Gethsemane

I only want to say, if there is a way

Take this cup away from me

For I don't want to taste it's poison

Feel it burn me, I have changed

I'm not as sure as when we started

Then I was inspired, now I'm sad and tired

Listen surely I've exceeded expectations

Tried for three years seems like thirty

Could you ask as much from any other man?

***

Ron Weasley looked around the small tower room he'd lived in for seven years. So much had changed, so many things had happened. He no longer remembered what it was like to be innocent. He no longer remembered the child he'd been. Perhaps worst of all, nobody else seemed to remember either. Now when they looked at him, they only saw what he'd become. He was proof that even brave, noble Gryffindors could be corrupted.

He stood alone in what used to be the Gryffindor common room at Hogwarts. Now it was empty, the school having been evacuated months ago when Voldemort's forces had beseiged the castle, killing many of the students and teachers. The ones left had been quickly sent elsewhere; not even Voldemort knew where. But he'd find out sooner or later and it would start all over again. The hating, the killing, the guilt. The guilt was the worst. The never-ending guilt for what he'd he'd done. He'd betrayed his best friend for nothing.

Ron remembered only too well the day Voldemort had attacked Hogwarts. It was during Potions, of all classes, when they'd felt the first bolts of magical energy being thrown at the school's defenses.

"Get back to your dorms!" Snape had shouted at them, looking a bit scared as he began to lead them out of the classroom. When they got to the Great Hall, Ron remembered Hermione had grabbed his arm and Harry's, dragging them both towards the stairs that led to their common rooms.

But even then, it was too late. The first Death Eaters were already through the door, firing curses and charms alike. Hermione, in all her brave glory, had jumped protectively in front of Harry, grabbing for her wand. She was one of the first to die. Her body lay on the cold stone steps at Ron's feet and he remembered he had looked at the advancing Death Eaters. And he had laughed. He had laughed, standing over the body of someone he had once considered a friend. And when he had turned to look at Harry, standing frozen behind him, he had smiled.

"You knew this day would come," Ron said, sensing the presence of his new brothers and sisters as they arranged themselves behind him, killing everyone they could. Flitwick lay in one corner, against the body of Draco Malfoy, who'd been caught in the crossfire. Snape stood with Dumbledore on one of the staircases, casting down spells at the Death Eaters, trying not to hit students who happened to be in the way. McGonagall was opposite with them, wounded yet still fighting. Some of the students were randomly firing at Death Eaters, trying to create diversions so their fellow students could escape.

"I... I just never thought it would be you," Harry had gotten out, hands shaking as he reached for his wand. Abruptly, all fire in the Great Hall stopped and a silence descended. Ron had smiled then at the look on Harry's face. The Dark Lord had just arrived.

Ron would never forget the next few moments. One by one, Voldemort had killed everyone who stood against him. McGonagall, Hagrid, Cho Chang, Ginny, Colin Creevey... the list of the dead went on and on. And at the end of the list, the Boy who Lived. Only now he was the Boy who Died. After watching the people he loved being slaughtered, it was his turn. Ron hadn't actually seen him fall, but he knew Harry was dead. And when Voldemort had placed a hand on his shoulder, telling him in that terrible voice of his that he'd done well, Ron had forced himself to smile. Glancing up, Ron just happened to catch a movement from the corner of his eye and saw Snape, holding the still form of Dumbledore, crouched in a doorway near the top of the staircase. Sharing a look of understanding with the man, Ron had simply turned back to the Dark Lord and followed him down the stairs.

And into damnation.

In the days that followed, when Voldemort realized that Dumbledore was still alive, Ron had endured more than he ever thought a human could. In his anger, the Dark Lord had tortured everyone in his path--Death Eaters and non-Death Eaters alike. Ron had discovered firsthand what the Crutacius felt like, and discovered why it was one of the Unforgiveables. But even the Crutacius couldn't get rid of the new emotions Ron discovered that he had--pain and guilt. Pain because he wanted to scream from the rooftops that he'd changed. He wasn't just 'Ron Weasley, the Death Eater." He was Ron Weasley, the boy who wanted to put his life back together. But while Voldemort still lived, he knew that was impossible. And when it was all over, and the Dark Lord was gone for good this time, he'd probably end up in Azkaban if he wasn't already dead himself.

Death wouldn't be his punishment. Death would be his release.

Guilt weighed heavily on his mind because he had betrayed his best friend, the one he'd once promised to die for, all for a few words of praise that meant nothing. Harry was dead, simply because Ron wanted to belong. And among the Death Eaters, at least for a while, he'd gotten that feeling. But now that it was all over and things were getting back to normal, Ron found that the feeling of belonging was gone, leaving only the emptiness behind.

The Mark on his arm burned and Ron sighed. His Master called. And for the time being, he couldn't ignore it. He must play the part of a loyal Death Eater. He must not give the Dark Lord any reason to distrust him. He must continue this game of killing, of hating, of guilt. How he hated this game. And how he hated that he must play it.

Sighing once more, Ron put his Death Eater mask back on and Apparated from the former site of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.