Blazing Sands

Blazing Sands

~Time waits not for lovers like us

It is a cruel master than Fate is a mistress~

Part I:

Six years later...

He was dead.

He was supposed to be dead. Yet he wasn't really dead. But to the world he was dead. It is really strange, he thought, seeing your own gravestone when you are very much alive. So, he told himself that he was dead. He had been dead for six years now. He should not be trying to resurrect himself. He couldn't afford to do that anyway. Not just for the safety reasons but for the emotional ones as well. People had moved on. His friends had moved on. He would just be a fond memory in their heads and he preferred it that way. Because if any of them saw him or knew the things he had done till now. Joy would be the last emotion on their faces.

So he chose to remain dead. At least now he wished he really was dead. The pain in his stomach had doubled since the past hour. That was nothing compared to the banging in his head. He couldn't see anything properly. He had wretched thrice on thetreet, of which one happened on this really hot chick who was worried about him, as he tried to take support against an ecklecticity or electricity or whatever it was. Right! Thanks Hermione. Lamp post!

Hermione's face irked face came in front of him and he shook that image earning a rather nasty headache. He knew that it was hopeless to try to think Hermione out of his mind, because her face was far too deep rooted entirely in it. Yet she would have moved on too. Fallen in love with someone else perhaps...

A fresh taste of bile rose in his stomach as he felt the heat flush on his face. He had no business thinking about Hermione Granger right now. He just wished he were dead as in really dead and not dead-to-the-world-and-alive-to-himself type of dead. The night wasn't helping much either. The wound in his side had clotted against his shirt and Ron knew that removing the shirt would prove to be a painful affair. But he had to remove the shirt like he had to get himself in a tub of cold water. He had to live. There was too much to do...

Where the fuck was he anyway?

A screeching vroom alerted him that he wasn't properly conscious either. He was about to walk onto the main road and die...as in literally die in an accident. He squeezed his eyes shut and brought them into focus again and he could see a little better now. His throat had become painfully dry and he needed water. He caught hold of the corner of a building wall and looked at the road. It did not seem like the any where near...oh fuck!

He was in Muggle London.

And one thing was confirmed. He was going to die for sure.

Six fucking years, he told himself. I survived six fucking years alone...I'll survive this. Gathering all the energy he could muster he pulled himself into the alleyway he had apparated into by mistake and stumbled through the back alleys. He could have died for all he cared...he should have died for all he cared. Yet the one thing that kept him alive all these years and would keep him alive was carrying him back into the land of the living every time he gave into fainting. He was loosing blood. He would lose more if he weren't careful. There were many fucking bastards who would realize he wasn't dead when they found his assailants with swords stuck in their throats.

Stop cursing Ron.

Shut up, Hermione, he told the voice in his head.

His conscience had died the minute he committed his first murder. No, homicide. Because that was an appropriate word that defined killing a man. So he allowed Hermione to become his conscience. He was sure the minute he started hearing her mental chidings and musings that he had gone insane. He had to be insane. After all the idea of murdering someone, no matter how evil was something he was not prepared for. Now the consequences were irreparable.

He squinted as a rather harsh light hit his eyes. He swallowed again the action becoming more painful by the second. It occurred to him he had passed out somewhere, again. His perspiration had increased many-fold and he knew the fever would not break until he got help.

And help was something he couldn't risk.

The minute news of him getting into the sight of any doctor or any hospital, he'd probably have ended up fucking the whole thing up. And he couldn't afford to go the Muggles. First because he had no Muggle money and his wand had snapped into two pieces with the dick that caused him this pain and even if he did have it, he had no energy to transfigure anything into Muggle money. He had to get somewhere...he didn't even know where and he hated feeling so fucking...helpless.

Maybe he should make his way into a brothel or something. Some big-breasted witch would clean him up and give him some sex and he would pay with wizard money, of course. Money was never an issue now.

Typical male...

He hated in when Hermione's amused voice would reproach him on his love life. If one could call it a love life. He had a long history of one-night stands, which ended with his release. He could not afford to love, he was told. Complications like love are not welcome.

Problem was he was always in love with Hermione.

No...he couldn't love. He could never love, he told himself. If at all he did love her he would have been faithful to her, even if she didn't love him. Hell! He never knew if she felt anything for him other than close friendship. What was he talking about? She was his bet friend and teenage infatuation? He probably had a concussion.

"No Hermione." He whispered, it was bad enough she acted as his conscience, to have her invade his mind as well.

He scrambled, almost crawled out to through the alleyway, which was too long. As he staggered onto the street the hot, scorching sensation came up his food pipe and before he could do anything he was on his knees vomiting bile, because there was no food left in his stomach to come out.

Not just bile, it seemed, as he coughed.

There was blood, too.

He had to live...no...he just had to survive. His life died with the first man he killed. Now he just survived to keep Harry safe. That was the only thing he could pride himself on, if he dared to. Unconditional loyalty to his friend. His once friend, at least. Because as far as he was concerned, no one, except those actually concerned would know about his existence.

His vision blurred again as he wheezed, spitting the last drop of saliva mixed with blood and took hold of something to stand up. The night was cold and unwelcoming but he was on fire. He tugged at his shirt collar hoping it would stretch enough for him to get some air. He had to survive. Or else everything would be in vain...

He coughed hoarsely again ignoring the tiny stabs in his brain feeling terribly sick and fought the desire to just keel over and lay there in his vomit. No time for that, he told himself. Bringing himself to his full height he leaned against a lamppost and tried to scan his surroundings as best as he could with his fickle vision.

This was not the main road. He could make that much out. Beyond him was a large building. Rather shiny...oh no! It was well lit up; it had a portico. He squinted and made out the letters... "The Dragon" it had a lot of symbols under it. He staggered closer and almost laughed. It was Chinese. It was actually Cantonese script, if he was correct. Strange, because the colours of the place seemed rather Mainland. He noticed that just next to the restaurant building from his direction, there was an away similar to the one he had come out from. He assumed that it would lead backwards to the kitchen of the restaurant. At least he could get some water by some means.

How on earth he managed to get there without dying in the process remained a mystery to him. He had other things to worry about than his method of commuting from one end to another. He lunged at the wall of the restaurant and fought the scream erupting in his throat as a result of the excruciating pain in his abdomen. The poison could only defeat him as much as he would allow it to. He gripped against the jutting shelf built against the wall. It wasn't a shelf it was the drainage. He had to get help...some kind of help. He was about to make his way towards the end of the alleyway when searing pain erupted all over his body ending in pain, it forced him to buckle over and collapse.

As he breathed deeply trying for the pain to subside, adjusting his positions in all possible methods to ease it a little bit, albeit unsuccessfully. The pain on his eyelids told him that if anyone were to look his way they would see him collapsed on the sidewalk that led to the restaurant. He was not hidden by the shadows of the wall. He looked towards the portico observing people stream out...he crawled back against the wall and was satisfied no one would notice him. He kept staring at the illumination of the restaurant. The brightness was painful and it would keep him awake till the pain went away.

His eyes focused on Hermione's brown hair as he closed his eyes and grimaced painfully.

Hermione?

His eyes flew open and he gasped, the action sending shooting pain into his abdominal cavity. No...not here...not possible.

He had enough experiences of running behind brown and bushy haired women and finding someone else or even hallucinating about her to believe he saw her, just like that. Yet every Hermione he saw in his hallucination was the same adorable nineteen years old or younger. This woman...

It couldn't be her.

His vision was distorted, he must have confused it. He got to his fours and reached closer so he could see.

It was her!

She was standing looking towards the entrance of the restaurant. Her hair let loose and it was long...hell yes! It was longer than when he last saw her, when was that? Before Voldemort had him abducted in front her eyes and sent her as the frightened messenger to Harry? Her hair...concentrate! Damn it!

It had reached her hips now and it was billowing gently about her face. Her face was not childish anymore. It was matured. It was her. He knew just by the proud stance and the expectant look on her face as he tried to focus on what she was wearing. It seemed like an overcoat over dark slacks. He could see no better. For all he knew, he was just hallucinating. For crying out loud, this woman served as his conscience nowadays!

And then five people walked out of the restaurant...into the portico to join her.

Five people, he knew, walked out of the restaurant...into the portico to join her.

He froze in horror and backed away groaning into the shadows. He always hated Divination but he could kick Trelawney's seer arse if what he saw was a lie. It couldn't be fate, he argued, could just be my imagination

Then why did Harry, Fred, George, Angelina and Katie look so much older?

He gasped as the twins and the women who were clearly with them talked with Harry as Harry put his arm around Hermione.

It was a friendly gesture...but he felt a stab of jealousy.

What the fuck was he doing here? He groped at the wall and stood up and staggered behind the protection of the wall. He couldn't let them see him...though Hermione in his mind argued that even if they did they would take him for a roadside tramp, toss him a coin and walk away. "Shut up Hermione..." he whispered staring at her as the woman before him smiled, and accepted a kiss on the cheek from Fred.

The smile was feeble but oh bloody hell! She was beautiful!

No...he couldn't allow them to see him. He wanted them to, he wanted to go and hug them and tell them he was alive but he couldn't do that. Too much depended on it. He staggered back not noticing a dustbin behind him.

Wham! He landed with an even more banging head. His calves hurt now at the wonderfully painful experience of the brim of the dustbin digging into it. He kicked away, cursing violently. Getting up immediately and felt his head. It didn't seem as though it was a concussion but it hurt like hell.

More importantly he had their attention.

Fuck!

He immediately grappled with the ground and stood up and scrambled into the shadows and hid, checking if they saw him. They gave a glance and went back to speaking.

Except Hermione.

Fuck her observance of everything!

She stood staring in his direction, craning her head to see what was wrong. He saw her excuse herself from Harry and the rest and step forwards. Harry caught her hand. He felt jealous again. It had occurred to him that Hermione would have found love...whether it was Harry or not, but it never kicked him in the balls until now.

Speaking of kicking, the wretched pain was back and this time he had to groan. He sank to his knees wheezing painfully unable to see what was going on. There were blinding flashes of light in his eyes. This was not good.

"Excuse me...?"

This time the voice wasn't in his head. He looked ahead and saw her dainty feet and shoes and the seam of her slacks.

So it indeed was her. She was standing in the dark...a few feet away from him. He put his head down so she couldn't see his face. The bloody pain!

"...are...are you alright?"

"Bloody fine!" he croaked and moved away.

She stepped closer, "I'm...I'm a doctor...I can help you."

"No money..." why was she coming closer?

She stopped and said, "It's not about the money...are you..."

"Go away miss..." he hissed.

"Hermione?" Oh fuck! This was all he needed. A body in pain and the two people in the world who were as close as they could get to him standing feet away. Oh, it would have been nice until they realized he wasn't actually dead!

"What is it?" Harry's voice seemed too cold.

"Nothing...I was just..." he looked up at the sound of uncertainty in her tone, Hermione was still looking at him wistfully and Harry had a rather bitter expression on his face.

"The twins have left. They had somewhere to be. Did you have to run like that?"

Hermione just looked at in his direction. Yet Harry, fortunately, though rather surprisingly did not follow her gaze.

"Who is he?"

"No one I know..." her voice was getting squeaky. Strange. Harry's face suddenly changed to anger.

"You thought you saw him again, didn't you Hermione?" he almost shouted.

Okay, he was not only in pain but also in confusion.

She said nothing only stared at his prone form. He looked down, grateful for the darkness and wheezed, "Leave me be, marm. Drink...'sall! "

"Harry...I just..." her voice...she seemed so lost.

Harry suddenly pulled her to face him, causing him to look up as Harry shook her and yelled, "How many fucking times to I have to tell you Hermione?"

"NO! Harry!" she pleaded and tried to stand straight against a rather violent Harry.

"He's DEAD! You hear me? He's dead! Leave it alone...you can never see him again. Stop this! STOP THIS! Before you go mad...and drive me mad too!"

He watched in disbelief as Harry pushed Hermione away as he sobbed before he left saying, "I'm going home."

Hermione just stood staring in some incomprehensible direction. He had no idea what to do. He wanted to go and stand in front of her and tell her. Or go and take that now sobbing frame into his arms and hold her. He couldn't just challenge all she knew. Not now, when it would only prove as a liability; so he forced himself to stand up and retreat into further darkness.

His involuntary groan made her turn and look at him longingly. There was neither doubt nor recognition in her eyes, from what he could make out in the glistening of the lamps so far away. There was nothing. Except loss.

"Are you..."

"Fine, marm..." he croaked and moved backwards. She made no attempt to come to him. He stopped in his spot at her expression and forgot about the pain, which was now interfering with his sense of consciousness.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered. Loudly whispered, because he could hear it. Or maybe it was the heightened sense of awareness around him. He could hear the dripping of pipes, the clanging of vessels from the building, which he leant against. The clubbing of the footsteps of people walking. Laughter seemed rather annoying right now; and that was what all that the blasted couples that walked about seemed to do. He winced at the zooming of a car on the road. For some reason that made no sense to him, he was drawn to her and stepped forward.

"I...I..." tears slipped down from those beautiful eyes. He could just take her in his arms right now.

The minute she stepped back three or four steps, he realized he had actually stepped towards her. She backed up into the light. He stopped into the shadows. He shouldn't move any forward. He couldn't risk exposing anything to her. Yet she looked so helpless...

Her expression of sadness was replaced by fear and apprehension, "I...I...I thought you were someone else." She immediately turned and made to walk off when something in him snapped and he managed just before his world started swirling, "I am that someone else."

She stopped in her tracks and turned. Her face a mixture of confusion and irritation. She stepped forward and said daringly, "Come again?"

The pain kicked his stomach again and he clutched his abdomen in a groan and bend over, staggering unconsciously forwards, into the light. After all these years...seeing her again. He shouldn't say anything. He should just walk away but the only thing he did, as his vision blurred and her confused eyes were the last he saw before his world gave into comfortable darkness, before he heard her loud gasp in disbelief whispering his name as though it was sacred, and before he staggered closer to her and felt her body catch his as he collapsed on her for support, was say,

"Hermione...it's me...Ron."