Laugh Because You're Dying

Laugh Because You're Dying

By: WeasleyGirl-Yeah

It was just too dark for his liking. But, as of a week ago, he had gotten used to the darkness. And even though the darkness went against everything that made him up, he sat in it silently and reminisced about the days when he was happy.

Bloody hell, I miss those days.

Ron Weasley was going to die alone; he knew that for a fact. He was to die alone in this damp dungeon, a sad and pitiful excuse for a man. No, but he wasn't a man yet. By age, he was just a boy still. He wasn't even twenty yet. He was just eighteen. He'd never gotten his first taste of Firewhiskey yet. Couldn't he live just a bit longer and have a sip of that?

No, I want to die. I just want to move on. I want to get this over with. After all, my life is over with. What is there left to live for?

It had been a few weeks ago that this thought would have never crossed Ron's mind. He was living a wonderful life then. He was happy for the most part. After all, the only one who had died lately had been Sirius Black, and that had devastated Harry more than him. Don't get him wrong. He had been moping and grieving for the man when he'd fell through that blasted veil; he'd looked up to the man--he thought of him almost as a hero. Sirius's passing had given him more of a wake up call, of course.

But, as usual, that wake up call was not enough to keep him from getting in the grip of Voldemort. It had merely prolonged it, Ron supposed. It would have been sooner had he not gotten that wake up call. With a sigh, he guessed that it was better to have gotten captured now than sooner.

It had only been a few weeks--although it seemed more like an eternity--since Voldemort had suddenly popped up out of the blue one fall morning in Muggle London (Ron often wondered why Voldemort had picked a Muggle city out of anywhere in the world.). Of course, the Order of the Phoenix had immediately sprung into action and fought back relentlessly. He, himself, had fought at Harry's side. He, himself, had been the one that an exhausted Harry had fallen upon near the end of the Final Battle.

"Harry, get up, mate! We have to keep fighting! You-Know-Who--he's coming now! Harry, get up! I need to help Hermione! She's standing up alone! You-Know-Who's gonna kill her! Harry!"

Harry was weak and he couldn't even open his eyes. He just laid limply on Ron's back. Ron was scared out of his wits. He could barely think straight. So this was how he was going to die--

"I'm tired, Ron--too tired to go on. I can't move anymore. I think I'm broken, Ron; I think I'm broken..."

"Harry, I don't want Voldemort to kill Hermione or you!" Ron was crying. He hadn't cried since he was six. And holding it all in for twelve years was too long for him to lock it all up now. He unlocked the floodgates and sobbed, shouting at Harry to get up and keep fighting...

Ron shook his head at the memory. It amazed him what had happened next. He had always figured that if that ever occurred, Voldemort would just blow Hermione away, then knock him off, and then point his wand at Harry; say something sadistically humorous; chuckle; say something dramatic; and then arrange an appointment for Harry with his maker. But nothing like that happened.

Instead, Voldemort had bound Hermione up and snapped her wand in half--after a Crucio or two--setting her aside. Ron had somehow gotten Harry off of him and had gotten to his feet. He remembered saying a few spells uselessly and then he got knocked into the chest so hard that his feet popped out of the shoes. The landing had been very painful. He remembered looking in his right hand and seeing a large piece of black clothe--he had torn a piece of Voldemort's robes. He'd gotten bound, but his wand had not been snapped; instead, Voldemort put it in his pocket. He bound Harry and they came to this lovely suite.

I even get room service!

Death Eaters had came in and out of his little cell. He had not been shackled up then. He'd be pacing in his cell and one would walk in. He'd stop to glare at them and then fall to the ground, screaming in pain from the Cruciatus Curse. Ah, but now, he'd gotten far too used to the pain. It was no fun for them and he didn't scream that much anymore. He was quite numb by now.

Well, he was numb to most of the physical pain, at least. Naturally, it wasn't the physical pain that made him just want to kick the bucket. It was the emotional pain that was getting to him--eating him away from the inside out quite literally.

All of his family members are dead. No beating around the bush here--they're all dead as a rock, though a rock was never alive in the first place. The last of them to die was Fred, and Ron had the torture to hear his screams. He knew Fred was the last one alive; the Death Eaters had told him gleefully and he had choked up, much to their delight. They were sick, honestly.

The screams penetrated through the stone walls and Ron knew that they were Fred's--he was cursing bloody murder. Ron had curled up in a ball in the corner and put his hands over his ears. And when they stopped, so did Ron's heart for a few beats; Fred was sitting next to George again. Ah, what sweet release it must have been for him to die. Ron envied him deeply.

I'm always the very last one. It's just so usual for me to be the last one to get the pleasure to get out of this torturous place. Eh, I guess I should have been prepared for this twist already.

What Ron didn't envy of Fred was Angelina Johnson. It was a great pity that Fred hadn't survived. Ron, besides George, had been the only other one to know that Fred had popped to question to her and she had accepted it cheerfully. They were going to get married! For the love of Merlin, they were going to have twenty children and be filthy rich, living in their huge mansion of a house! Except that Fred had gave his life up in order for Angelina to escape the Battle.

Fred had given his life for his love. Do we live to love? Do we die for love? Do we love to live? If we live to live to love then we're making a death wish. If we love to live, we're doomed anyways. But, as Ron always reminded himself, everyone died, whether they wanted to or not.

Voldemort should just get over the fact that it's impossible for him to become immortal. I mean, come on, after all of these tries, he should quit. They're signs--written in gigantic, bold lettering--saying: You're not going to be immortal, live with it--er, I mean, just kick it already!

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was now the Boy-Who-Died-Just-A-Week-Ago. Ron knew for a fact that his friend hadn't gone without a struggle. Voldemort had been questioning him on the whereabouts of where the remaining living Order members where. Harry had supposedly remained faithful and took the secret with him to his grave. Ron had heard Harry's yells echo throughout the dungeons. It had been just terrible.

"I'll never tell! They're going to live and defeat you! You'll pay for all you've done! You're going to lose this no matter what you and your stupid Death Eaters do! You're going to die sooner or later! I'm never going to tell you!"

"Tell me, you foolish boy--tell me where they are!"

"Kill me, why don't you?!"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Well, that's when the yelling had ceased. The silence was almost just as lethal to Ron as those two words that made up the Killing Curse. He had opened his eyes and blinked. A Death Eater--Rookwood, he supposed--had literally skipped into his cell to announce the "good" news.

"Potter's finally dead! Can you believe it?"

"Yes."

Harry was dead and Ron was knocked down severely. His best friend--his best mate--was dead as a doornail and he could do nothing to stop it at all. He was powerless in the situation and he was going to have to live the rest of his life with hearing Harry's yells at night in his mind. He felt like he was going insane slowly, but he was still sane enough to sob for a reason.

But the biggest blow to Ron, possibly, was Hermione Granger's death. He knew that he would never hear her screams when she died. Hermione did almost everything silently--with the exception of getting in an argument with him. It had been in the early morning and Ron had been sleeping when a Death Eater barged into his cell. The Death Eater--it was Lucius Malfoy, that scumbag, I remember--had dragged him out of bed and hissed in his ear:

"The Mudblood is dead. Aren't you happy that you're finally liberated of her?"

"Hermione?"

"Yes, she's dead. I killed her myself. Aren't you so proud of me? It was almost an honor to rid her of her forsaken, dirty life."

"Hermione's dead?"

"Yes, she's dead. I'm sorry you didn't hear her scream. She was a silent one. Ah, what a pleasure it was."

"Are you going to kill me now?"

"No, I'm not going to kill you just yet. I think you should live a bit longer--see how it feels to live a Mudblood-free life for a few days--"

"Well, why the bloody hell not?! I'm already dead enough as it is! You've already killed my life! Just get it completely over with! Please!"

It was now only a few days since that morning. He had lain on his bed, sobbing into his pillow madly and when a Death Eater came in--it had been Wormtail, he knew for sure--he had snapped so furiously that before the guy could give him a good Crutacious Curse, he had pounced on him, almost beating him to death. It would have served him right, too.

Ron remembered punching him in the gut and lashing out at him so abusively that Wormtail had been crying out in pain. A few Death Eaters had blown him off of him and had given him a Crutacious Curses at the same time. That had been quite painful, now that he thought about it. He ran his hands over his left arm; he could still feel the stings from his scars that he acquired that night in the Department of Mysteries in his Fifth Year.

But that was far away from him now. He was far away from when he was that boy. He often wished that he could be hit with the Confundus Charm or Tickling Charm so he could just experience confused joy and regain the sense of what was laughter again. A tear rolled down his cheek.

Often, Ron wondered what had been worse to hear in his time stuck in this cell. He had heard the many screams of tortured or killed people at night or day--he didn't know if it was night or day anymore; he'd lost track of time weeks ago. He thought the worse was going to be Hermione--never hearing a thing and never knowing if it was very painful or not.

But then, he always remembered the way Ginny had to go and tears would unconsciously roll down his face. Ron shook his head and tried to forget about that night. He didn't want to remember it and he forced it to the back of his mind. Ginny was his baby sister, whether she liked it or not, and he had not been able to do anything about it; it had been impossible for him to stop her death.

Ron kicked the wall and ignored the pain in his foot that shot up through his leg. What was the point? He was going to die anyways--just maybe not right now or today. It might be weeks from now, but he really hoped he didn't have to wait that long. That's when the door suddenly opened.

Ron spun around to see yet another Death Eater walk in, but this time, the Death Eater's hood was down and he knew exactly who it was. Bellatrix Lestrange lazily strolled into his cell with a sadistic smirk playing at her mouth. He rolled his eyes at her. She always loved to play games with his mind. She just loved to tease him relentlessly. And this time, she didn't bring her wand out and torture him.

"Oh, Ronald, you're going to have such a lovely day!" she squealed in pure hideous delight. He didn't even want to wonder what she meant by that. He hated it when she was cheery; it always meant more pain for him and that was obviously no fun. He turned his back to her and she pouted sarcastically. "Oh, I'm deeply hurt by your actions, Ronald. You know, Miss Granger would never have wanted you to act this way to me."

Ron shrugged his shoulders and didn't respond to her out loud. Her smirk only broadened.

"The Dark Lord wishes to see you," Bellatrix told him happily. "He tells me that you know something of great importance."

"Nope," Ron replied in a hollow voice, "I've got nothing to say to him. No one told me anything. After all, I was the stupid one, remember?"

"Mm, a façade that you would just love to continue to display," Bellatrix said silkily. Again, Ron shrugged his shoulders. He'd gotten used to such torment. "Well, c'mon now, the Dark Lord hasn't got all day like you do. He is the leader of the world, you know, and such status does take a large amount of his time."

"Ah, I see," Ron muttered grumpily, turning around to give her a blank expression. She frowned at him a bit; she didn't like it when he wasn't showing her any emotion. "Well, let's get a move on." He walked out of the cell and she followed behind him, poking him in the back with her wand to show him that he had no where to run--that she was the one in control. Of course, he already knew that.

"What does he want with me again?" Ron asked dully, not caring to look back at her. She grinned at him and poked him in the back, telling him to walk faster. He almost felt like he was walking into doom--like he was walking right to his death. But was that such a bad thing?

Oh, please, I want to go. I want to go so bad. Tell me that he wants to get rid of me. Tell me that he thinks I'm of no use to him anymore. Please, tell me that.

"I believe he wants to question you," Bellatrix sighed, her cheer ringing in his eyes. He could almost see her grinning at him. "He wants to get some answers out of that stubborn mind of yours."

"Well, I do believe that he's not going to get any," Ron muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Like I said earlier, I don't know anything."

"Mmhm, I'm sure you don't," Bellatrix replied quite sardonically. She rolled his eyes at him, but was still grinning. Harry had been fun to push around, Hermione had been hilarious, Ginny had been hysterical, and Charlie Weasley, mm, he had been an absolute honor to torture and tease.

But oh, oh, how little Ron had proved to be the largest pleasure giving person out of them all. She knew that he wore a tough front and was very soft on the inside, but he was complicated--more than anyone thought he could be. His outbursts of anger, tears, and panic attacks were fantastic. But what fascinated her most was his amazing ability of stoicism. She'd mocked his father's death once, but he had just stared at with such a hollow gaze. He was different than anyone else she had tortured in her life.

It was almost a shame that this was going to happen to him now. Bellatrix shoved Ron through a door that had magically opened by its self. His eyes widened. He'd never been out of his cell and this room was widely decorated in many assorted of things--many brilliantly shiny things that reflected in his eyes. But the beauty of the room was quickly diminished when he laid his eyes on a ring of Death Eaters, Voldemort at the front of them. His heart plummeted into his stomach.

Oh, crap. This is going to be... humiliating? Painful? Boring? Difficult? Exciting--? Exciting? Where did that come from? Bloody hell.

"You"--Bellatrix suddenly grabbed him by his shoulders and turned him around to face her, something she never did and startled him--"go into the middle of that circle. That's where the Dark Lord shall question you. Be a good boy or you might be in trouble."

She smirked at him and began to chortle. He looked a bit alarmed and it was funny to her. She guided him to the circle and pushed him through a small gap where she stood. He staggered a bit and then stood back up, looking around. He felt so... looked at and it made him a bit uneasy. He suddenly felt like he was going to be embarrassed.

Bloody hell, why do I even care about getting embarrassed? I'm in the middle of a bunch of Death Eaters and Voldemort is standing in front of me! Oh... crap, crap, crappity, crap!

Ron looked in front of him to see Voldemort in an overwhelming black cloak with a hood over his eyes that were red and just slits. When Ron saw his eyes begin to glow red and he pulled up one white, spindly hand with his wand, Ron had a strange urge to laugh. He didn't know what so funny; maybe it was the fact that he looked so odd and kooky.

"So, um..." Ron looked around the room. "What am I doing here?"

"I'm sure you already know that." Ooh, it was a hiss, just like a snake and it sent shivers down Ron's spine. He cringed a bit, wondering what was going to happen to him. Was Voldemort going to question him and when he didn't get his answers, was he going to torture him?

"What do you want to know?" Ron asked quickly, glancing at Voldemort sideways. "I don't know anything at all! I told Mrs. Evil that a few seconds ago."

"Crucio!"

Ron wasn't quite sure who said it, but he figured that it could only have been Voldemort. He didn't think any Death Eater would dare hex him in front of Voldemort without asking first. He fell down to the ground and writhed in pain, but it wasn't that bad, honestly. When the Dark wizard lifted the spell, Ron gazed at the ceiling rather dully. He glimpsed Voldemort pulling something out of his pocket and he rolled onto his stomach. He jumped to his feet--face-to-point with... his wand.

"My wand--what the--?" Ron glared at Voldemort suspiciously and when Voldemort held it out a little bit more, he slowly took it from him. This was... confusing. Voldemort just gave him his wand back? What was the meaning of that? He gulped when a sudden thought crossed his mind. "You're not going to make me duel you, are you?"

Voldemort laughed in a cold high-pitched voice that made Ron's eyes widen. "Duel me? My dear boy, I don't believe you can even barely duel me, as you proved weeks ago," he chuckled icily. That made Ron glower at him resentfully. "It would be no fun for me to just purge your mind without you having any bit of defense. Let the game begin!"

"Game? I don't think I'm gonna like this..." Ron muttered grumpily. Count me out, Voldie. I don't want to play a game; I'm too old to play silly, little games.

"Tell me, where are the rest of the survivors that are against me, Weasley?" Voldemort questioned rather calmly, slipping his bony fingers over his dark wand.

"Don't know." They're somewhere where your idiotic Death Eaters will never find them. You were a bit thick to have all of your supporters be about as slow as a slug.

Voldemort raised his wand and said, "Leglimens!" Ron closed his eyes and put his arm up to shield his eyes from the light coming from Voldemort's wand. There was a strange sensation. He felt someone was trying to enter his mind, but it never got any different. When Ron opened his eyes again, he saw that the Dark wizard was looking frustrated. He wondered why, but got no answer.

"Where are they hiding, Weasley?" Voldemort interrogated with frustration in his voice.

"I told you, I don't know," Ron repeated agitatedly. Didn't this man--er, thing--ever listen? He didn't know, but oh, did he ever. Wasn't he super skilled in Leglimency? Shouldn't he be able to find out without him having to tell him? This was too confusing.

After minutes, Voldemort began to look angrier than ever before, his eyes glowing redder than ever before. Ron was beginning to think that something was seriously wrong with him. He was fuming furiously and glaring at him like he was the worst thing in the world.

He's going to squish me like a bug! I wanted to go the smooth way! I never get what I want.

"Tell me where they are!" Voldemort demanded irately, pointing his wand right in Ron's face. Ron's eyes wandered down to the tip of the wand that was less than an inch away from his nose. He looked back up into Voldemort's face.

"Sorry, I don't know," Ron sighed under his breath. This must not have been a good day for Voldemort because he was thoroughly ticked and Ron didn't think that he could have only made the guy this angry just because of a few survivors.

"Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!" Voldemort's voice rang out. Ron was knocked off the ground and into the air, pushing a few Death Eaters out of line. He smacked into the wall and continued writhing in pain, yelling out in ache.

When he finally stopped, Ron laid there, his body completely sore. Sweat was dripping off of his forehead and he couldn't move. He heard some steps and then saw a pair of feet near his head. He tried to move his head and brought his eyes up to find that Voldemort was standing there, pointing his wand at him.

"Get up," Voldemort hissed at him. Ron somehow managed to get to his knees. This was horrible. He had never looked so pathetic in his life. This was so degrading. He looked to be begging for his life. This was possibly one of the worst positions to be in. "You're of no use to me anymore. Because you are just here to waste food that the animals can eat, I'm going to kill you. The Weasley scum will finally be completely rid of on this earth."

Perhaps Voldemort expected him to start his pleads of mercy or the spilling of information. Perhaps he thought that he would turn a new leaf and became a Death Eater; after all, he was a Pure Blood. Perhaps Voldemort thought that he would start bawling his eyes out or look terrified. Perhaps. But Ron did the last thing that any of them--Voldemort and all of the Death Eaters--would have thought that he would do when faced with death.

Ron merely laughed joyously.

He was rolling with laughter. He was laughing so hard that his ribs hurt and tears were coming out of his eyes. He was laughing so hard that he was crying with ecstasy. Voldemort and all of the Death Eaters just gawked at him as he continued to laugh loudly. He wiped his eyes.

"Yes! Yes, go on and do your work! I should have known you were going to do this when you couldn't get any information out of me!" Ron held his stomach and howled with laughter. Voldemort blinked and even rubbed his eyes, but Ron was still laughing. "Go ahead, Voldemort; I'm ready to snuff it."

"Hermione, where do we go when we die?"

Ron was beaming at the Dark wizard; he was insane. And maybe he was insane at that moment. Maybe he had finally lost it all completely. He didn't know. But he did remember what laughter was again. He did find out what joy was again. He was elated. He was going to see Hermione, Harry, and all of his family again! He wasn't going to be alone anymore!

"I don't know, Ron. I suppose we just go to Heaven."

"What's Heaven like?"

Ron grinned cheekily at Voldemort as the man raised his wand at him; he'd never known how hard it was to kill someone when they were laughing.

"It's a beautiful place where there is no pain or sadness. You're always in bliss. It's more than amazing!"

"If you leave this world before me, will you be waiting for me to come to Heaven, Hermione?"

"Have fun ruling this sucky world," Ron chortled. "I'm going to see my friends and family again. You can live in this place if you want."

"A-Avada Kedavra."

"Of course, Ron; of course I'll be waiting for you in Heaven. I love you."

Ron Weasley died with a lopsided grin on his face. He died a happy man. He died a winner. For Voldemort never knew of the consequences of murdering a laughing boy; he never realized that it would haunt him for the rest of his life. Every time he pointed his wand at someone, ready to kill, he would always think of that boy that he murdered while he was laughing--that Ron Weasley.

There were a few myths about Ron after that. He was often given the name, "Laughter", for he died while he was laughing. Some speculated that it was not Voldemort who murdered him after all. The myth said that he had actually died of laughter, but most knew that it was not true.

Ron had laughed because Voldemort was going to kill him. He was going to have his wish delivered to him without telling anyone. He had laughed in the face of death, and had therefore defeated it. He had smirked at it and beat him easily. Ron Weasley had laughed because he was dying.