Just a Little

Hermione

He's doing it again.

I sit cross-legged with my knees resting against the bars, watching the boys all night. Harry twitches and moans in his sleep, one hand rubbing his scar. Occasionally he mutters, "No, not them, me." That's how I know he's doing it again - trying to play solo savior of the world.

Watching Ron is different. He and I don't talk much here. I think we both know the room is being watched somehow - I would say bugged but would then have to explain it to Ron. Harry and I roll our eyes and laugh when Ron takes a particularly long time understanding Muggle concepts. It hurts to think about Harry, so I study Ron.

I sometimes think I'm watching him play chess as he sits chained to the wall. He observes every hooded figure with the intensity of a predator, a copper-colored eagle or lion. Were he not chained and I imprisoned, I think Ron's sheer will would have all three of us out of here by now.

It must be morning as there is a guard bringing food. There is a plate for Harry, placed near his head; there is a plate for me, slid through the bars; and, surprisingly, there is a plate for Ron this morning, placed at his side. Just bits of bread and an apple for each of us. Ron glances down at the plate, then slowly brings his gaze upward to the guard.

I catch a flash of silver a moment before Ron spits, "Wormtail." The guard lowers his hood and pushes up his sleeves. His silver hand gives him away. "Why?"

Wormtail looks frightened. Somehow, I don't think he was supposed to feed Ron. Harry they keep fed in order to torture. I try not to think about why they feed me as I'm never sure my meager sustenance will stay down if I dwell on those thoughts.

"Something will happen today," Wormtail whispers barely loud enough for me to hear as well. Ron just gazes unblinkingly at him. Their eyes lock. I don't know what Ron's expression told Wormtail, but the man begins trembling, before he turns and nearly runs out the door.

"Ron?" I begin quietly.

Ron

Hermione calls my name. I don't want to look at her, to see the same thought in her eyes that's in my mind - that this is my last meal.

So I instead call Harry's name. He stirs, groaning, but doesn't wake. Carefully, I edge forward until I'm at the end of my chains, and yell, "Harry! Wake up!"

He startles and bolts upright. His green eyes burn me with annoyance overlying the pain he must be feeling. "What?" he spits. I ignore the annoyance, knowing he's never in a good mood when he awakens.

"Wormtail was just here," I answer. Harry had never been one to be afraid of anyone, Voldemort (and I refrain from shuddering as I think his name) included. But when I mention Wormtail, I see Harry's shoulders hunch forward and his eyes lower as if expecting a blow.

The posture reminds me of something and it takes a long minute before I can remember. It reminds me of how Harry used to look after summers with the Dursleys. That fact, the fact that Voldemort and his minions can take away the self-confidence Hermione and I have helped Harry earn and reduce him to the secondhand child the Dursleys would have loved to have given away, pisses me off more than my impending death.

Now I look over at Hermione. She has tears in her eyes as she watches Harry. She must see the little boy again, too. She turns to me, brown eyes luminous, as she stuffs a fist into her mouth to stop herself from calling out.

I shuffle backwards until I can move my legs freely, then I return to the wall. Cursing, I kick the wall savagely. Damn, that hurt. I wonder if I broke something. Not that it matters much if I'm going to die today.

"Ron?" Harry calls. His voice has a lost tone threaded through it. Shit. All I want to do is wrap my arms around him, kissing his face gently. To be as gentle with him as Voldemort has been brutal.

Harry

I call Ron's name again. Everything in my body aches. Ron is limping a bit after kicking the wall. Other than general frustration, I don't know why he did that. Maybe after being in here so long, he's beginning to lose it.

Ron turns to me finally, his expression determined. "I was told something would be happening today." I look from him to Hermione, puzzled. Hasn't something already happened every day?

Hermione's been crying again. I can see it in the bloodshot eyes she fixes upon me. Her clothes and face are filthy, but she still manages to look regal as she rests her forehead against the bars of her cage. She smiles faintly.

"Something happening today?" I whisper. Single words I can manage without too much effort; sentences have to be ripped from my raw throat.

Ron says, "Yes, that's what I was told. Have some of your apple, it'll help your throat."

I look down and see the usual breakfast plate beside me. I have to concentrate to grasp the apple and get my mouth to work correctly to eat it. Too many Cruciatus curses, I think to myself. My muscles are beginning to disobey simple commands.

I have barely finished half the apple when an insidious cold begins to seep into me, leeching what little strength of will I have left. What surprises me most is that I don't begin to hear my mother's voice, but Hermione and Ron's crying out the day we were captured.

"Dementor," I hear Ron call before he falls to his knees. Right in one.

Hermione keens in her cage. She has her arms around her knees and is rocking side to side, chanting, "No.....no."

The door to our jail room opens with a quiet 'snick' - and it heralds the arrival of a Dementor and Voldemort himself.

^© 2003 Trisha Masen