The Trial

The sun shone briefly--very, very briefly--through the high, barred window of the cell. The prisoner raised his head, looking up as he always did, hoping he could see that glorious light one more time. But the light was gone as quickly as it had come. The head lowered again.

One year, or very nearly. Almost a whole year he had been ensconsed in this miserable cell, through no one's fault but his. He had screwed up, big time. And now he was paying the price.

A whoop suddenly echoed, a cheer down the hall. The prisoner got up, crossed to the barred door, stuck his head out.

"What's going on?" he rasped.

The guard gave him a contemptuous look. "Not that you care, but we've won. You-Know-Who has been vanquished for good!"

The prisoner, who had undergone a change of heart about halfway through his trial, felt his battered spirits soar. "At what price?"

"Don't know. Now get back in your cell!"

The prisoner backed away from the door. He could think of at least one person definitely involved in the fight that he hoped had survived it.

Later--probably a few hours later--he heard voices down the hall, then a jangling of keys. The head guard approached the prisoner's cell and, wonder of all wonders, opened it.

"Come on, you," he said roughly. "You've got an official pardon. You're out of here."

Once again the prisoner's spirits soared. He allowed himself to be shunted down the hallways roughly. He was free!

~~~

"You sure about this?" the warden said suspiciously.

"Positive," the man said decisively.

"He was a Death Eater, you know. You don't have to waste your pardon on him."

"It's not a waste. He means a lot to me."

The warden eyed the man sceptically, but let it pass. The head guard poked his head in at that moment.

"I've brought 'im, guv. Where d'you want 'im?"

"Send him in, Wilkes."
The guard popped out. A second later, a tall, lanky prisoner was shunted in. His hair seemed a dusty grey-speckled red, as though it hadn't been washed in a year. His eyes, blue as the heart of a flame, seemed hollow and harsh as the rumble of the Paris death-carts. He saw the man, who had risen from his seat, and his whole face lit up. He looked like a twelve-year-old at Christmastime. "Harry?" he said tentatively.

The man smiled, and that simple smile made him look like a young boy again, almost like the innocent eleven-year-old he had been a lifetime ago. "Ron," he said quietly.

There was the briefest of pauses. Then Ron rushed forward, just as Harry did. The two embraced, laughing with relief and ecstasy. The head guard shrugged and went about his work. The warden harrumphed and went back into his office.

"Harry, I'm really sorry," Ron began earnestly, but Harry cut him off.

"Ron, it's okay," Harry assured him. "I've made some mistakes too. You've paid for yours...and I've paid for mine. You don't need to apologise any more."

A shaky grin crossed Ron's face. "I see you got through the battle all right. How's Hermione?"

"She's fine. We're getting married next month...and we'd like you to come."

Ron's grin widened. "I'd like that. What about my family?"

"Ginny got a pretty bad arm injury, but she'll live. George came through without a scratch. Percy's got a bloody nose and Bill's pretty shaken up, but they're otherwise fine. Charlie got a nasty burn, but he says he's been through worse on the dragon reserves, so you see he's fine. Your dad got a nasty bump on the head, but Madame Pomfrey says he'll be fine in a couple of days." Harry hesitated. "Your mum, though...she's in bad shape. Remember that curse that hit Hermione in the Department of Mysteries a couple years ago?"

"Yeah," Ron said warily.

"Dolohov was there, he hit your mum with it before anyone could stop him. I heard the incantation, and...well, now I know how lucky Hermione was. The spell, when properly and fully cast, rips its victim apart from the inside out. Madame Pomfrey's doing her best, but we're not sure if she's going to pull through."

Ron swallowed painfully. "I...I have to see her."

"I know. That's why I didn't wait."

"What do you mean?"

"Once Voldemort was gone, the Minister said I could have a free pardon. I knew you were the one I wanted to let go, and I knew I had to get you right now or you might never get to see your mum again. She keeps calling out to you--talking about the sunset." Harry put his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Come on, mate. Let's go."

Together they left. Voldemort was finally vanquished. And Ron Weasley was finally free.