A Glimpse of the Soul

The lone figure of a tall, gangly, young man strode through the ruins that had once been the greatest school of magic ever built. Large chucks of marble stuck out of the ground like broken teeth, gleaming dully under the bright red glare of the sinking sun like it was covered with blood all over again. The once expertly kept lawn of the Quidditch field was replaced with a large square of bare, burnt ground. The six hoops that towered 50 feet into the air has all fallen down, half buried in debris like the bones of a giant.

Overlooking the sad, depressing vista, he suppressed a shiver. His hand went for the robe pocket, pulling out a tarnished silver cigarette case and extracted the last remaining cigarette. It's only one left, he thought mournfully, just like myself.

He lit his cigarette with his wand and took a deep, shuddering, drag on it. As the ashy vapor made its way into his lungs, his nerves calmed.

With grim satisfaction, he exhaled, watching as jets of pale grey gas rushed out of his mouth and nostrils, trailing away in thin tendrils. It took only seconds for the smoke to be accepted into the embrace of the atmosphere, blending into the air. Gone without a trace now, swallowed up, thought Ron dolefully watching as the sun darted behind the clouds, giving it a carmine fringe.

Gloomily, he puffed away on his cigarette, emitting a small cloud of toxic fumes. He brows furrowed as he made his way through the maze of giant blocks of stone.

I thought we we're safe in Hogwarts; it was our invincible sanctuary ... so much for protection, a familiar thought of resentment crossed his mind, making him scowl fiercely.

His cigarette finished, Ron let the stump fall from the snug space between his fingers with a sigh of remorse. Crushing it with a firm toe, he drove it into the soft soil. Burrowing it away, digging its grave.

He felt a brief tinge of shame as tears collected in the corners of his eyes, his throat tightening. Shutting his eyes, he made no effort to cease the rapid flow down his horridly scarred cheeks.

He remembered the day well.

* * * * *

As he made his way along the swarming corridor with his two best friends, he thought of nothing but the list of the Gryffindor Quidditch House Team's new players that would be posted in the Great Hall that evening. He tried out for the position of beater two weeks ago, and had been jumpy with anxiety and anticipation throughout the torturous fourteen days.

"Come on Harry!" He whined, attempting to coax his scrawny friend into spilling the beans. "What kind of friend are you? Can't you see that I'm in pain here?"

Smiling mischievously, Harry shook his head and quickened his pace. "Can't. Sorry," he laughed. "Look, Ron, learn to have some patience!"

"Yes, it'll be good for you! Just like not peaking under the wrapping papers of your presents at Christmas, it's an exercise of patience," Said Hermione on his other side, feigning haughtiness through giggles; her thoughtful brown eyes crinkled in the corners.

Grumbling, he muttered nonchalantly about wishing the day would hurry up. Just as he was about to round the corner to the Charms corridor, he heard a dull, rumbling, resonating round the school.

Immediately following came a thunderous crash which shook the building, throwing everyone off their feet. Instantaneously, the broad walkway was strewn with students attempting to regain their balance. Potion ingredients, bits of parchment, and other miscellaneous possessions flew everywhere. Ron landed hard on his back as Hermione fell across his stomach. Harry fell down next to them, his bright green eyes darting in confusion.

As soon as the shaking had stopped, Hermione leaped to her feet and ran off, telling him something about being a prefect and receiving orders. Ron watched her bushy brown ponytail bouncing up and down, up and down. Her feet carried her nimbly through the distraught crowd. Swivelling her head sideways, she tossed a cocky smile over her shoulder. Next to him, Harry waved a bit, looking quite dazed.

"There! There! Look outside!" A Slytherin fourth year whom he didn't know was leaning against the windowsill, pressing his forefinger against the glass.

He turned and looked, and saw a ball of blazing golden flame, laced with crackling threads of deep, murky green. Instinctively, he threw himself to his knees, shielding his head with crossed arms.

There was a deafening boom as everyone unbalanced once more, clinging to one another for support. Books, quills, and smashed inkbottles flew in every direction, vibrating from the force of the blow.

"We're OK! Get up, Ron!" A strong hand pulled at his arm. "It bounced off some invisible barrier!"

"All right, let go already." Groaning, Ron lowered his arms and proceeded to get to his feet.

Without warning, the giant stain-glass window shattered, sending bright coloured shrapnel flying. There was a deafening roar in his ears; Ron caught a fleeting glance of the advancing sphere of doom as it swallowed him. He didn't even have a chance to scream.

* * * * *

How he survived was a mystery. All he knew was that he woke up on a cot in a local hospital.

Around him were the mangled bodies of his schoolmates, so shrouded with bandages that they were not recognizable. Oh God, so much blood! Its metallic bittersweet scent hung everywhere, heavy and nauseating. The very air seemed to be tainted red.

He wheezed feebly.

"He's alive!" A stout nurse with tired eyes exclaimed, hurrying over to him. Her white robes splattered crimson. So much blood.

"Here, drink this," She made an attempt to shove a small plastic cup filled with thick murky liquid into his fingers.

His fingers wouldn't obey his commands, the cup slid out of his grasp as he tried without success to hold it. The nurse dived forward to catch it in her hands, falling rigid onto her knees.

"Thank goodness it didn't spill!" She let out a heavy sigh, rubbing at her eyes with grimy fingers.

"Karen? Is Ron awake yet?" A warmly familiar voice was heard faintly over all the commotion.

Mum? He thought, trying to see sideways.

"Oh is this him? I was about to give him some Strengthening Tonic," The nurse named Karen looked faintly relieved, watching as a plump redheaded woman make her way through the labyrinth of sickbeds and deathbeds.

When Mrs. Weasley caught sight of him blinking, all pretence of tranquillity was lost as she sprinted to his bedside, cradling his head in her arms. "Oh my dear child," She planted a shower of kisses all over his face, "my little baby..." Tears cascaded down her cheeks, splashing all down the front of her nurse robes.

"Mum," rasped Ron, feeling his vision blurring slowly, "Mummy..."

* * * * *

It turned out that he was one of the twenty survivors of the Havoc of Hogwarts, he remained hospitalized for a whole year,

combined with extensive treatments and physical therapies.

Mirrors were forbidden around the gloomy young man. The nurses learned their lessons after every reflective surface within a diameter of 100 feet shattered when he saw his own mutilated reflection for the first time in the bathroom.

He wasn't grateful for his miraculous survival. Why must he live when everyone else had perished? Nearly two thousand young wizards and witches were killed with Lord Voldemort's lethal new toy. The deadly new weapon, the Sphere of Carnage was unleashed upon the nearly helpless wizarding world, demolishing anything in its way to dust. Literally.

It took just one to destroy the great Ministry building, Percy's glasses was found among the debris, half-melted and missing a lenses. Another sphere was hurtled at a feeble assembly of wizards; the local militia. Bill and Charlie were erased from existence, not even a tooth remained.

Molly and Arthur were both murdered in cold-blood during a Death Eaters' victory celebration.

That was when it ended ... the killing, that is. Just as Lord Voldemort applied an excruciatingly painful curse upon Molly Weasley, she whispered an ancient family incantation, setting all that Voldemort had ever done against him. It was meant to be a spell for good, really, for it was originally used to allow people to feel the tingly sensation that emits for all the good deeds that they've done.

Of course, it was also capable of working the other way around.

They said that Voldemort was struck by a vast coil of electric blue lightning. Others say that he exploded.

However it was, he was no more, that's for sure.

* * * * *

The sun sank under the horizon completely, leaving him in the opaque darkness. The stars above twinkled merrily down at him, winking prettily.

He caught sight of a glimmer under a large slab of sandstone. With a levitation spell, he moved it to the side to reveal a palm sized shard of glass. Standing over it, he knew without looking that it held his own, grotesque image. A familiar rage rose in his chest at the thought of mirrors, the shard cracked ominously.

Satisfied, he raised one foot, and proceeded to stamp it into pieces. But the image it revealed stopped him.

Is this what I think it is? He thought with disbelief, feeling stunned.

Bending over with effort, he picked it up and placed it in the palm of his hand.

It was showing him the image of Harry, Hermione, Ginny...and everyone! They were all beaming at him, waving merrily. He

spotted himself as well, unmarked and smiling, hugging Fred and Percy. The surface of the mirror shone brightly, illuminating his face with golden light as he stared, transfixed.

What was it called again? He scraped through his memories for its name. He remembered looking into it in his first year of

Hogwarts. He remembered seeing himself as the best of all of his siblings.

"I guess one's heart's desire could change," he said absently, caressing the surface of the glass fondly.

Then it hit him. That was it, He thought, the Mirror of Desire.