Chapter 2
Ron woke up gasping.
His heart thundered against his ribs, his body too hot, the sheets twisted around his legs as if they were trying to hold him down. His fingers were clenched into the mattress so hard the fabric had started to smolder beneath his grip.
Not again.
He forced himself to breathe, squeezing his eyes shut.
It had happened again—the dream.
Or maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. Maybe it was a memory buried too deep to remember.
Flames. Not fire, but something more. Something alive. The crackling embers had felt like a pulse, a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. He had seen glimpses of **something—someone—**but he always woke up before he could make sense of it.
Ron exhaled shakily, staring at his hands. They looked normal—freckled, calloused, the same hands he had always had. But he knew better now.
There was something beneath his skin.
Something that had always been there.
Something that had been hidden.
Until now.
⸻
The Next Morning – Umbridge’s Control Tightens
By the time Ron made it to breakfast, he already knew the day was going to be hell.
The whispers hit him first. Students huddled in groups, casting nervous glances at the walls, at the staff table, at Umbridge’s ever-growing list of rules.
Hermione was already at the Gryffindor table, scanning the latest decree with a scowl.
“Educational Decree No. 26: Teachers are prohibited from giving students information outside the prescribed curriculum.”
“That’s just the same as the last one,” Ron muttered, slumping into the seat beside her.
“No,” Hermione corrected sharply, stabbing her finger at the parchment. “The last one stopped them from discussing the war. This one means they can’t even hint at anything that might help us outside of what she approves.”
Ron frowned. “So no extra training? No advice?”
Hermione nodded grimly. “Exactly. If she catches any professor teaching us how to actually fight, they’ll be sacked.”
Ron gritted his teeth. His hands curled into fists on the table.
“She’s shutting everything down,” Hermione murmured, her voice tight. “Anything that could help us prepare. She’s trying to control what we learn—what we know.”
Ron didn’t respond.
Because for once, he understood exactly how that felt.
⸻
Gryffindor Common Room – A Fractured Mask
Ron had spent years perfecting the art of pretending.
Pretending he wasn’t nervous before a match. Pretending it didn’t sting when he was second-best to his brothers. Pretending he didn’t hear the whispers of ‘Weasley is poor, Weasley is weak, Weasley is nothing.’
But this?
This was harder.
Because something was wrong with him, and he couldn’t even pretend he was okay anymore.
His hands wouldn’t stop trembling. His anger came faster, sharper, like a fire constantly simmering just beneath his skin.
And then there were the moments where he would catch his reflection and—something would be different. The color of his hair shifting in the candlelight. The faint glow beneath his skin that shouldn’t be there.
He rubbed at his face, groaning. Get a grip, Ron.
“You alright, mate?”
Ron jerked, turning to find Harry watching him.
Shit. Had he looked that obvious?
“Yeah,” Ron muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Just… tired.”
Harry frowned but didn’t press.
Ron exhaled slowly. He needed to pull himself together. Focus.
Because the DA was starting soon.
And he couldn’t afford to fall apart now.
⸻
The Room of Requirement – Fire and Fury
The first meeting of the DA had gone better than Ron expected.
People were nervous, but they were determined. Harry had stood at the front, reluctant but firm, answering questions, demonstrating spells. Hermione had kept things organized, making sure everyone was following along.
Ron had stayed near the back, watching.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help. It was just—he didn’t trust himself.
What if something happened? What if his magic flared again?
What if everyone saw what was wrong with him?
“Alright,” Harry said, clapping his hands. “We’re going to practice disarming first. Pair up.”
Ron turned—only to find Luna standing beside him, her head tilted curiously.
“You’re different,” she said simply.
Ron stiffened. “What?”
“You feel different,” Luna said. “Like you’re buzzing. Like heat before a storm.”
Ron swallowed, forcing out a laugh. “Yeah, well. Probably just nerves.”
Luna just hummed, unconvinced.
Ron turned away quickly.
He needed to be careful.
⸻
The Moment He Snaps
The night was already bad.
But then Ginny came storming into the common room, her face red with anger.
“Umbridge gave me detention,” she snapped, throwing her bag onto the couch.
Ron frowned. “For what?”
Ginny scowled. “She heard me talking about the DA. Said it sounded ‘suspicious.’ She made me use the blood quill.”
The room went silent.
Ron’s heartbeat stopped.
“…What?”
Ginny held out her hand. The words I must not tell lies were carved into her skin.
Something inside Ron broke.
His magic lashed outward.
The fireplace flared violently, the flames turning a deep, unnatural orange. The shadows in the room stretched and flickered, twisting toward him. And then—
CRACK.
The glass vase on the table exploded.
Shards flew in every direction, a shockwave of heat rippling through the room.
Everyone stared.
“Bloody hell,” Dean muttered. “What was that?”
Ron felt sick.
He barely heard the murmurs, the questions, the concerned glances.
He turned on his heel and ran.
⸻
The Room of Requirement – The Book
His breath came in gasps as he shoved open the door.
The book was still there.
Still waiting for him.
He hesitated, staring down at it. His hands trembled as he reached forward, brushing against the pages—
And then he flipped to the chapter he hadn’t dared to read before.
Solvryn – The Emberborn Demon
“A creature of fire and rage, Solvryn are born of embers and myth, their blood rich with untamed magic.”
“Once believed extinct, their kind was said to be more powerful than even the strongest wizard, their very existence feared by both magic and men alike.”
“They are rare.”
“They are dangerous.”
“And if one were to be found alive…”
Ron’s breath hitched.
“They would be hunted.”
He slammed the book shut.
His hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
But from the fire in his blood.