The Pensieve

Drowning in Dawn

The rain slicked back Ron's usually bright hair. It was plastered against his head in a dark, almost bloodycolor, his long nose pressed right to the window to see the girl with frizzy brown hair giggling and spooning a bit of her dessert into a bloke's mouth. He had messy black hair that stuck up all in the back.

He swiped again at his now empty neck. The beads of water still pouring down only served to remind him what was no longer there. When he got back, he'd offer to carry that locket in his mouth and not remove it unless one of them asked.

There had been no destination in mind when he'd apparated, just away. Now he was stumbling through the tiniest town on the planet that had exactly one coffee shop with its lights on and a million vacant buildings around him. The couple didn't actually look anything like Hermione and Harry now that he was properly looking, but his hand was still bleeding from splinching himself, and he'd only stopped for a moment to glower up at the weeping sky before he meant to turn and go back to finish what he'd started.

Guilt was going to drown him faster than the growing puddles in his shoes as he resolutely turned away and began stomping to the nearest dark corner to Apparate back. The anger was still there, how he always seemed last in their minds. Last son to be born, last to find out everything, but with that bit of Voldemort's soul finally free he could kick himself for them as often as he liked as he kept apologizing over and over for what a royal prat he'd been. As much as Percy, or maybe even somehow worse!

'Was it really gone, though?' The horrible thought kept flickering through his mind, colder than any splashes of water pattering along his shoulders and seeping through every thread of his shirt. 'Are you just looking for something to blame, like a handy dandy evil trinket that only showed you what was always there?'

"Enough!" He snapped out loud, still rubbing his neck with his wand hand, his pruned fingers trembling. Ginny had spent the summer after her first year still waking up with nightmares of how that diary had made her feel; the effects were bound to linger...all he had to do was see them again and apologize. They'd be there, they always had been for him and still would be.

This wasn't even the first time he'd screwed up and Harry had forgiven him, and he and Hermione fought once a day—

"What's that, ginger?" A voice slimier than whatever was between his toes now said from the corner he was headed to. He silently lit the tip of his wand on impulse to see himself suddenly surrounded.

It had been dripping in that cavern too, everything had an oddly green tinge, even the water. He was thirteen again, a pile of boulders blocking him from his way forward in that Chamber. He shoved to get away, but these useless lumps grabbed back, his wand gone with a simple spell, his arms behind his back as these pounds of weight grabbed him back.

Ron swore and kicked and headbutted whatever he could as his arms were fastened behind his back, but it had taken hours to move those rocks into any small semblance of a pathway for Ginny and Harry to squeeze back through. Now he was just as wandless, and literally had both arms tied behind his back wishing for the giant snake skin for company rather than whatever was happening.

The rain was slowing to a trickle, large fat drops still plopping on his nose and beading around his neck. He almost wished for the locket back, he needed anger more than fear now as one leaned into his face with a breath more rank than the garbage piled along the gutters, his poor accent emphasized the wrong syllables and grated on his ears. "Stray mudblood?" His face was pockmarked and thin, he looked the same age as Ron with dull brown eyes.

"No," he snapped on pure impulse even if it was the truth, he longed to reach out and throttle anyone who said that word. He stopped short of saying anything else, telling them who he really was would do no good, and was paramount to sentencing everyone he'd ever cared about to death.

His hair plastered to his head was doing him a favor now, more dusky red than the bright Weasley color it should be. He was shivering in faded and worn clothes from weeks of travel and alone. If they knew the truth, would he be taken to Azkaban without ever knowing the fate he left others of his mess again?

"No," he repeated more firmly, for himself this time. If he played this right, he might just be able to walk off. He had to!

"What's your name then?" The guy hadn't backed away from his face, the air of dampness, of fog rolling in and amplifying the smell of everything was going to make him sick. Dementors, he suddenly realized in horror of why other wizards would even be in such a no name town. Had he somehow stumbled right into one of their breeding grounds?

The creatures had abandoned the prison, but there were still prisoners there suffering, and one Harry had taken a personal injustice to. The very same who had chased his best mate across the skies under the influence of Dark Magic. He'd only met him once, but he put on the most pathetic, meek idea of himself he could think of, imagining Malfoy lapping at Snape's feet all those years at school to brown nose his way out of trouble. "Stan, Stan Shunpike." He tried to make himself go limp as if in fear as he eyed his wand in this man's hand, clutched right next to his own. The double power should have been terrifying, but it only spurred him. He forced his voice to be flat, emotionless. "Sent here to do a check in."

At first it didn't seem to be working, but the collective intelligence in those around him probably couldn't fit in the next plop of water that made him blink uncomfortably right on his lashes. They hesitated.

The little door opened with a tinkle behind him, the bell announcing the leave of the couple. They were watched from the shadows, and Ron made his move, the grip on his arms had gone lax as the attention diverted like the untrained idiots these pests were. He snatched both wands into his hand and apparated on the spot to be free.

A flash of pain in his hand was his reward, he gasped and looked down to see another fingernail missing from his latest screw up, but he shook his hair off his face impatiently, now trailing blood that was smeared around as he held both wands tightly and looked hopefully around once more. It wasn't even raining here anymore, the darkest part of the night was already on the cusp of turning day as he looked all over, but he hadn't made it back to the right spot. He was positive of that, there wasn't even a river nearby. Hermione was usually the one who just apparated them around, he had no idea how close or how far off he was.

He gazed all around for some indication of which direction to try and decided to head for the darker part of the sky where the rain was still battering down all the heavier. He even risked apparating again, he'd splinch off every one of his fingers so long as he found them.

It took ages, much longer than it should have, but the long restless night of moving and checking and moving again was his own fault; he should have never left. Hermione had called after him, and he'd just wanted to get as far away as he could. He'd turned into the air with the magical intent of getting away, and gotten more than he asked for in his reward. Finding the river by literally stumbling into the gorge, hope flared as he looked all around, half expecting Dean to appear out of nowhere along with Harry and Hermione to tell him what an idiot he'd been once more. Faint light was poking holes down now as he rushed out of the water, his big feet moving with a vengeance. It had stopped raining and he was soaked through to his bones, a deranged laugh came out of him as he imagined them spotting him like a drowned rat and coming out of their protective enchantments to meet him as he charged over the little hill—

To an empty field. The light dappled down on disturbed leaves and nothing more, fluttering in the air. They'd been thorough as always, even the pegs where the tent was posted into the ground had been covered back up. Not a trace of them could be found in the bright morning light.