I'm not in Denial

Ron - Is There Something I Don't Know...?

Ron Weasley was back where he should have been.

Here he was, sitting on the windowsill of his dorm and looking out the open window at the spectacular view of the Hogwarts grounds underneath the star-sprinkled and cloaked skies. Leaning his head back against the frame, the Gryffindor listened raptly to the soft and almost hypnotising call of the wind and the oddly calming muffled noises coming from the Forbidden Forest. Even though he shuddered when he remembered what exactly lived in those woods (don't think of spiders... don't think of spiders...) the redhead had to admit that it was pretty nice to be back. Nice to be here with his friends and to have all his proper things back. Nice to not have Madam Pomfrey force-feeding him every two seconds. And nice not to have the pointy-faced git as his only company.

The meeting yesterday afternoon would be the last trace of Draco Malfoy in his life. Now the git was gone. His empty seat between Crabbe and Goyle left vacant. Ron was sure, after he'd blinked a couple of times incredulously, that he saw Goyle sniffle into a hankie and look desolately down at Malfoy's unoccupied chair. They really seemed to be bloody missing the vindictive little shit. And Pansy Parkinson had made a big scene when planting a rose there before she burst into tears and tore out of the Great Hall dramatically, causing Hermione to roll her eyes before returning to her copy of 'The Call of the Mandrake' and Harry to snigger along with Fred and George. Ron had remembered sighing in relief that Snape had buggered off to God knows where for the last couple of weeks. The Gryffindor shuddered to think how many points the Potions Master would take from him when he found out that he'd helped in getting his favourite kiss-arse expelled. Although he did try and help him get back in again...

Ron cringed as he remembered his outburst during the meeting, grimacing as he remembered the embarrassment of the whole situation. Holy hell, what was he thinking?! Yelling like that... Had he gone stark raving mad?! Wanting the prick to stay? And saying it front of everyone and everything! He groaned. He didn't know why he did it, wasn't like he enjoyed that bastard groping him or anything...

Sexual harassment. That's what it is when someone puts their unwanted, stinking Malfoy hands all over you.

Yeah, so maybe he reacted to it... but shit, anyone would react to having someone, you know... touch em like that. 'Specially with cold hands. He'd probably have been the same if it were Hagrid or something...

Ah, great. Now he could never look at Hagrid the same way again.

The redheaded Gryffindor suddenly shivered with the licking chill from the night, trying not to think anymore. He squeezed his aching eyes shut tightly. He didn't want to think. He didn't like it. He usually left all that to Hermione. He just wanted to sleep. To crawl into bed and to forget all about today. To forget all about Malfoy. To forget what Fred and George had said earlier that day and to forget that look from Harry...

And why was it that he was always the last to know anything?

He tried not to pout but it really was a struggle.

Neville's snores sounded around the room as Dean muttered something angrily in his sleep about a referee who clearly needed his eyes checked. Seamus, being the lively bugger he was, was tossing and turning, unable to stay in one sleeping position for too long. Ron knew it was only a matter of time before the energetic Irish boy kicked off his sheets in frustration then fell completely out of bed. The thought managed to turn a weak smile from him. He couldn't recall a night where Seamus didn't spend a session napping on the floor.

And Harry...

Ron grimaced as his eyes glanced over to his best friend's bed.

Harry was having a nightmare.

The redhead sighed in ragged gloom.

Well, he supposed it was only a matter of time before it happened but it still didn't mean that he didn't secretly hope it would skip a year. He could see a tear slither down the wizard's face. He looked away, knowing that Harry would never want him to see him cry. And he didn't want to see it. He hated seeing his best friends upset, no matter how much they argued about minor things like fame and psychopathic pets eating other evil and demonstrably smaller pets. Although he'd never be sentimental enough to tell them, Ron would do anything for either of them... but, with a shrug, supposed that they already knew it.

He looked on helplessly as Harry, now sweating in fear through his sleep, mumbled incoherently and shook his head desperately. Feeling unsure and awkward with himself as he glimpsed at the pained expression on his best friend's moonlight-illuminated face, Ron bit his lip and turned swiftly back to the window, hoping to mute out his hearing and Harry's desperate pleas. The Boy Who Lived was whimpering and shuddering, squeezing his eyes even tighter and shaking his head in denial at some unknown demon within his mind. And Ron didn't want to see it. He didn't want to think about another threat on his best friend's life. He didn't want to know if Vol... (he shuddered again) if You-Know-Who was coming back for them all. It really was too much for a fifteen year old to handle. To be honest, he had enough problems without having the whole world domination thing to deal with as well.

He looked down at the muggle watch Hermione had given him on his last birthday ("You won't have an excuse for being late now!") and fumbled for the strange button on the side that used to use eclectrickery to make the digits glow in the dark. When he first got the thing, Ron had shaken his head in impressed disbelief and muttered, "How do Muggles do it...?" He had only very recently mastered how to use the thing, with absolutely no help from an enthusiastic and 'all-knowing' Mr Weasley who had tied the wrist watch around his ankle knowledgeably and had produced a triumphant smile. It took all of Harry strength not to burst into laughter as he showed the two absolutely fascinated Weasleys how to work the alarm. Ron smiled wryly when he remembered the look of pain on his father's face when Hermione had converted the eclectrickery into magic so it could work within Hogwarts. It seemed that Mr Weasley saw such an act as absolutely criminal.

3:08 AM

The redhead grumbled slightly. It was late. Very late. And he still couldn't get to damn sleep. All he kept hearing was the conversation he'd replayed in his head since that afternoon, repeating over and over like some cheap Muggle movie. He couldn't get it out of his head. The niggling fact that there was something he wasn't being told. He sighed, closed his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest, reliving the scene in the Great Hall yet again. It really was getting bloody exhausting doing this every two seconds. He reached up and rubbed at his aching, freckled temples gingerly with his fingertips as he both grumbled under his breath and reminisced...

Man, he had missed the food. It was one of the first places he'd gone to straight after he, Harry and Hermione had literally begged Madam Pomfrey to let him go back to his dorm, despite her protests. He remembered walking merrily to the Gryffindor Tower with Harry and Hermione on either side so they could dump his remaining sweets into his trunk, before the three hurried eagerly to the Great Hall, Ron leading them very enthusiastically. Not even thoughts of Draco Malfoy could hinder him from getting excited about food. Pumpkin pasties... roast potatoes... Yorkshire pudding... Ron remembered licking his lips and hurrying faster.

Once sat at the Gryffindor table for lunch, the redhead recalled clapping his hands then rubbing them together with a hungry gleam in his eye as he gazed at everything with sheer excitement. Fred and George, sitting opposite him, were making animated conversation involving lots of arm waving though he was too busy drooling at the giant chocolate gateau that had suddenly appeared from out of nowhere to care.

Ron closed his eyes tighter as he remembered how it started.

"It's a shame that no-one else saw the fight, though... I would have paid good money to see Harry knock Malfoy out with a broom...!"

"I'd've paid more to actually hit him with the broom!"

Ron had remembered vaguely nodding his head at his brothers' musings and the cheers and roars of laughter from his Gryffindor friends, but not really paying attention as he gobbled down about three chicken legs in one go and noisily gulped down a pitcher of pumpkin juice like a starving man. Well, he was pretty hungry... He remembered Hermione's look of disapproval as she handed him a napkin and clearly heard Harry's chortle as his best friend neatly used his knife and fork. Hey, what did they want from him? Madam Pomfrey had been shoving cold stew down his throat for the last few days...

"Yeah, Harry. You lucky sod," George had grinned good-naturedly as Ron continued to chomp everything in sight. "But couldn't you have hit him in the face?"

"What, and do Malfoy a favour?" There was a great burst of laughter sounding from all around the excited and cheerful table. Ron merely helped himself to another couple of rolls as Harry shrugged modestly with a smile.

"I don't really remember it all."

"Yeah, better to ask old chatterbox Violet," Fred had added, helping himself to a dangerously wobbly spoonful of green and pink-coloured jelly. "With a front row seat, she truly is the luckiest sod of them all..." He said this in a very profound way as he sniffed loudly and raised the spoon as though he were proposing a toast. He then shovelled it inelegantly into his mouth.

If truth were told, the ravenous redhead wouldn't have noticed anything peculiar if Harry hadn't have dropped his spoon with a loud clatter at his brother's words. Looking up from buttering his bread rolls at the bespectacled boy, Ron noted that Harry was looking at him with a both pale and nervous expression as his deep green eyes flickered apprehensively.

Wait a minute...

Ron was beginning to clock on, his half buttered food forgotten.

There was a witness.

That old witch Violet had seen everything. And there was definitely something he wasn't being told. He narrowed his eyes as he kept eye contact with Harry, a suspicious and confused frown on his face.

Harry knew something. He really knew something.

But what the heck did he know?

And why did Harry always need to know everything before he did? Even stuff that was particularly about Ron? ...But, seriously, what the bloody heck was going on? Fred couldn't be right. There couldn't be a witness! Even Dumbledore had said there wasn't... and he wouldn't lie! Well, unless something really bad had happened and...

Ron remembered feeling very queasy as he gulped down the bitter bile rising from his throat and wondered.

Had something really awful happened that day? But what could be worse than what did happen...?

Christ, what the heck did Malfoy do to him?

He had suddenly stopped feeling hungry. He actually felt ill again. His pale looking face and his sudden halt in eating attracted a few looks, especially a concerned one from Hermione beside him, who nudged him lightly with her elbow.

"Ron, are you alright? It's been about a whole minute and you haven't finished your plate," she had smiled good-naturedly, then placed her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. "Is there something wrong?"

"Hey, watch it with the hands, Hermione!" George had suddenly cried out, mid chewing down on some chipolatas. Fred looked up from his food then grinned mischievously, understanding his brother's meaning with the strange twin sixth sense they shared.

"Yeah, you can make a boy blush with where you put those babies ...!" To their great delight, Hermione went completely scarlet, retreated her hand back to her lap and looked extremely uncomfortable as she returned to prod at her food with her fork, still flushing terribly. Ron, who usually outdid her mortification ten fold with blushing ears and a usually mumbled "Shut up" when his brothers used crude innuendos, wasn't paying attention. There was only one thing he was thinking of, and that was seeing Violet. And when he pushed back his chair loudly and muttered that he needed to go to the bathroom, that was exactly what he was going to do. He needed some answers. He may not have had Hermione's sense or Harry's judgment, but he could plead and make puppy-dog faces. He was very good at them. Well, his mother always fell for them.

But Ron Weasley soon realised that Violet was far from his mother.

He grunted as he recalled his visit to the wizened old witch who lived in a frame. Fat lot of nothing that did. She just shooed him away with a wrinkly hand, telling him that she had no idea what he was talking about and that she would sick Sir Cadogan on him if he bothered her again. That was warning enough. He'd rather pet Fluffy than withstand more ridiculous sword brandishing and yelling from that nut.

But why didn't anyone tell him there was a witness? Why had Dumbledore lied to the Governors? What the heck did Violet see to be kept so secretive?

The more Ron thought this over and over, the more he couldn't sleep. And at this time, Ron had gone over the scene so many times that his brain felt like mush. With a pissed off sigh, he crossed his arms aggressively and looked out the window in a strop. Bloody Malfoy. Why did that git have to affect him even when he was long gone? Why was Ron still here, stuck up thinking about the blond bugger when he could just get on with making up his Divinations homework, having petty though endearing squabbles with Hermione, beating everyone spectacularly at chess and... What the hell was that?

The redhead peered out the open window, leaning forward and craning his head so much that he almost fell out. He had just heard a noise that didn't constitute as the monstrosities of the Forbidden Forest or the sound of crickets. He was so enthralled and concerned with the sound that his thoughts were temporarily forgotten. Actually, to be honest, it sounded like a person. And if he went all out, he'd go so far to say that it sounded very much like Madam Pomfrey. But what was she doing out there at this time of night, and who was she talking to? Squinting as well as he could in the dark, he could just about make out a figure wrapped in a long black cloak and holding up a lamp as they bustled along... but there was only one figure. Had the school nurse gone insane from looking after Malfoy and begun to talk to herself? He wouldn't have been surprised. His eyes were beginning to hurt from the close inspection and he could still barely see a thing. There was only one thing for it. Hurriedly lifting open the closest trunk to him, Ron rummaged through Harry's belongings ("Harry won't mind!") and almost whooped aloud when he'd found what he wanted; the Omnioculars Harry had bought from last year's Quidditch World Cup. Practically falling over his big feet as he thumped down on the windowsill and put the contraption to his eyes, Ron zoomed in on the figure, which was walking further up the grounds. The redhead waiting impatiently, and with a whole lot of excited lip licking, as the lens began to focus.

It was definitely Madam Pomfrey. She was muttering something as she walked further and further towards... Ron nearly dropped the Omnioculars. She was heading straight towards the Whomping Willow! What was this? Suicide? Had Snape cursed her like he did to Harry's broom stick in their fir...? Oh yeah. That wasn't Snape. He still wouldn't put it passed the greasy-haired prat though.

Ron swore as the wind began to play up again and a leaf slapped straight against the lens of the Omnioculars. Temporarily blinded, the Gryffindor, in angry exasperation, whipped it away to nearly fall out the window again at his sudden sight. Madam Pomfrey had stopped, drawn out her wand and had pointed it straight at the violent and bough swinging tree, a blinding white beam hitting the roots and immediately stopping the tree mid pound. She turned to the thin air and mumbled something with a faint smile on her lips.

She was definitely with someone. Ron's heart was thumping and he was actually tingling with curiosity. This called for another visit to Harry's trunk. Falling down on his knees and rummaging as though his life depended on it, the redhead pulled out the piece of old parchment and pulled out his wand from his pocket. Tapping the paper, he whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The familiar thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web as the title soon proclaimed that the Marauder's Map was up and running. Eagerly, almost desperately, scanning his eyes and tracing his index finger over the rough paper for the Whomping Willow and the passageway that led to the Shrieking Shack, Ron saw two tiny dots. One was labelled 'Poppy Pomfrey' and the other... He dropped the parchment in shock. He sat, heart practically bursting out of his chest, in complete disbelief. Managing to stumble clumsily to his feet, the Gryffindor raced back to the open window, fumbling furiously for the Omnioculars and peering through them, cursing for how long they were taking to focus. It couldn't be... he couldn't be... he wasn't supposed to be... But it was all simply too true. And Ron Weasley knew it when he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as an only too familiar flash of silver disappeared through the entrance of the tree.

Malfoy.

Harry - The Dream

He'd seen this house before. Once during a past dream and also when he was transported via a portkey during last year's Triwizard Tournament. The rundown, once stately and impressive house loomed creepily over the Boy Who Lived as he shivered with the cutting night air, goosebumps appearing all over his bare arms as he wrapped them tightly around his t-shirt clad self. The wind whipped at his unruly black hair as he looked warily around, teeth chattering and legs trembling with the cold. Where were his robes? He wished he had them. Any longer out here and he'd be frozen alive.

Potter...

On impulse, he whipped his head around, hands clutching around his jeans pockets for his wand. Nothing. Oh Bugger. He didn't have it. Not only was he was stuck in the graveyard that Lord Voldemort himself used as a venue for his Death Eating parties but he didn't even have his wand. And it didn't help that the evil bastard was now calling his name. He looked around again, beginning to panic. Why was he here? What had happened? Where were Ron and Hermione...? It was safe to say that Harry Potter was in trouble. And not even his sense of humour could hide how genuinely terrified he really was.

The icy wind practically sliced through his clothing as he cautiously stepped forward, his arms tightening to ineffectively lessen the cold. His numb green eyes stung with salt water as he tried to blink himself into focus, searching with desperation for anything to help him... but nothing appeared to want to. Feeling the crunch of dead twigs under his shoes, the bespectacled Wizard felt his heart jump with every sound. Oh yes, he sure remembered this place well. He remembered the dead, skeletal remains of the claw-like black trees, the stench of earthy decay in the air and he remembered those graffiti-covered gravestones. He weakly creased his forehead in slight suspicion. He wasn't exactly paying attention to the décor last time he was here, but Harry was sure that he didn't remember there being half so many gravestones...

I know you hear me, Potter...

Trying to ignore the snake-like hiss, Harry placed his hands tightly over his ears and stepped charily towards the tiny little stones, almost like the graves of children. He watched with a ragged gulp as leaves and swirls of dust blew aggressively against them with the howling, brutal wind, concealing the names from Harry's view and teasing his fearful curiosity. Bending his shaking knees, the Boy Who Lived kneeled down in front of the first of a never-ending line of graves; the leaf sprawled across it sticking with leech-like possession. Dropping his hands slowly down from his ears, he reached forward with the trembling, ice-like fingers of his right hand and slowly peeled it off...

Do you really want to know, Potter...?

His unspoken affirmation seemed to be answered and his wish granted. The leaf relaxed then blew away with another sharp and sudden gust of wind, revealing the whole stone as clear as day.

Albus Dumbledore

???? - Last Week

Died As Secret Keeper to the Boy Who Lived

Somewhere, Harry heard a high-pitched cackle sound loudly around the cemetery as he choked down a gasp, stood up and shook his head in feeble denial, all the while stepping backwards. All at once, the echoed laughter grew louder and deafeningly piercing and, with a sudden burst of wind and light, all concealing leaves ripped viciously away, revealing every name in the line of graves.

He tried not to look. Harry wanted to close his eyes and look away but it seemed as though someone was forcing them open, making him cry out in strangled pain as an invisible pair of sharp fingernails pierced through each of his eyelids, keeping them wide open, ripping his flesh when he blinked and tormenting him to glare at the names on the stones.

Severus Snape

???? - Last Thursday

Died Saving the Boy Who Lived

He shook his head continuously, tears mixing with the blood excreting from his stinging, numbed eyes.

Please, just stop...

You're the one who wanted to look, Potter...

He felt two spiked hands violently slam against his back, making him fall forwards and right onto the next gravestone, his ribs cracking in excruciating agony against the hard granite. He cried out in pain and closed his eyes, only to be welcomed to another rip of his flesh.

You wanted to look. Look, damn it!

Lucius Malfoy

???? - Last Week

Killed By the Boy Who Lived

I won't look anymore. I won't...!

You already made your decision, Potter.

Lily Potter

???? - 14 years ago

Died to Save Her Boy, Who Lived

He was pushed brutally, biting back his cries, onto the next stone.

Humperdink Dandypus

???? - Last Week

Failed To Kill the Boy Who Lived

Then the next.

Remus Lupin

???? - Yesterday Morning

Killed helping the

Boy who Lived

And the next.

Molly Weasley

???? - Yesterday

Tortured for Loving the

Boy Who Lived

And on and on it went for miles and hours, thousands and thousands of little stones and mounds of earth raised above the ground. Names and dates and future events coming back to haunt him. People he knew, some he didn't, people he hated and people he loved, all lying under the floor beneath his feet as the spirit threw his thin form ferociously on.

Rubeus Hagrid

???? - Today

Keeper of Keys who stupidly

befriended the Boy Who Lived

Fred Weasley

????-2002

Died Because he Knew

the Boy Who Lived

Sirius Black

???? - Yesterday

For Godfathering the Boy Who Lived

The Boy Who Rarely Cried was shaking and racking with sobs, unable to stop or breathe properly. He didn't even dare blink in case the fingernails stabbed deeper, so his eyesight was blurred and bloody. He couldn't even bring himself to cry out for the phantom to stop. He was a limp, shuddering form; hugging himself and shaking his head in desperate and weak defiance.

I won't look anymore... It's not true. I won't fucking believe you...!

I wouldn't speak too soon if I were you, Potter. There's still a few more to go...

Harry shook his head, his breath coming in short, pained gasps as he managed to hiss.

Throw whatever you want at me. You're not going to get me, Voldemort.

Oh Really?

With the last, short bark of laughter from You know Who, the spirit pushed Harry so hard that the front of his legs smashed against the short headstone, his shins splintering loudly and causing him to buckle to the floor and over the gravestone, crying in agony and his glasses falling askew. He squeezed his eyes shut, no matter how much the phantom fingernails sunk into his eyelids.

Get up, Potter. I'm not finished yet.

He felt an invisible hand pull him up by the collar and throw him back to the front of the grave, causing him to land on his now dislocated elbows.

Read it! Go on... read it! Lets see how much of that Gryffindor courage you really have...

Against his will, he felt a hand grasp his aching, tender jaw and jerk it to look at the stone in front of him.

Read it!

Hermione Granger

???? - A few hours back

Such a Bright and Able Girl.

Too bad she met the Boy Who Lived...

Hermione...

Did you know that that little mudblood would cure cancer? Who would have thought it?

Harry was too distraught to answer, with every major limb broken or injured, he could only lower his head and cry into his chest, completely weakened and feeling absolutely defeated. He couldn't do this. It was over. He was over.

Given up already, Potter?

Fuck the bastard for reading his thoughts.

But I still have more to dish out. Get up.

Harry just shook his head, whimpering slightly.

Do you refuse me?

The Dark Lord wasn't happy. Harry felt a pair of slithery, scaled hands snake around his throat and lift him up, causing him to writhe weakly and kick his legs in mid-air, his aching eyes dry of anymore tears. The hands tightened and tightened, squeezing every puff of air from his lungs and laughing outright in his face. Suddenly, he felt his scar burst with pain, causing the little energy in Harry to be spent crying out in feeble pain. This wasn't the spirit, this was...

He weakly opened his bleeding eyes to be on eye level with the Darkest Wizard ever to walk the Earth. Lord Voldemort smiled.

"I'm not finished yet." With that short statement, he dropped Harry down on his broken shins and onto the mound of a grave. He felt Voldemort's slimy, cold hands grasp the back of his neck and push him hard against a headstone, his aching forehead against the cold hard surface. "Are you reading, Potter? Do you see how much destruction your very existence will cause?" An almost purring hiss in his ear. Harry's blurring eyes could vaguely focus and make out the engraved lettering as his scar exploded with more pain than every broken bone put together.

Ronald Weasley

????- A minute ago

Died Shielding the Boy Who Lived

He Always Did Come Second Though, Didn't He?

Ron... I'm so... I'm so sorry, Ron... I didn't... I didn't mean to...

"Spluttering your forgiveness, Potter?" Voldemort laughed. "Or would you rather have another way of making your apologies...? Allow me to be of assistance..."

Harry didn't struggle. He didn't have enough strength to. Even as he felt his scar burst and split in two, he couldn't even manage the strength to whimper. He completely surrendered, allowing the Dark Lord to pick him up by the shoulders and throw him into the open grave beside Ron's.

Harry Potter

????-Never

Buried Alive Since He Was

The Only Boy to Live

He only caught a vague glimpse at the headstone as fell further and further and further and...

"Harry, wake up! Wake up!"

Groggily opening his eyes, Harry winced as the pain in his head thundered so painfully that his vision disappeared for a session. It was only until he was shaken in violent urgency that he began to awake.

"Oh, Harry! Please wake up!"

Managing to catch sight of a vibrant red blur and the familiarity of the desperate, concerned voice, Harry nearly stupidly burst into tears. As his eyes focused, he finally caught sight of a pale and terrified looking Ron peering into his face and behind him stood their other roommates, each in their pyjamas and looking just as worried and ashen-faced. Before even realising that he'd done it, Harry threw his arms around his best friend.

"Ron, you're alive... Oh Ron...! I thought I'd killed you! Voldemort said that I had..."

Ron didn't wince at the sound of the Dark Lord's name. He didn't even blush embarrassingly and tell Harry endearingly to 'Geroff'. Instead he just pulled away slightly, his freckles deathly prominent under his sickly complexion.

"Harry... your..." He gulped. "Harry, your forehead. Look at your forehead..."

What the...?

But the bespectacled Wizard soon realised what Ron meant, why he was looking as though his best friend had died and why Neville had tears streaming down his face. Ron's shoulder, which Harry had leaned against for only a second, was drenched in red liquid. Gingerly raising his shaking hand to feel at his already pained forehead, Harry touched his scar lightly with his fingers. It was bleeding. It had bled all over his pillow and down his sheets.

It wasn't just in the dream.

Harry's scar really had split in two.