A Lonely Place For Dying

A Lonely Place For Dying

The sword plunged into him, his adversary's attack coming fast and without mercy. Ron gasped as the blade found its way into his stomach, caught completely off guard, despite having known before that something like this had been bound to happen.

A cry of pain escaped him as the weapon was sadistically wrenched out of him and he instinctively wrapped his arms around his midsection as he sank to his knees. Above Ron, the Death Eater who was responsible for his current state laughed cruelly. If Ron had the strength he would've done something to wipe off the smirk that was surely to be on the Death Eater's face, but as it was he could only stare back through bewildered eyes as agony over took him. Eventually even kneeling was too much and he flopped sideways to the floor. Thinking his young victim dead, the Death Eater left, cruelly giving the body on the floor a kick as he went. It was only through a miracle that Ron managed to stop himself from crying out but he lay perfectly still and listened until he heard the footstep fade away. Only when he was sure he was alone did he reopen them and let out the breath he'd been holding, groaning loudly in pain again as he did so. Even breathing hurt. Ron knew that wasn't a good sign and he battled against the panic that was beginning to set in as the realisation that he was dying suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks.

Tears burned in his eyes, both from the fear and the pain. He shivered. He was freezing. He'd never felt so cold before. It was a horrible, un-natural coldness that went bone deep and right through his body. He chocked back a sob. His body was trembling now. Not really wanting to, Ron glanced downwards toward the wound, hoping that he was just over-reacting and that it might not be as bad as it felt. One look told him he was wrong. The wound was a deep, messy gash, blood was pouring out everywhere. It was a miracle that his intestines were still intact at all, or at the very least not strewn out all over the floor. Ron shuddered and, unable to help it, released the frightened sob he'd been choking back. More would have followed, but Ron forced them to stay down. It hurt too much to cry.

He wished had some company. It wasn't fun being stuck on his own knowing he was about to leave this world any minute now. It wasn't so much that he was afraid to die; it was that he was afraid to die alone. Ron had always known he'd be the first one to go. He didn't know how he knew, it was just a feeling he'd had ever since that first year at Hogwarts with Harry and their first battle with You Know Who. He felt himself lucky that it had taken seven years for it to happen when it could've happened so much sooner with all the near misses they'd had.

As his thoughts turned to Harry, Ron couldn't help hoping he was near by. He'd lost track of him a while ago when he, Harry and Hermione had split up and had no idea where either of them were now. After the Death Eaters had descended upon the Great Hall everything had turned to pandemonium with everyone fighting for themselves. Curses, jinxs, hexes, spells and charms had been flying about wildly all over the place, people were running this way and that, deafening screams and shouts had filled the air while the teachers, at least the ones that survived the Death Eater's initial grand entrance, tried to form some kind of order. Harry had grabbed Ron and Hermione and they had managed to escape into the corridors. Then Harry had told them to 'leg it' and to try to hide somewhere until things calmed down. Hermione had gone east, Ron had gone west, and Harry had gone back to the Great Hall to try and help those still trapped there. Ron had hardly been alone for five minutes when he'd met a lone Death Eater in one of the Gryffindor Tower corridors. Ron had raised wand and pointed it at the robed wizard in front of him, trying desperately to perform the Avada Kedavra curse but his wand hadn't seemed to be working. He had panicked, then, his guard slipping which involuntarily allowed the Death Eater to take a stab at him - literally.

Shivering on the stone floor, Ron fought to keep his eyes from closing as he strained his ears to listen for the sounds of battle. It had been raging a moment ago, he had been able to hear the cries and screams even as he'd fallen from the Death Eater's attack, but now there was a frightening silence that chilled his soul. He wished he knew what was going on. He wondered how much time had passed. It felt like only minutes but it could've been longer for all he knew. It was very easy to lose sense of time when you were lying alone, wounded and waiting for death.

The pain was incredible. Ron had never felt anything like it. He never thought dying would hurt so much. Another wave of agony sweapt through him. He didn't scream this time, too weak to even do that now. As he tried to ride it out, through the pain Ron's thoughts turned to his family and suddenly all he wanted was for his mother to take him in her arms and tell him everything would be alright. He hated it when Molly babied him, but now he wanted it more than nothing else in the world. Fresh tears began to fall as he thought of them, knowing he wasn't going to get to see them again, knowing that his death would devesatate them. He felt so guilty for leaving them, but he knew he didn't have a choice in the matter. New sobs came, but he didn't have the strength to fight them. Death was right around the corner, he could feel it coming for him. He was almost looking forward to it if it meant no more pain. He would gladly give into the tempting lure of unconsciousness now if not for one very important thing he had to do. Hopefully someone would find him before it was too late, he knew he didn't have much time left no matter how stubborn he was.

"Ron? Hermione?"

A voice cut through the air, although at first it sounded so faint Ron wondered if he had imagined it. But then it came again, louder this time.

"Hermione? Anyone?"

It was clearer now, and Ron realised with jubilation that the voice belonged to Harry. Finding new, momentary strength, Ron tried to stop crying and again fought away the unconsciousness that beckoned him. He would've called back, if he could, but he could barely get a whisper out, let alone a yell, so he just lay there, praying that Harry would find him. His best friend's voice was already getting closer; he couldn't be too far away.

"Ron!"

Ron heard frantic footsteps followed by a shout and a moment later Harry had rounded the staircase that lead into the tower. Harry came into view, and although Ron's vision wasn't working too well by this point, he could make out the look of despair on Harry's face as his friend stood over him. Relieved flooded through him. He'd been found. He knew he wasn't able to be saved, it was too late for that - besides, he didn't mind so much anymore, death was growing more appealing by the second now. It was so close. He just wanted to sleep, to get away from the cold and the pain. He couldn't yet, he had a few things he needed to say first. Just a little bit longer, just a few words, then he would let go.

"Ron." Harry's voice, normally so strong and determined cracked with anguish as he dropped to the ground besides the fallen boy and put his arms around Ron's shoulders, holding his upper body gently against his chest.

"H-Harry. Good to see you, mate. Took you long enough," Ron's voice was so faint it frightened both him and Harry to hear it. He couldn't speak without the sharp stabbing pain upping itself ten notches with every word but he was determined to get everything out while he still could.

"Ron, you prat. What have you gone and done to yourself now?" Harry asked, trying to sound mock-crossed only for his tone to be laced with sadness instead.

"Nice to see y-you, too," Ron murmured dryly, his own voice a raspy whisper.

"I'll get some help, Ron, just hold on..." Harry said desperation in his voice now.

"Harry... do me a favour. Tell my family I'm sorry," Ron said, before a bad coughing fit came on preventing him from saying more. Ron shook and gasped for air, breathing becoming near impossible now. "You'll tell them, won't you?" Ron said again, needing to be sure.

"No! You'll be fine ...you can tell them yourself," Harry protested, but Ron raised a trembling arm, gripping Harry's own. Desperation flooded his face. "P-please, Harry."

"I will," Harry promised, knowing then that Ron's death wasn't something that could be prevented.

"Hermione..." Ron wanted to say more but he couldn't. All he could do was shake as another coughing fit came on, this one more violent than the last. The blackness was descending on him, he couldn't breathe...Ron wanted to cry in frustration, he couldn't go now. He needed to make sure Hermione would know everything. She had to, and he needed to know that she would. But, amazingly, Harry seemed to understand.

"I'll tell her, Ron," was all Harry said, understanding perfectly.

Ron smiled. That was enough, he could go now. Finally, he relaxed, feeling strangely peaceful as he at last sank into the welcoming darkness.