Orange Juice

Ron brought her orange juice. In the middle of the night, when her nightmares (memories) left her wide awake & broken. He must have laid awake for hours,listening for her strangled cries, because when she finally managed to open her eyes, there he was. Smiling but looking worried, with a glass of juice in his hand.

He never asked (she never told him) exactly what crept through the darkness behind her eyelids. But she suspected he knew. (He always knew.)

*

Harry brought her hot chocolate. She wrapped her freezing hands around the warm mug, not having the heart to tell him it was wrong. (Everything was wrong.)

He crawled onto the bed beside her, arms moving like snakes to wrap around her. A hand pushed back a stray curl that had escaped her messy ponytail.

I miss him, too, he whispered softly. His eyes were hungry. And she was scared. But then his mouth met hers, lips soft & needy, and all thought (strength) fled.

There would be a mess in the morning, and her wrists would be bruised. With him inside her, she was losing herself, and finding a ghost.

*

Her ear was pressed to the ground. Listening to the earth echo the sound of bodies falling. Harry had hid her here to keep her safe. She didn't mention that she is never safe (from herself). It didn't seem to matter.

Her heroic lover had gone tramping off to meet his Destiny. And she was left playing the military bride. Never mind that she wasn't in love (with him).

Hours passed. They felt like days. The stars were so much brighter. Like freckles. (His freckles.)

She heard them coming but didn't have enough will to care. They gripped her arms, their fingers overlapping the bruises Harry had left, and hauled her to her feet. She looked up, eyes hard and empty, and recognized Lucius Malfoy's cold, grey eyes. Inexplicably, she smiled.

*

Pain, blood, moans. Hot, sour breath on her face. She was tempted to yawn. In the three months she had been here, she had become accustomed to this. She was nothing but a waste receptacle. (Nothing but waste.)

Rough hands traveled over her ribs, her concave stomach. Someone new.

Look at me, Weasley.

The voice was sharp like a sword. Her body followed orders while her mind reeled. Weasley? Was that her name? Did she have a name?

A lithe, pale body shifted in and out of focus. White hair. Grey eyes. Roman nose. And then it changed. Red hair. Brown eyes. Freckles. So many freckles.She remembered looking up at the sky, seeing stars and thinking of him, his constellation of freckles that led her to all the right places. Her eyes flooded with tears. Who was he? Why could he make her cry? She hadn't cried in almost two months. Who was he? She doesn't know him (she does).

A name came rushing like blood to her head, making her dizzy beneath Lucius's writhing body. Ron. She whispers it aloud, but not loud enough to be heard. She feels like she might vomit on Lucius's shoulder. Her heart is heavy with the knowledge of what was once forgotten.

Ron. I loved him.

He brought me orange juice.

~*~fin*~*