For Good

Ron Weasley had no idea how long he'd been down there.

He couldn't see the sun, or much of anything else for that matter. They had brought him food a couple of times, so he thought that perhaps he'd been there for several days, but there was no way to be sure.

However long it was, it was enough time to replay the last time he saw his best friends a million times in his head.

He knew they were alive. They had to be. He held onto that.

He would've heard something, even from his...wherever he was...if they had killed someone like Harry. Hermione, though...her death wouldn't have exactly made headlines. She was a Mudblood to them...someone they could've easily stomped on like a bug. But surely, she would be down here somewhere if she had been captured, and he knew that he was alone down here. Doubt that she was still alive might have crept into his soul once or twice, but every doubt was crushed with the realization that she was too smart to get herself killed.

But just because they were alive didn't mean that they were all right.

It would be just like Harry to do anything he could to get down here. That would probably involve doing something incredibly stupid. Harry had a history for doing stupid things for people he cared about.

But then, so did Ron. There was that Wizard's Chess game their first year. Then nearly getting eaten by Sirius third year. Then nearly drowning to death in the Second Task fourth year. Then nearly getting killed by giant brains during fifth year.

And now...now he was in a dungeon somewhere...probably the Malfoy Manor, judging from the familiarity that Lucius Malfoy seemed to have with the dungeons whenever he paid him a visit.

"Weasley, I trust you find your accommodations comfortable?" Lucius had sneered during their first visit.

"You BASTARD! If you killed Hermione or Harry, I'll..."

"Silence!" Malfoy had hissed. "Tell me, Mr. Weasley, do you play Wizard's chess?"

Ron didn't answer.

Malfoy continued. "On a chess board, where can the King move?"

Ron remained silent.

"Very well, then," Malfoy said with a kind of malicious boredom.

He pointed his wand at Ron.

"Crucio," he said. His tone was almost lazy.

Ron was raised a few feet off the ground, screaming in pain. He didn't know how long he had been up there, screaming in agony. It might as well have been forever.

"Now, let's try this again, shall we? Do. You. Play. Wizard's. Chess?"

Ron nodded.

"Very good. Tell me then, where and how can the king be moved?"

"One square at a time in any direction on the board," Ron answered hoarsely.

Lucius's mouth curled in a malevolent grin.

"And where can the pawn move?"

"One square at a time, either horizontally, vertically, or diagonally." Ron answered, completely confused.

"What purpose does the pawn serve?"

"To be the first line of defense. To protect the King from check-mate."

"And do all the pawns need to be eliminated in order for a checkmate to occur?"

Ron shook his head.

"That's why Potter continues to remain alive. All The Dark Lord wants is checkmate."

"Then why did he kill Cedric our fourth year?" Ron had asked, completely stunned now.

"Because Cedric, unfortunately, was in the way, if my understanding is correct. As are you."

"Then why not kill me now? Why just keep me here, letting me rot?"

"Because several of my colleagues have voiced a concern that eliminating you would make Potter angry enough to successfully implement the Death Curse. The Dark Lord is wise enough to agree."

"But that still doesn't make sense! You're leading Harry right to You-Know--er, Voldemort."

"That's rather the idea, Mr. Weasley. You shouldn't put up such a fight. You're going to want to keep your strength. Do not forget your place, Mr. Weasley. Paupers and fools are always pawns. And it is our good fortune that you happen to be both."

With that, Malfoy had left.

Ron had already put up quite a fight.

He hadn't had much time to think. Diagon Alley was supposed to be protected by wards, but some Death Eaters in Knockturn Alley apparently let Voldemort and the Death Eaters in by Floo. Ron managed to get Rodolphus Lestrange with a nasty curse, as well as Wilkes. He had almost managed to get to the Floo in Borgin and Burkes when he'd been struck with a Stupefy curse.

Then he woke up here.

He was alone, and that was a double-edged sword.

At least they were alive. His little chat with Malfoy had made him certain of that. He would've been told if Hermione had been killed, and now he was certain that Harry would be kept alive. News like that would've been used as a ploy to get him to confess what he knew.

He had to get out.

He had to get out and warn the others.

Lucius Malfoy had to pay. The bastard had all ready gotten to his sister once, as well as his father. If it weren't for Harry, they'd both be dead now. Who knows whom else he would hurt? They were all pawns, really, when it came down to it. Lucius Malfoy didn't need to tell him that.

It was a sickening feeling. To be able to move only one square at a time. Because someone else picked you up and moved you there as a means to an end.

Ron clenched and unclenched his jaw as he paced back and forth in his cell. Maybe it was time to take control of the board, Ron thought.

First move's first, Ron thought, new determination turning the wheels in his brain. I can't do anything until I'm out of this place.

How do I get out of this place?

Then the answer hit him like a Bludger.

You make do with what you have.

Well...what did he have? He was still dressed. His wand had been broken (again) during the initial struggle, so he didn't have that.

He jumped at the sound of the dungeon door opening. He heard the sharp, ruthless click of heels against stone.

His eyes adjusted to the next-to-absent light, but he still couldn't identify his visitor.

"Never let it be said that Blacks keep their guests beyond their welcome," came a woman's cold voice. There was something rattling as she walked. "Malfoys, however, do not feel that manners are necessary if the circumstance warrants it."

"Who are you?"

"My son will not be thrilled when he discovers that you are free to harass him again," she said, and with a clank and a squeak, the door opened.

Ron just stood there, with the door opened wide. He couldn't move. He was unable to trust himself or the woman he knew to be Narcissa Malfoy.

"What's the matter, Mr. Weasley? Cat got your tongue?" she purred.

"What are you doing here?" Ron sputtered out.

She let out a harangued sigh. "Did you not hear me say that you are going to be free to harass my son very shortly?"

"I don't under..."

"I have my reasons," she snapped. " Now, go, before I change my mind."

"Why should I trust you?"

"My husband is right. You are a fool. Honestly, Mr. Weasley, you would do well to take what is freely given. Stay here and rot if you'd like. It makes no difference to me. You may find your way out through the wine cellar. You can Floo to Hogwarts from there."

Then she turned sharply on her heels, which made a clicking sound as she walked against the stone floor. Ron didn't hear the cellar door locked, but the large door to the dungeon slammed shut with a resounding thud.

Ron made his way up the stairs, slowly and quietly. He knew he had to leave quickly. Narcissa Malfoy was the sort who would tell him how to get out, and then tell her husband that he'd left...just for sport.

He hadn't gone very far when he heard two men talking. He stopped dead in his tracks and remained in the shadows. One voice he recognized as Lucius Malfoy. The other was high and raspy. It sent chills down his spine.

"The Prophecy, my Lord?" Lucius was saying.

What Prophecy? Ron wondered.

"Ah yes, the prophecy," came the high and raspy voice. " I was able to access Potter's mind and it would seem that I play a rather large part in his destiny. But that should not come as a great shock."

'Harry's mind? That's..." his eyes widened when he realized who it had to be. 'Bloody hell! That's You-Know-Who in there! They're talking about that thing Lucius wanted from Harry at the Ministry!'

"I would not have pegged you to be one to believe in destiny, My Lord," Malfoy answered.

"Oh, I only believe it so that I may control it, Mister Malfoy," You-Know-Who answered.

Ron wondered if the man could be any crazier.

"What part would that be?" Malfoy asked.

"There is a part of the prophecy that states that 'neither can live while the other one dies.'

"That has certain..." Malfoy paused for a beat; "undesirable implications."

"Yes, but there is a certain advantage," You-Know-Who said. "It means that Potter must remain alive."

"You want him to suffer," Malfoy objected.

"My dear Mr. Malfoy, do not be so presumptuous as to think that death is the only way to make a person suffer."

"So we break him?" Malfoy asked.

"I do not want death to be a mercy," You-Know-Who said. "I want him to be unaware of the fact that he is still alive."

The words left Ron with the feeling that he'd just swallowed a very large rock.

"Progress is being made in that regard," Malfoy said. "Young Mr. Weasley remains in my custody, My Lord."

'Like hell I am,' Ron thought.

"You have done well."

"Regrettably, Master," Malfoy said, "I have an appointment with The Ministry. I trust you know your way out?"

"Ministry of Magic!" Lucius shouted. Ron heard the burst of flames.

Ron waited, remaining hidden in the shadows, until he was certain the monster had left.

He grabbed the Floo powder.

"HOGWARTS!" he shouted.

And he was sent into the blackness.

* * *

Ron blinked when he landed with a thud in the fireplace.

It was dark, wherever it was, and had a funny smell.

"Who's there?" Came a familiar voice.

"P-p-p-professor Snape?" Ron stammered.

"This is most...unexpected," Snape sneered. "I was in the middle of a very delicate potion. If you were just a little more careless, that would have been truly unfortunate. The only way they'd be able to recognize you is from your used robes."

"Look," Ron said, brushing himself off, ignoring the comment about his clothes. "I had no idea that Floo lead here! I was just trying to get out!"

"Ah yes, you've been held captive in the Malfoy dungeon, haven't you?"

"YOU KNEW?! YOU KNEW AND YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO HELP ME!?" Ron exploded. "YOU BASTARD!"

"And what, pray tell, was I going to do, Weasley?" Snape barked. "Beg for your freedom? Give away your location?"

"For starters," Ron seethed.

"I've got better things to do with my time, Mr. Weasley. Please return to your dormitory before I deduct points from Gryffindor for being out past curfew."

* * *

It was so surreal.

Earlier that day, he was racking his brain, trying to figure out how to get out of his cell. And Narcissa Malfoy of all people set him free.

It wasn't making sense, but he was too tired to care. He was making sure that he didn't step on the board that creaked when you stepped on it by Neville's bed.

He glanced furtively over at Harry, who was turning fitfully in his sleep.

'Harry...' Ron thought, swallowing the lump that threatened to form in his throat. 'They're going to crush him. He's going to give up. If he gives up, we might as well all give up.'

Ron wasn't going to let that happen.

There had to be some way. Dumbledore would want to talk to him tomorrow morning when everyone woke up.

He'd know what to do.

'Oy,' Ron thought sleepily as he drifted off to sleep. 'My best mate's in trouble and my first instinct is to go to Dumbledore? Hermione must be rubbing off on me.'

* * *

It had been a very long night, and Ron stayed in bed as long as possible the next morning.

"It was weird," Harry was saying to Neville, "I could have sworn I saw someone last night in Ron's bed. I was half-tempted to pull the curtain, just to see if he was there."

"Maybe you were dreaming?" Neville suggested.

Ron couldn't resist.

"Or maybe there really was someone in my bed," he said, the curtains still drawn.

"Ron?" Neville squeaked.

Neville pushed back the curtains.

"Guess this means I'm up," Ron said, yawning.

Harry didn't say anything. He just stood there, mouth agape.

Ron managed to make it to the loo for a shower before the news spread throughout Gryffindor House of his return. The crowd was so thick that he couldn't get back to his four-poster to get his books for the day. McGonagall bustled through the crowd, she looked from a tearful Ginny and Hermione, to a curiously pensive Harry, and then saw Ron.

"Mr. Weasley! I must say," she said, grinning widely. "I didn't expect to find you here. Are you all right?"

Ron nodded.

"Well, then," McGonagall answered, examining him for severe injuries, "I suspect that Dumbledore would wish to hear the story of how you returned."

"We'd all like to hear that one," Harry said.

Everyone jumped.

It was the first time Harry had spoken all morning.

McGonagall frowned. "Very well. Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, follow me."

"Mrs. Malfoy set you free?" Dumbledore asked.

"I find that hard to believe," Harry said. His tone was almost accusatory. Almost.

"Harry!" Hermione reprimanded.

It felt like old times.

"Perhaps she felt that you were the only one who could do something, Ronald." Dumbledore said, nodding at Harry and Hermione, "may I have a word in private with you for a minute?"

When they left the room, Ron told them about the conversation he'd overheard.

"Do you think that perhaps you were meant to overhear the conversation between Voldemort and Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked.

"I don't know," Ron said quietly. It hadn't occurred to him before, but now that Dumbledore had said that, at least things were beginning to make sense now.

"It is rather convenient that you overheard that conversation regarding the prophecy and what Voldemort was able to obtain through Harry's mind, isn't it?" Dumbledore said sadly.

"I thought that you were trying to train Harry to block his mind?" Ron said.

"I was," Dumbledore answered, heaving a sigh of defeat. "But Harry's mind was at its most vulnerable the week following his godfather's death. The prophecy was the reason that he was left parentless and godfather-less, so naturally, it was weighing heavily on his mind. Voldemort must have accessed it then."

"So does it mean we can't help him?" Ron asked helplessly.

"I never wished that anyone else but Harry, Voldemort, and myself get involved in this," he said sadly.

"In what?"

"The prophecy. Voldemort and Mr. Malfoy are quite right. 'As long as one dies, the other cannot live' implies that without Harry, Voldemort cannot survive. And you are quite right in assuming that they will see to it that Harry's spirit is broken."

"So you're not going to help him?"

"Ronald," Dumbledore said sadly, "at this juncture, there is only one way to help Harry, but it is hardly aiding the situation. It is a possibility I refuse to entertain"

"What is it?! I'll do whatever it takes!"

Dumbledore sighed heavily.

"As long as one lives, the other cannot die," he answered in a wooden voice. "This means that as long as Harry lives, Voldemort cannot die. Of course, there is a flip-side to this."

"That's not news. I found that one out when I was captured," Ron said bitterly.

Dumbledore nodded.

"There is something else, though. There is a part that I didn't understand until recently, and it is a very important part that Voldemort lacks. He's missing a part that reads 'one has something the other does not.' I assumed for many, many years that it was the mortal sacrifice made by Harry's mother. But it's much, much simpler than that. Much, much more complicated."

"What are you saying? I don't under..."

"It means that the thing that Harry has that Voldemort does not is his own body. Voldemort is corporeal now, yes, but it is a body that cannot be killed. It is one that relies upon a body that can be killed. Namely, Harry's."

"Are you suggesting that someone kill Harry?"

"I refuse to even entertain such a notion, Ronald," Dumbledore said. "That is the last thing any of us want." He smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Well, except perhaps Professor Snape."

After Potions that morning, Ron lied to Hermione and Harry, telling them that he was going to talk to Snape about make-up assignments.

"Do not think your recent imprisonment will excuse you from the exam tomorrow" Snape barked.

"I don't give a rat's arse about that," Ron said.

"That makes two of us," Snape snarled. "Is that all?"

"It's about The Prophecy," Ron blurted out. "Dumbledore told me what it was about. It means that..." the words felt thick in his throat. He'd fought so hard by his friend's side. And he was considering this? "Harry has to die."

Snape slammed his book shut.

"Mr. Weasley, despite my own personal loathing for the boy, that is not something I wish to add to my grievances against Dumbledore."

"I wasn't asking you to kill him," Ron said quietly.

"Then what are you asking?"

Ron made an intense study of the floor at his feet. He looked at the desk Harry just left. "If I should."

"That, Mr. Weasley, depends upon how far you are willing to go for a friend," Snape replied. "And how far you are willing to go for a cause."

Ron knew what he had to do.

If I'm going to help him, the thought striking him like a ton of bricks, I have to kill him.

He made some excuse to go back to his dorm and he found a dagger Charlie had given him from Romania for his birthday in his trunk.

* * *

"You have loads of homework to catch up on, Ron," Hermione said as soon as Ron sat down at his section of the Gryffindor table.

He felt sick. But if he was going to help Harry, he had to act as though everything was normal.

"I'm missing for days and all you can think about is homework?" Ron griped. The dagger scraped against his thigh through his robes and served as a reminder of what needed to be done.

"Well, someone's got to," Hermione insisted. "If I let you flunk out, your mother would kill me."

"A friend is killed by another friend's mother," Harry said. Hermione gave him a dirty look. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Divination homework."

"Oh," Hermione said, not missing a beat, "that reminds me. Harry's got your notes from Divination as well. I recopied them for you so you can actually read the writing," She shoved a handful of scrolls at him.

"Blimey, Harry, nothing ever changes around here, does it?" Ron said, feeling a pang of resentment. There was apparently no attempt necessary to get things back to normal.

There was an awkward silence. Ron panicked for a minute. If Harry suspected anything was wrong, it'd never work. Harry would always be someone else's pawn...

"What did Dumbledore say to you after we left?" Harry asked.

Ron felt his heart fall to his feet.

"Oh," Ron said nervously, making a study of his plate. "That." He hic-coughed. "He just wanted to get some details."

"What kind of details?" Harry asked.

"I think he wanted to know how far I'd go for you," Ron said.

There was a very awkward silence until they were on their way back from Divination.

"I don't believe you," Harry said. It wasn't an accusation. It was just a simple fact.

"WHAT?!" Ron exploded.

They stopped walking now.

"How do I know you're really back?" Harry demanded. "How do I know Malfoy didn't play mind games with you and get you to join them? How do I know that you're not Polyjuiced from Wilkes or Rookwood or Lestrange or any of them? How do I know..." Harry was shaking now. His knuckles were white.

"...Anything?" Ron finished softly, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry pulled away like a two-year-old who didn't want to be consoled by his parents.

'They're al ready doing it,' Ron thought frantically. 'He'll be half a person by the end of the year if this keeps up.'

He couldn't do it. It was murder. It was his best mate. It was Harry.

But it was the only thing he could do. He had to help him.

"Look, I overheard something while I was in the dungeons," Ron said. "Something Malfoy said about you. You're my best mate, Harry," Ron said. "I'm..." he swallowed hard. "I'm only looking out for you."

"I've been such an idiot," Harry said, eyes downcast. "I should've have known..."

The knot in Ron's stomach grew tighter and tighter. Ron clasped an arm around Harry's shoulder.

"Hey," Ron said, "We don't have anything until dinner. What about going to the Quidditch Pitch and toss the Bludger a couple of times? I could use the fresh air."

Harry smiled sheepishly, and nodded.

The dagger continued to scrape against Ron's thigh as they walked, as though it was urging him to go through with it.

They were almost out at the Quidditch Pitch now. A soft rain began to fall, causing the ground to slosh against his feet.

"Voldemort makes me believe things that aren't the truth," Harry said in a small voice. "He makes me see things that aren't there. It's hard knowing what's real sometimes."

Harry let out a shaky breath, and then his body began to shake with sobs.

'It'll only get worse,' Ron told himself.

Ron's arm reached around Harry, pulling him in for a bear hug.

"I'm real," Ron said, fingers curling around the dagger. 'The dagger's real,' Ron added silently.

Harry sobbed quietly on his shoulder.

The dagger was firmly in his grip now.

IhavetoIhavetoIhavetoIhavetoIhaveto, was Ron's inward mantra.

It hardly seemed as though his hand had moved from inside his pocket before Harry jerked his head off of Ron's shoulder. He heard a sickening crunch-and-squish of the knife tearing through flesh and bone and blood.

Ron looked up and saw the pure betrayal on Harry's face.

He felt something sticky and warm covering his hand.

Harry's blood.

Voldemort's blood.

"I'm sorry," Ron whispered.