There's something changed (There's something weaved)
He could feel the heat of the afternoon sun beating down on the back of his neck. Hear the crunch of gravel under his shoes and the squeaking of the swingset as he gently swayed forward and back. He could see the world around him but couldn’t make out the details.
“Don’t kill Cedric!”
A voice. In front of him, maybe off to the side a little? He couldn’t see who spoke but their voice was loud and jarring.
“Who’s Cedric? Your boyfriend?”
Mocking laughter grated on his nerves. It was coming from all around him, he couldn’t escape.
The world around him shifted, folding in on itself and dissolving into smoke and shadows.
Smack!
He felt his legs pumping and heard the sharp crack of his shoes against the concrete.
He felt his lungs burning, could hear his own shallow breaths, and feel the terror coursing through his body.
Run.
Run.
Run!
His body slowed as he rounded the corner.
Safe.
Then he heard it.
The soft crackling sound of quickly spreading frost.
The temperature dropped.
Dread pooled in his stomach and fear gripped his chest.
A low, hollow, rasping breath sounded from behind him.
He turned slowly.
Fear. Terror. Despair. Cold. Darkness.
Shadows loomed over him. The dark was twisting and writhing as though it was alive. Encircling his body and overwhelming his senses.
A light so bright it blinded cut through the darkness like a sword.
The world was dimming now. Blurring together as he struggled to stay conscious.
He caught flashes of red and blue. A tall, lean figure moved towards him. A glint of moonlight of something metal.
He heard the figure say something but it sounded as though he was hearing them from under water.
His eyes felt heavy and his body was starting to list to the side.
He felt hands on his face and someone tilted it up.
The figure’s eyes met his.
Gold.
* * * * *
Ron shot forward with a gasp.
This was now the second week of vivid dreams. Though this one was different. He couldn’t explain how he knew but that wasn’t him in his dream. It was him, he could see and hear and feel everything that happened, but it wasn’t him. Those hadn’t felt like his clothes and that wasn’t how his body moved. The surroundings felt vaguely familiar, like a distant memory or a dream of a dream, but try as he might he couldn’t recall the fine details.
The thing that stuck out the most was the sensations. And the more Ron thought about it he remembered those sensations. He’d felt that awful, dark, cold feeling before. In third year.
Dementors.
But why would I dream about dementors?
Shaking his head didn’t chase the thoughts away.
A quick glance at his watch told him it was 4:15 in the morning. Shoving off his blankets he went about getting dressed. He knew he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep even if he tried. And he really didn’t want to try. He feared that if he slept now he’d come face to face with dementors again.
One good thing about waking up this early was that the house was truly quiet. It was a nice break from the loud chaos of cleaning the Black family home. The only other people usually up at this time were Mad-Eye and sometimes Sirius.
Ron made his way to the kitchen and started boiling water for coffee. He’d had to make the transition from tea to coffee a little over a week ago. With how little sleep he was getting these days, tea just didn’t cut it anymore.
The kitchen was completely empty save for Mad-Eye, who sat at the end of the table.
“Coffee?” Ron asked as he passed him.
Moody gave a gruff hum of agreement and leaned back in his chair.
“What’s got you up so early again?” Moody didn’t normally initiate casual conversation with anyone, let alone Ron.
Ron paused to think before responding. He was hesitant to mention the dreams. He couldn’t quite explain why but it felt like something was telling him to wait.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Soon.
Just hold out a little longer.
“Not sure,” he measured out the coffee. “I just . . . couldn’t sleep.” Ron carefully poured the water over the grounds in a slow, circular motion. “Maybe it’s the house? Or . . . I don’t know, I just . . . I feel bad leaving Harry with his relatives.” He watched the coffee drip down for a moment before fetching the cups.
“I know you don’t like it lad, but Albus said–” Ron set the coffee pot on the table with more force than necessary.
“Sorry. I just–Dumbledore won’t let Hermione and I write to Harry and won’t even tell us why. I can’t imagine how he feels. He’s basically been cut off from his friends right after he was forced to watch the murder of another student.” He could feel his nails digging into his palms.
Breath in. Hold. Breath out.
Breath in. Hold. Breath out.
The breathing exercise Hermione had taught him helped to center himself. He shouldn’t lash out at Mad-Eye, the situation wasn’t his fault. Ron knew that Dumbledore was trying to stop You-Know-Who but he just couldn’t understand why he was doing this. Why did Harry have to go back to his relatives? He knew Dumbledore knew about the abuse. He knew that he knew about the bars on his windows and how they starved him, about the bruises Harry didn’t want to talk about and how damn skittish he was. He also knew that Dumbledore had to have a good reason for doing this but come on, how could you possibly justify knowingly sending a child back to an abusive situation year after year?
Ron could feel Mad-Eye’s gaze on him.
He damn near jumped out of his skin when Moody put a hand on his shoulder. When the hell had he stood up?
“I know this is hard for you lad, but you need to trust Dumbledore. He has his reasons.”
“I do trust him, I just don’t understand.”
Moody clapped his shoulder once more before going back to his chair. “Chin up. Potter’ll be here in a few days.”
Ron gave a startled laugh. “Y’know if I didn’t know any better, Mad-Eye, I’d say you were going soft.”
The glare he received could rival the killing curse. “You say that to anyone and I’ll hex you six ways to Sunday.”
Ron raised his hands in mock surrender. He poured two cups of coffee and passed one off to Moody.
The almost fruity aroma of the medium roast was like a breath of fresh air. He took a sip and felt it wrap around his senses in a warm hug. Just bitter enough to help wake him up but not so much as to be a slap in the face.
The pair of them drank their coffees in comfortable silence.
* * * * *
His mother was the first to join them in the kitchen. She came down around 6:00 and started preparing breakfast. Despite knowing what would happen, Ron offered to help, and was promptly told to sit down. Molly Weasley had perfected the art of cooking and woe befall anyone who got in her way.
The others slowly trickled into the kitchen, dragging their feet and rubbing sleep from their eyes. A few did a double take at seeing Ron already at the table.
Breakfast was a quiet affair. No one was really awake enough for proper conversation.
Soon after eating they were all assigned jobs and sent out to wrangle the house into submission.
Ron, Ginny, and Hermione took on the drawing room. It truly felt like a battle. Curtains infested with doxies had to be sprayed, beaten, and sprayed again. Everything from the bookshelves to the floors had to be scrubbed down. There were several close calls with dark artifacts and cursed objects. Ginny was almost killed by a coat rack, though thankfully professor Lupin dealt with it in time.
After a quick lunch they went right back to it. Spraying, scrubbing, soaking, almost being killed by the furniture.
By the time dinner rolled around Ron felt dead on his feet. He was sure he wasn’t the only one, although he did think his lack of sleep may have been a contributing factor.
The kitchen was buzzing with activity. A large group of order members were getting ready for a mission. Letters and copies of the Daily prophet had been strewn across the table. People were gathering brooms and cloaks on their way to the door.
“What’s going on?” Ron turned to Tonks as she shrugged on her jacket.
“Harry’s been attacked,” she patted herself down, checking that her wand was in its holster. “We’re bringing him back to headquarters.”
“What attacked him?” He had a feeling he knew the answer but desperately hoped that he was wrong.
Tonks gave him an odd look and he realised how he’d phrased the question.
“Dementors.” She told him. And then they were gone.
Ron felt like the world was crashing down around him.
It shouldn’t be possible.
He shouldn’t have known.
He sat down at the table.
Ron wasn’t quite sure when dinner ended but at some point he’d gone back to his room.
At first he’d leaned against his bed with his head between his knees but not long after he found himself pacing instead.
He had no idea how much time had passed before he heard familiar footsteps heading towards his room.
When the door opened he turned and looked up.
Harry was pale and thin and shaking slightly.
It only took Ron a few quick strides before he reached him and pulled Harry into a hug.
He felt Harry hesitate before returning the hug with just as much enthusiasm.
They stayed like that for a while. Harry had practically melted into the hug. Ron knew they would have to talk. There was no avoiding it. But that could happen later. At that moment his friend needed him. And Ron was happy to just be there for him.