay her back one day. He never did. She never asked what he was doing locked up all by himself. She never asked about the money and, surprisingly, she never even told him to get a job. She would just stroke his hair and tell him that everything would be alright.
And even as he spiralled deeper and deeper into loneliness and depression, Hermione was starting to look better. She and Harry had gotten married shortly after graduation and they had bought a small house not too far from Ron’s flat. Harry didn’t come to visit very often and Ron didn’t blame him; Harry had enough that upset him without Ron’s misery adding to it.
Two months after graduation, Ron finished his book and left his flat for the first time. He finally knew what had happened to Draco’s body. According to the book, once the Dementors had performed the Kiss on a prisoner of Azkaban, the body was dumped a pit on the south side of the prison.
The thought of Draco’s body being thrown carelessly to the side, on top of countless other Death Eaters, and having other soulless prisoners tossed on top of him was slightly disturbing, but Ron had no second thoughts about going to get him. Draco was better than that-Draco deserved to live.
PART 2
RECIPIENT: tarie
AUTHOR: it's a secret :D
RATING: R
PAIRINGS (other than D/R): Harry/Hermione
SUMMARY: What happens to a soul when it gets stolen by a Dementor? Ron searches for answers and learns the darkest depths of pain and, most importantly, the true meaning of love.
SPOILERS: None
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
WARNING: Angst, non-graphic sex, use of alcohol, kind of dark.
AUTHORS NOTES: A huge thank you to my three amazing betas. I couldn't have pulled this off without their help and encouragement!
The sun was just beginning to peek over the trees of the Forbidden Forest, casting the snowy Hogwarts grounds in pale pinks and oranges; the shadows of the trees were long and deep blue against the thick blanket of white. Snow drifted slowly from the heavens, glinting in the dim light.
Everything was over. Voldemort was dead, Harry was a hero; all was as it should be.
There was a sense of peace and happiness through Hogwarts that hadn’t been there in years. The hallways were always filled with laughter and everyone could smile for no reason at all. There was no more fear that they would die before they could live their lives.
Ron pushed open the front door with a mitten-clad hand and stepped out into the untouched snow, grinning as the cold wind nipped at his cheeks and fluttered through his hair. The grounds were silent except for the quiet crunch of Ron’s boots as he walked aimlessly through the winter wonderland. He welcomed the silence and solitude; it was the only thing that made sense anymore.
He, Harry, and Hermione had become so involved in the war that they were detached from the light-hearted celebrations. There weren’t many others who had seen what they had seen. Even now, months after Voldemort’s death, Ron still dreamed of blood and pain. How could he possibly be happy with everyone else when the terror had never truly left him?
But here, alone and surrounded by beauty, Ron forget all of that, even if it was just for a little while. His mind could wander freely, and he could dream of all the things that he secretly longed for, all the things that he loved and cherished.
Harry and Hermione had gotten together shortly after the war had ended. Maybe it was because they really loved each other, or maybe it was just because they needed each other. It was hard for them to be alone, and they were the only ones who could understand each other; sympathise with and pity each other.
Being excluded should have hurt, but Ron didn’t mind. He had his hopes and dreams, and sometimes, if he thought hard enough, he could pretend they were real.
His hand curled slightly, and he could feel the warmth of another hand in his; the presence of someone else wandering through the snow with him.
They walked together down to the edge of the frozen lake, gazing across the gleaming ice. Ron smiled and shifted closer to his companion, longing to rest his head on a shoulder. But he didn’t move.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Ron asked quietly. His words were blown away in a gust of wind.
He tightened his hold on his companion’s hand, and guided him along the edge of the lake and over to a small bench. They sat down, probably closer than they should have, their hands remaining tightly clasped between them.
If there were such a thing as peace, Ron knew it had to be moments like this. The scenery was as beautiful as a photograph, almost glowing as the sun slowly rose higher and higher into the sky. He was warm and happy, accompanied by someone who would listen to his every word; someone who would love him, regardless of what he said.
They sat together for what felt like hours in comfortable silence, the breeze flowing through their hair, the cold forcing them to move a little closer for warmth. As much as Ron loved solitude, he also longed for this companionship. He needed this-every single morning he needed it. He was never one for keeping something as ridiculous as a diary, but why should he? He already had someone to spill his deepest thoughts to.
Ron told him everything, every single morning. He talked about his nightmares, the fears he would never let anyone see. He would finally confess his fears and insecurities, and how hard it was to cling to one tiny thread of hope.
Harry and Hermione could never know these things; it would just make their lives more difficult. Ron was always the happy one. He still was, in a way, because at least he had hope-even if it was just a little.
He gazed up at the sky, trying to make a guess at the time. It was bright enough-everyone would probably be waking up soon, which meant it was time for him to go back inside.
He sighed and took one last look around before standing up and following his lone set of footprints back up to the castle.
* * *
He sat in the common room with Harry and Hermione later that evening. The two of them sat together on one of the couches, Harry’s arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder, with her tucked close to his side. Despite what they had, despite the warm kisses they pressed to each other’s lips, the two of them looked so dead.
“Neither can live while the other survives.”
Voldemort was dead, so why wasn’t Harry living?
Ron tore himself away from the bleak scene and went upstairs to the dorm, pausing as he passed a mirror. He turned, confronting his reflection. He looked as pale and tired as Harry and Hermione did, but with one major difference: his eyes weren’t dark and sunken in. They were still bright; proud and determined. He believed in himself, even if no one else did.
Hermione would pat his shoulder sometimes, smiling at him with sad eyes. She would tell him how sorry she was, how the Wizengamot had been completely unfair, and how she wished there was something more that they could have done. Ron was tired of hearing it. Apologies meant that he had lost. And he hadn’t, not yet.
“Hey Weasley!” Draco called, shoving his way through a crowd of first years who were giggling at the outcome of the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin Quidditch game.
Ron continued walking, pretending he hadn’t heard him. They had become quite civil for a while, almost even friends, but the tension between them had grown to be unbearable. So Ron did what he always did in uncomfortable situations: he fled.
But that didn’t stop him from watching Draco’s Quidditch matches from afar, watching how light and elegant he was on a broom. But Ron wouldn’t, couldn’t, talk to him. What could he possibly say?
“Weasley!” Draco called again, a hint of frustration in his voice.
Ron quickened his pace, but was brought to a jarring stop when a hand gripped his arm and yanked him backward.
Ron spun around, mouth agape, struggling for something to say. Draco’s face, flushed pink from the Quidditch game, was set into a firm, almost angry, expression. “Stop avoiding me,” he snarled, his grip on Ron’s arm tightening.
Before Ron had a chance to respond, Draco yanked him forward and crushed their lips together.
Ron smiled, sliding up onto the cool stone of the window ledge in the common room. He rested his forehead against the glass, watching the snow fall. The other boys were asleep, and had been for a few hours, but Ron was faced with another bout of insomnia. Well, it wasn’t that he was incapable of falling asleep, he just didn’t want to yet. He had discovered that the later he stayed up at night and the earlier he woke up in the morning, the less chance he had of remembering his nightmares.
His breath puffed against the glass, forming a small oval of condensation. He brought his finger up to it, delicately tracing a small heart in the centre of it, his finger making a quiet squeaking sound against the glass. He stared at the crooked little heart for a moment, his smile faltering, and then quickly rubbed the heart away. There was no use in upsetting himself. He had to stay happy for Harry and Hermione. And, most importantly, he had to stay happy for himself.
He watched the snow fall for a few more minutes, letting his mind wander. He could almost hear the crunch of snow being pounded under running feet and the distant laughter of two carefree boys. And, if he really thought hard enough, he could feel the cold and heaviness of a snowball crashing into the side of his face.
His eyes fell closed and he brushed his fingers gently over his cheek. There had been an awful bruise, he could remember that vividly. Pomfrey had refused to heal it because he shouldn’t have been sneaking out in the middle of the night to begin with.
He hadn’t regretted it, though. It had been the first snowfall of the year, and it had already piled up thick. They just couldn’t wait to go out until morning. He and Draco were the first ones to leave their footprints in the snow, the first ones to roll around and kiss and hug with no one else there to see them. After that night, a lot of other couples would sneak out and do that very thing. But they were the first, and that was how they liked it.
Ron sighed and quietly slid out of the window, giving the snowy scene one last fleeting glance. He would be out again tomorrow morning, as always, and then maybe he’d allow himself to reminisce just a little more.
He tiptoed back to his bed and slipped beneath the blankets, burying himself in warmth. Soon, everything would be okay again. Soon.
“There will be a mass trial for all known Death Eaters tomorrow evening. Those who do not arrive at the appointed time will-”
Ron switched off the radio and pulled Draco closer, resting his hand over the Dark Mark. Draco was innocent; he was forced to become a Death Eater. He would have been killed. Surely the Wizengamot would understand that.
But still, he couldn’t stop the uneasiness that gripped him. He pressed his lips to the top of Draco’s head and let his eyes fall closed. It shouldn’t feel like this was their last night together, but somehow, it did.
“We could run,” he said quietly. “We could flee the country and never come back.”
“And if they caught us, we would both be guilty. At least this way there’s a chance.”
Draco lifted his head and captured Ron’s lips with his own, his hands sliding up to cradle Ron’s face.
There was nothing left to say.
Ron’s eyes snapped open, and he stared out into the dimly lit dorm room. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, and he struggled to force the memory out of his head. There were so many things he could have said, so many things that he wished he had. But there had been nothing but silence.
He shook his head and struggled out of bed. It was much earlier than the time he usually went outside, but he didn’t want to fall back asleep and let the dream continue. He knew where it went from there, and he didn’t want to relive it again.
“Guilty as charged.”
“No!” Hermione cried, jumping to her feet. “He was invaluable to our side! If it weren’t for him we-”
“Someone please escort Miss Granger to the door.”
“You’re making a mistake!” she continued, even as the door was slammed in her face. “He’s innocent!”
“Draco Malfoy will be sentenced to the Dementor’s Kiss. That is all for today.”
The courtroom erupted in noise, and all Ron could do was stare sightlessly in front him. This wasn’t happening... this couldn’t be happening.
He focussed on Draco, who looked unsurprised; resigned, even. Ron’s vision blurred with tears as two members of the Wizengamot grabbed Draco’s arms and led him out a back door.
Draco didn’t even put up a fight.
The rest of the memory was a blur to Ron. According to Harry, Ron had sprung to his feet with an agonised scream, fighting and attempting to jump over the barrier and follow Draco. The Aurors had been forced to stun him and drag him out of the room. There were no goodbyes, no final kiss; he never saw Draco again.
Tears stung at the corner of Ron’s eyes and he fought them back, determined to keep himself together. Draco’s soul had been sucked out the following day. The Wizengamot didn’t want a chance for new evidence to surface, proving his innocence. They were determined to eliminate each and every surviving Death Eater-guilty or innocent. The trial was just for show.
Ron shuffled through the snow, leaving deep, dragging marks behind him. He wasn’t concerned enough to lift his feet-this morning, he only wanted comfort. He closed his eyes and imagined the sound of Draco’s footsteps walking lightly beside him, the sound of heavy breaths, and the warmth of an arm as it slid around his waist.
He shivered, absently leaning closer to the warmth. Sometimes he wondered if there was something wrong with him; as far as he knew, it wasn’t normal to be able to imagine the presence of someone else this well.
They made their way over to the bench by the lake-a favourite spot of theirs. He smiled; he could even feel Draco shifting beside him as he tried to get comfortable. It was such an accurate illusion, how could he resist spending time with it every morning?
“What happens to a soul when it gets stolen by a Dementor?” Ron asked quietly, toeing at the snow. There was no answer, of course, other than the low howl of the wind. “Can it-it can’t be stuck inside the Dementor forever, can it?”
There was silence for a moment as Ron thought over his own words. Why wouldn’t a soul be stuck inside of a Dementor forever? But he couldn’t allow himself to think that. There had to be another option.
“What if I can get it back?” Ron whispered, clenching his fists. “I would do whatever it takes.”
There had to be a book or a spell or something that would tell him what to do. He knew that magic couldn’t bring someone back to life, but the soulless body left behind by a Dementor wasn’t dead. He had heard that they could still breathe, that their hearts still beat in their chests.
He sighed. “I don’t even know where his body is,” he admitted, his voice strained. “Still in Azkaban, maybe? But why would they waste space locking up someone that’s not going to run?”
He stared sightlessly at the beams of sunlight sparkling on the frozen lake, his mind slowly forming a plan. He would get Draco back, even if it killed him.
* * *
For the rest of his seventh year, Ron spent every spare moment he had in the library searching for anything that could be of use. He read every book he could find that contained any information about Azkaban and Dementors, but none of them mentioned what happened to the soul. The only mention of the victims of the Dementor’s Kiss was that their bodies would live on in an almost coma-like state. That’s why the Kiss was considered worse than death-it was eternal suffering.
It was difficult to read about Draco’s fate, but there would be no way to help him if Ron didn’t force himself to continue. He stayed up late every single night, reading until his eyes crossed and he could no longer make sense of the words. Then he would go to sleep only to wake up early the next day, take a book outside, and start the process all over again. No matter what happened, he had to continue to sneak out in the mornings. After breakfast, though, he would go to his classes, and then retreat into the library.
It was a stressful, tiring lifestyle, and he knew his grades were slipping, but he didn’t care. Every day, he woke up with the feeling that he would finally find what he needed.
If Harry and Hermione noticed his behaviour, they didn’t comment on it. They continued to spend their time in silence, simply holding one another and praying for a better tomorrow. Ron sometimes wondered if they realised that happiness wouldn’t come unless they strived for it.
Once he had worked his way through all of the relevant books he could find, there was only a month of school left. Feeling rushed and a little discouraged, Ron made one last effort to get information: he borrowed Harry’s Invisibility Cloak and started sneaking into the Restricted Section at night. And that’s where he found the one bit of information that gave him the encouragement he needed.
The book was old and decaying; the splotchy brown cover only hanging on by a few threads. And on the cover was the word DEMENTORS written in an old, almost unreadable script. Ron sat down on the floor and gently opened the book, which crackled in protest. The pages were thin, brittle, and yellowed with age. He carefully flipped to the table of contents, struggling to read the faded writing. It seemed to be handwritten by someone very old; the wavering, spindly script reminded him of Dumbledore’s handwriting.
He trailed his finger down the page, looking for what he needed. It may have helped to read the whole book, but Ron was a slow reader, and time was running out. He wasn’t aware of any other place that would have such dark books available.
He found a chapter titled The Kiss and he started to turn the page, but stopped when another word caught his eye. Victims-the very last chapter in the book. With restrained eagerness, Ron slowly turned the book over and opened to the last few pages. With only the dim light from his Lumos spell, he began reading.
“The very presence of a Dementor leaves victims soulless and evil; they have nothing left but the worst experiences of their life. If the Kiss is used, the victim becomes no more than an empty shell, alive, but irretrievably gone.
“The bodies require no care; they will live as long as possible before rotting away with age. As for the soul, it does not reside inside of a Dementor, as one might think. A Dementor’s very nature is to be without a soul, and it is therefore incapable of retaining a single soul for more than a few minutes.
“But what happens to the soul? As of this time, that remains unknown.”
Ron sighed and looked up from the book, rubbing at his tired eyes. So Draco’s soul was definitely not inside of a Dementor, but... he was “irretrievably gone?”
Ron slipped the book under the cloak with him and snuck out of the library. Draco was not gone and he’d prove that once and for all.
“You’re not making any sense,” Draco sighed, rolling his eyes.
“I’m making plenty of sense! You’re just not listening!”
Draco shoved himself to his feet, glaring up at Ron. “Why would I want to waste my time listening to every excuse you can come up with?”
Ron stamped his foot in exasperation. “You can’t expect me to spend every moment of every day with you! You’re just...” he growled, raking his hands through his hair. “You’re just selfish!”
“Oh, bravo,” Draco said sardonically, “Twenty points to Gryffindor. It took you long enough to figure that one out.”
Ron couldn’t suppress the small smile that tried to creep onto his face. “You’re a selfish prat and you’re proud of it?”
“Of course,” Draco responded, his tense, defensive posture melting away. “So I want to spend time with you,” he said, poking Ron’s chest. “Honestly, you should feel flattered.”
Ron sighed and looped his arms around Draco’s shoulders. It was becoming harder and harder to remain angry with Draco. “Alright,” he said finally, gazing into sparkling grey eyes. “What do you want to do?”
Draco smirked triumphantly and leaned up to brush his lips against Ron’s cheek. “Did you know that it’s snowing?”
Ron was surprised that he managed to pass his N.E.W.T.s. His concentration had been slipping more and more each day; he thought about the future and the past, and all of the things that seemed so impossible.
No matter how badly he wanted it, he didn’t think he’d ever see Draco’s eyes light up again, and sparkle in that way that was unique to him alone. He found it harder and harder to imagine that he would hear Draco’s snide laugh again, and it was even harder to imagine Draco’s soft, gentle laugh.
It all seemed so far away, and every thought, every memory, made Ron hurt even more. As hard as it was to accept that Draco was gone, it was even harder to remember how it was when he was around.
Ron finally let himself cry the night after graduation. He had moved into a small flat in wizarding London that his parents had been furnishing for him as he finished school. It was nice enough, nothing too extravagant, but when he finally fell into his new bed-the bed much too large for one person-he was finally hit with a horrible realisation: he was alone.
Draco should be there, right next to him, and Ron reached out his hand, feeling nothing but the empty expanse of cool, untouched sheets. And he cried, without even trying to stop himself. Even though Draco had never been there before, it seemed so wrong without him.
Ron wanted to hold him, feel his warmth, and never, ever let him go. He closed his eyes and imagined Draco’s arms wrapped around him.
“Hush, just relax,” Draco whispered, trailing the tip of his nose up Ron’s cheek. His breaths came out in strained puffs against Ron’s neck as he supported himself with trembling arms.
Ron took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to find a way to adjust to the insufferable pain. He hadn’t expected this to hurt so much. He wrapped his arms tighter around Draco’s sweat-slicked back, digging blunt nails into Draco’s shoulders. It hurt, it hurt so much and he wanted it to stop, but at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting it. He trusted Draco, and Draco had told him it would be okay.
Draco slowly, carefully began to pull out, and Ron only held on tighter. A quiet whimper filled the room, and Ron didn’t realise it was his own until Draco asked quietly, “Do you want to stop?”
It took a moment for Ron to regain control of himself long enough to shake his head. He forced his eyes open, staring blearily up at Draco. He looked so lovely-his face just the lightest shade of pink, his hair hanging down loosely, and his eyes... his eyes were focussed on nothing but Ron.
Draco dipped down at the same time as Ron leaned up and they pressed their lips together clumsily.
“I love you,” Ron said breathlessly, keeping his eyes trained on Draco’s.
Draco smiled and pushed back into Ron’s body, causing Ron to throw his head back and let out a low moan. The pain was already starting to fade.
“I love you.”
Ron spent his days reading every word in the book on Dementors he had stolen from the Restricted Section. He had every intention of returning it one day, but he had a greater use for it at the moment. Besides, who would notice that it was gone?
He knew he should probably get a job, but he couldn’t make himself leave his flat. The only time he went outside was to step out onto the little balcony on the backside of his flat in the early morning. It didn’t quite compare with taking long walks around the school or going down to the lake, but it worked just as well. There was a small bench nestled over in the corner and he would sit there, imagine Draco beside him, and watch the sun rise.
Hermione had begun to bring over groceries for him every now and then, and every time he promised that he’d pay her back one day. He never did. She never asked what he was doing locked up all by himself. She never asked about the money and, surprisingly, she never even told him to get a job. She would just stroke his hair and tell him that everything would be alright.
And even as he spiralled deeper and deeper into loneliness and depression, Hermione was starting to look better. She and Harry had gotten married shortly after graduation and they had bought a small house not too far from Ron’s flat. Harry didn’t come to visit very often and Ron didn’t blame him; Harry had enough that upset him without Ron’s misery adding to it.
Two months after graduation, Ron finished his book and left his flat for the first time. He finally knew what had happened to Draco’s body. According to the book, once the Dementors had performed the Kiss on a prisoner of Azkaban, the body was dumped a pit on the south side of the prison.
The thought of Draco’s body being thrown carelessly to the side, on top of countless other Death Eaters, and having other soulless prisoners tossed on top of him was slightly disturbing, but Ron had no second thoughts about going to get him. Draco was better than that-Draco deserved to live.
PART 2