Seven Reasons Not to Love

Part Two - Notes of a Victim

Ron walked on, his bag hitched up on his shoulders and his back to his friends. He could feel conflict within his mind. He closed his eyes slowly and saw the dark, horrified expression on her face. He knew; he alone knew she was dead. They didn't know. Harry and Hermione, Dumbledore, people who needed to know. But Ron did not stop walking. He could not. Even in times of lucidity, when he knew what he needed to do, he couldn't go back now. He thought hard about shouting out for Harry or Hermione, but he was too far away now, quickly descending the steps towards the dungeons.

He reached the end of a corridor and went into the last room, closing the black door behind him. As he'd expected, there were seven people there. He knew who five of them were. He hated five of them for sure. As he entered, he heard that quiet, hissing laughter. Ron stopped, taking no further steps towards the table and brought his narrowed eyes up to look at the assembly.

"Welcome back, Weasley," a drawling voice said. He was at the head of the table, flicking a ring into the air and catching it again. Ron said nothing, but glared darkly at the boy opposite him. He laughed again before standing up. Two others stood up and made towards him. Ron wanted to step back and turn away. He wanted to run through the door back upstairs. He wanted to grip Malfoy by the neck of his robes and throw him into a wall. But he did none of these things, standing rooted to the spot. Malfoy was now only about a foot away, staring up at Ron, malicious grey gaze locked on Ron.

"Thanks for coming," he sneered.

"You know very well I didn't come here of my own accord," Ron spat.

"Oh, what's this? You don't want to see us?" He feigned trauma. "How unfortunate you have no choice in the matter. You seem to be faring quite well, Weasley. What do you say?"

"I say that people have noticed. They know, Malfoy."

"No," he droned. He leant back against the table, brushing strands of his hair silvery out of his eyes. "They don't. My summoning ring makes sure of that." As Malfoy said this, Ron's eyes flicked to the ring and a strange bubbling feeling started to rise within him.

"Oh, do you want it back?" Malfoy said, leaning forwards slightly. "It is rather nice I must say. Not fit for a Weasley. Where did you steal it from?"

Ron was seething, his desire to embed his fist in Malfoy's face almost painful. "It was my grandfather's," he said, sounding slightly choked. Malfoy smiled and turned away.

"Blaise, replenish the spell. Can't have Weasley here blabbing now can we?"

"You're stupid if you think this is going to work," Ron said loudly. "My friends have noticed already!" He leaned away as Blaise came to stand right in front of him. She lowered her hood so he could see her more clearly. Her dark hair fell in ringlets around her shoulders, and her eyes were so dark they were almost black. Black and empty, Ron thought. Soulless. She jabbed her wand into his chest.

"Weasley, Weasley, Weasley..." Malfoy began, shaking his head. "In that you are supposing that you have friends." He laughed and walked back to the head of the table. Pansy Parkinson stood up and walked to Draco's side, staring at Ron. He felt a surge of hatred for her when she spoke.

"Yeah, you can hardly call that bushy-haired beaver a friend," she said, sniggering.

"More like a walking library," Blaise added. "What could you possibly see in that?"

"Shut up," Malfoy said, glaring at them. "We're not here to debate that...Mudblood," he said. Ron glanced at him, noticing he seemed to be striving for his usual tones. Pansy pouted and looked back at Ron.

"Well, you should count yourself lucky that none of us can do the memory alteration charm. Otherwise your mind would have been obliterated into nothing. Shame really..." She looked at Malfoy, who simply turned his back on her and walked away. Ron felt a slight pang of satisfaction at seeing her shunned this way. Especially when it was so clear she respected Malfoy. Malfoy approached and simply nodded to Blaise, who turned her attention back to Ron. He knew that in a moments time he'd have forgotten everything again; be forced into complete silence again.

"Silencio en Servium!" Blaise said. The world seemed to grey before him, and his mind emptied. He felt like every thought he had was being lifted from him, as though he'd gone cross-eyed and his mind so tired it simply existed without thought. He turned and made his way out of the room.

Ron woke suddenly, sitting bolt upright without a sound. He had no idea how he had got to the dormitory, or what had transpired since he left the dungeons. In fact, he couldn't even remember leaving. He shivered violently, his mind aching dully. Putting his face in his hands a moment he rubbed his head. He'd had the nightmare again. The same one. The same, hideous re-run of the day Luna Lovegood 'disappeared.' Ron knew better. She hadn't disappeared; she had been murdered. And more than that, he knew by whom. Letting his hands drop he suddenly realised something else. He could think. He knew what was happening. Ron jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. Harry and Hermione weren't there. He glanced at his watch, seeing it was mid-breakfast. Almost everyone had gone down to eat. He grabbed some parchment and a quill and started scribbling as quickly as he could. He was fully aware that his writing was messy, and that the few people in the common room were watching his frenzied writing curiously.

He had nearly finished, folding the parchment and starting to write his friends' names on it when he felt the magical summons.

"No!" he muttered, trying to resist the call. But he couldn't, and the quill, still in his hand, streaked a long, black ink line down the rest of the parchment from the letter N he had been writing. His sudden decision to leave the room caused yet more stares from the students in the room, and he hoped as he left that they weren't nosy enough to take the parchment. If Harry and Hermione didn't find it, he could be stuck in this nightmare a very long time.