Aftermath

The Common Room is pretty crowded today, thanks to the overbearing thunderstorm raging outside. The warmth of the fire in days like this attracts everyone.

Grouped in the outer part of the Common Room, the most distant from the fire, Hermione and I want to try to talk of He-Who-Must... I can already hear Hermione's voice in my head "Ron, you really should.." and so on), ok, we want to talk of Vol.. Voldemort.

We decided it this afternoon, after the Charms lesson, I and the erudite girl. No, wait, wrong grammar: as my cultured friend keeps on repeating me, I have to say 'the erudite girl and I'. Like if things like these are actually important.

It's pretty rare, that we try to talk of the Dark Maniac I mean, by now we don't even know how to introduce the conversation with Harry; we don't know how he will react, if ragingly or if locking himself in one of his irritating mutism. Comprehensible maybe, but bloody irritating.

It's a while that we're sitting here, Hermione with that hybrid of a cat and a russian brick on her lap (what was that? Anna Carininth? A strange muggle title, no doubt about it), Harry is staring at the raindrops that hit the window (what's going on out there? A diluvia?), and I, who am trying to catch Hermione's gaze, to see if we can try something. Finally the absurd creature finishes her chapter, methodically signs her page and puts down that tome. She has read half of it. She took it in the library this morning. Ok, why does this seem strange? It's Hermione.

We share a nervous look, and then we try to bring in the matter, with a dialogue between her and me, and with Harry who, every ten sentences, adds a "mhmh" or a nod of the head. Pretty communicative tonight the boy.

We go on with the talk for some other minutes, and Harry manages to put together two sentences (Thank Merlin, he even used a subordinate), when Dean and Seamus enter, followed by Ginny and that friend of hers... Maggie? (By the way, why have these four come in almost together? Note to self: investigate). They hear us talk and aggregate. For I am absolutely happy if the most people possible don't lock themselves in a glass cage trying to ignore He-Who-Must-Not .. deep breath, Volde-, ok, his return, well, I'd have preferred them to chose another moment to demonstrate it. Not tonight, when Harry seemed rather inclined to talk. The coming of the others helped him to shut up without being noticed. In every case...

"But don't they understand how a world ruled by Voldemort would be?" Well done Dean, even you learned to pronounce his name. Is it just me left?

"What do you mean?" This is Harry. Four words, now he will shut up for an average twenty minutes.

"From an economic point of view, that in the end is the most important" yes, I agree "a world ruled by the Obscene Lord would quickly resolve into a coil of corruption and oppression. You know, it simply is unsuitable." The train of thought runs smoothly, but I wish it were this simple...

My ears whistle. I can barely hear my classmates's voices, I feel like I had my head under water. No, not again. Not now. This is the first alarm ring. It's the first signal and it says "Here we are, Ron, we are coming". The murmur is continuously more burdensome, and I already feel that constant and fierce pulsing at the temples, an incessant and obsessive thump-thump-thump.

It resounds in my heart, amplified in the middle of my chest.

And added to my friends's ones, I can hear so many, too many other voices of unknown people.

"The Mark will be our birthday gift, son". Lighten the tension, Ron. Lighten it... I, I bet he would have preferred something else, by the way. Perhaps a broom.. (you know, a Cleansweep goes from nought to seventy! A wonder!)

"How do you dare to compare Grindelwald to that immature boy?" I reckon he must have changed his mind, though.

"With tonight's ones we reached eighteen houses visited this month. Go and tell Misha he promised us two bottles of Firewhiskey, and that we want 'em now!" However, with some voices I can't seem to lighten this tension. The laughters that follow these assertions make my blood freeze, while my heart clenches painfully and my eyes blurry.

"Andie, why do they resound in my head in this way? They deserved it. I did the right thing. Yes. It's true. Is it? Tell me it is! Why can't you look at me, Andie?"

Many, too many voices in my head. Laughter, serious tones, craves... unknown and extraneous voices.

Now they are more definite than my friends' ones. I can't even see them clearly. They are becoming out of focus shapes in front of me, like if I had a veil before my eyes.

With an excuse I get up and go towards the portrait, or towards where I think the portrait is. This is the worst part when, besides listening to all these voices, my world transforms in a series of shadows and vague, indistinct dust. I feel eyes on my back, Hermione's probably. But now it's not important. I reached the Fat Lady's portrait and I managed to exit. It's better now, the coldness of the hallway helps me to find a minimum of lucidity, but I know it's transitory.

The first wave came, now it's going back, I can see more clearly, but the pulsing in my temples continues, undaunted and constant. I take a deep breath, ignoring what the Fat Lady is telling me, sounding worried behind my back. Her voice is always more feeble.

The murmuring returns, the second wave is coming earlier that usual, I can't stay here. I have to go. I have to go away.

I have to go away. I have to. I have to. And all the other thoughts vanish. I have to run.

I have to.

And I run.

I run.

I can't do anything but run.

My legs can't stop. They don't want to.

I don't want them to.

I have to get away from here.

The murmuring is always louder, deafening. Yells, screams, threatens, cruel laughters. Everything is definite for a second and then returns to be a voice in the numbing crash.

"I believe in the Dark Lord, protector of what is pure. I believe in the uncontaminated chosen lineage. I believe in the power of blood on the mudbloods' arrogance...".

"How long you thought you could be double-dealing for? He-who-reins-on-the-shadows discovered your deception and now you'll pay for it!"

"I believe in the honour. I believe in the decision I make in this moment. I believe and I hand my arm conscious..."

"Nooo! Stop! Stop! I beg you! I'll do what you tell me. I'll do anything you tell me to, just stop. I can't take it anymore... I'll do what you want, but please spare me.".

"Because I believe in he who descends from the most powerful of wizards, whose terrible rage will unload on the untrustworthy. Because I believe in the Dark Arts as the source of eternal power. Conscious I hand my arm to access the truth."

I run.

I run down the stairs, until I reach the atrium. I exit the main door, running through the gardens.

I have to go. I have to get away from everything.

I run beyond the Quidditch field, skirting the Forbidden Forest, I run towards the invisible borders that limit Hogwarts.

In this moment I can't do anything but run; I need to run. I need to leave it all behind my shoulders, or I won't be able to get through it this time.

It's been worse than usual. Worse than the last time.

I keep on running. I have to. I need it.

I don't even feel the ache at my legs anymore, I don't realize the troubled breathing, I have to get away from it all.

By now I'm insensible to everything that does not come from my head. This attack has been worse that the others.

Worse than the first.

Even worse than the first.

Worse.

I'm bent in two, my hand on the knees, while I try to catch my breath.

While I try to catch my fate?

Good, I'm going insane.

But it's fading. It's fading. It's gone. Definitely.

Thank Merlin it's gone. For this time it's gone.

For this time.

*

I failed. I failed. I haven't been strong enough. What a gutless.

I'm a coward. I don't even deserve to be a Gryffindor. This was simply the confirmation of what I already knew. Maybe the Sorting Hat was wrong. Maybe he just pitied me.

Maybe it was routine. Another Weasley, another Gryffindor. It wouldn't be that strange, thinking about all the Weasley he sorted...

Surely I didn't behave like a Gryffindor. But there was nothing I could do. It was too...

It was too much.

Too many lights, too many persons, too much noise. Too many voices.

Too many voices in my head.

Maybe I'm going insane.

I really am a weak.

I notice only now the rain on my face, on my hands. I could have immersed my head in a bucket, for how it's wet. Water runs down my cheeks and my neck, soaking my shirt.

I rise my eyes, and look in front of me.

How long did I run? I reached the cliff.

I lower my head again, hands still on my kneed, trying to bring my breath back to an acceptable level.

I let myself fall to the ground. Every time, after, this sense of tiredness that doesn't leave me any energy. I stay so, sat on the ground, legs bent so that I can rest my head on my knees. I stay like this, in the middle of a storm, among lightnings and gusts of wind.

A motionless coward still while the world fights. Ironic metaphor with my life.

It hurts so much that it makes me want to cry. I won't, though. This would really be the last defeat.

I slide supine on the wet grass, feeling depressed. Not because of the attack, I learned to accept them. After all it was me... it was my fault.

But I cannot accept not having learned how to oppose them. How to bear them.

What a boneless.

These are voices of dead people. Probably Deatheaters, or supporters of his spiritual predecessor, Grinderwald. Sure they wouldn't have brains on innocent people in there.

However, these are voices of dead people. They cannot hurt me. It's not possible.

So stop. This must be the last time. I cannot afford to go on in this way.

I cannot.

I suddenly stand up, with the energy of my recent resolution, but my knees still don't bear me, I overbalance and make a step forward.

Nice beginning, Weasley.

I look down, at the cliff, making a step backwards, because the last gust of wind was really too strong.

The waves smash furiously against the rocks, water and foam in a continuous movement.

I should withdraw; the ground here is not that solid. But I cannot take my eyes off the violence under me.

I hadn't realized I run so much, I went so far.

I reached Hogwarts' borders.

I am not able to take my eyes off the show under me. An astonishing sensation: safety, excitement, and a strange desire to jump. I have no desire to suicide, I would be too vile even for an action like this. But to jump in the empty, while the sky fights with the earth, to let myself be overwhelmed by the wind, to fall in the empty... it's exciting. Like flying with my Cleansweep, going every time faster, higher, to the limits.

The gusts of wind are now, if possible, even stronger. I am suddenly conscious of my drenched uniform, icy when hit by the wind.

I turn, reluctant, and begin to go back.

She's there, immobile some meters from me, and she stares at me with a worried expression that makes my stomach twist in a grip.

She came in search for me. She was worried and came in search for me.

I walk towards her, still looking at her face.

"You could have brought an umbrella, couldn't you?" She came all the way here without an umbrella, really. At least she took her cloak, I couldn't forgive myself if she will get sick.

"Ron Weasley, you are an idiot." Frowning, she says these words like if they were a dogma. She isn't wrong.

"Always supportive, aren't you?"

"You have no idea, I was so worried! You run away, with no apparent reason, and you were not coming back!"

"Hermione-"

"So I got out as well, and the Fat Lady told me how you were about to faint in the hallway..." really, that portrait knows how to tell facts "... and how you ran away without listening to her. Really Ron, be ready to receive a maxi lecture when you see her, run away without paying her attention..."

"Hermione-"

"So I went to the gardens, and to the Quidditch Fields, I hoped to find you there, but nothing. I searched in the gardens for half an hour, but were nowhere to find..."

"Hermione-"

I was almost going back inside, when I see Dumbledore who tells me 'exceptional day, isn't it miss Granger? I wonder what panorama one could admire from the cliff2 " that man will have to explain to me how he always knows everything "and so, here I am."

"Hermione-"

"Ron, you cannot-"

"Hermione, shut up." I stop her after a soliloquy of twenty minutes and she has the nerve to sulk, it's incredible. "I'm sorry to have worried you, but I..." Go Weasley, always loquacious but when needed.

"It's the aftermath of the battle at the Department of Mysteries, isn't it?" I have to admit it, sometimes it helps that she's so clever "you know, you should go to Dumbledore" sometimes it doesn't.

"To tell him what, Hermione?" Headmaster, I hear voices. Hermione, be practical..."

"Ron?"

"What?"

"The way you said 'pratical'."

"Yes, and so what?" there's nothing to do, she's having hysterics over this. For I am happy every time I see her laugh (it's bloody important that she laughs, in times like this), the way she's laughing in my face because of the way I talk is slightly discouraging.

"Come on, let's go back to the Common Room." She turns back to normal and looks straight in my eyes.

"In every case, tomorrow as first thing I'll go to the library to try to find something. Maybe there's a potion, or a spell that can help you. You didn't tell us that you had these reverberations." Reverberations. And I am the one that speaks funny, aren't I?"

"Okay."

Silently we walk towards the castle.

"Ehm, Hermione?"

"Tell me."

"As it's still raining, would you mind if we use your cloak to cover the heads of us both?"

"Oh, Ron! I didn't notice. Sorry!"

Close to each other under the cloak (Hermione is small!) we go back.