Thank you, Vapid, for being my fic consultant, particularly in regards to brooms.
Ron cursed each minute that passed as he waited for his family to fall asleep. His father had appeared in the hall just after he'd heard the news about the supposed "Tooth Fairy" and he'd kept Ron busy at the Ministry of Magic until it was time to go home. Supper was unbearable. Fred and George spent the entire meal making up wilder and wilder stories about what they would do if they could perform magic without anyone knowing about it. Molly Weasley scolded them half-heartedly as she stared anxiously at her husband, who was covered in perspiration and looking pale.
"I've never seen anything like it, Molly. I can't understand it. We have one of the best, most modern spell detection systems in the world. Who is doing this, and why can't we find them?"
Ginny had kept looking at Ron and frowning. Ron had glared back at her, hoping she wouldn't try to follow him to his room later and try to pick his brain. Sometimes she seemed to be able to read his mind. After supper he had announced his intention to read his new Quidditch book and hurried up to his room.
Fevered Pitch, the book Ron had purchased with the bit of money he was actually allowed to spend of his salary, was laying face down on his unmade bed. Rapid Swiftfoot, the International Quidditch Superstar who played Chaser for the Moosejaw Meteorites, grinned coyly on the front cover. But even the new book couldn't draw his attention away from his worries about Hermione. Ron had paced anxiously until someone, either George or Fred, had pounded on his door, threatening to put garden gnomes in his bed if he didn't stop thumping around.
He had a plan, sort of, in mind for the evening. Ron knew that there were a million things that could go wrong with it, but he had to try something. He couldn't formulate a strategy for dealing with Hermione, or any other girl, really. They were so unpredictable. But he just had to find a way to get her to give up that ring. Ron reached under his shirt and pulled out his own ring that hung from a thin chain around his neck. It was a gift from his father's uncle, his Great-Uncle Ronald, whom he had been named for. It was the only thing Ron had inherited from him. Well, that and the red hair. The MacDonalds were a strange bunch, and Great-Uncle Ronald was one of the oddest. He'd claimed to be a genuine seer, descended from none other than the renowned Cassandra. Ron knew very well the old man was barmy. This was the same man who hadn't noticed when a troupe of pixies had taken up residence in his long, dirty beard. But Ron still wore the ring as he been ordered to do by his uncle. Besides, it was one of the nicest things he owned.
He sighed, pulled open the neck of his shirt, and dropped the chain back down inside it. It wasn't sentiment that kept that ring on Hermione's finger. It hadn't escaped his notice that when she had shown the ring to him, she hadn't bothered to take it off her finger. The Ring of Destiny had secrets, dark secrets, Ron was sure of it. It was the root of all the trouble, and like the Devil's Snare, it had to be pulled up and destroyed before it completely entangled Hermione. There had to be a way to convince her she was in danger.
Eventually the Weasley family went to sleep. Percy and his father went first, just as they did every night. Ginny went next, not so much because she was the youngest, but because she was a rare breed of Weasley - a morning person. Molly always stayed up until George and Fred were in bed. It was a habit she began as soon as those two were old enough to hold a wand.
Eventually the bangs and rattles, and ill-smelling smoke coming from the twins' room ceased. Ron lay on his bed listening to the crickets and owls, and the occasional moan from the ghouls in the attic. While listening to those soothing familiar sounds, Ron mentally prepared himself for action. He slipped out from beneath the covers and eased his broom out from under the bed. It wasn't exactly a Nimbus 6000 and 14/23, but his Nimbus 2000 had its own charm. The turning radius wasn't as tight as its younger brother's, and it didn't have a higher top speed, but the cushioning charm was more comfortable. It was a real classic.
Dressed in dark Muggle clothes, Ron eased open his window, stepped onto his broom and flew out into the night towards Hermione's house. The moon stayed hidden behind a thick cover of clouds while Ron took a zigzagged route to her house, avoiding the well-lit areas of town the best he could. Due to the roundabout route he had to fly, it took over an hour for him to reach it. The only close call he had had been just outside the Burrow. Pigwidgeon had appeared beside him hooting a ear-splitting greeting, and Ron had swatted at his owl, muttering threats and curses till Pig flew sadly away.
Over rooftops and trees Ron flew until he neared the Granger's house. He slowed down and circled a little lower trying to find the right room. He'd seen which room was hers when he was there last, but he needed to be certain or risk waking Mr. and Mrs. Granger. That could be fatal. He hovered in front of one of the second story windows, trying to peer inside. In the dark he could just make out the shape of Hermione's enormous canopy bed.
"Hermione," he whispered. "Hermione!" he called again when no one stirred. Finally he called out to her in a louder voice, "Hermione!"
Ron looked over his shoulder to see if anyone had seen or heard him. He'd been lucky so far, but it was a tremendous risk. Too bad his father had put a curse on the keys to the latest Weasley vehicle, but after Fred and George had walked around the house for weeks without eyebrows, until they finally grew back thicker and bushier, Ron had no intention of trying his luck. There was a soft rustle in the shrubs below, and Ron looked down, straining his eyes.
"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked in quiet but outraged voice. She appeared before him looking like the Grey Lady in a voluminous white nightgown, holding her wand in a clenched fist.
"Ahh!" Startled, Ron had spun around so quickly that he lost his grip on the broom and fallen off. Hermione reacted instantly.
"Accio, Ron!"
Inches from the ground, Ron was jerked upwards and through Hermione's window. He flew directly into Hermione's arms and knocked her flat.
From the tangle of arms and legs two distinct voices could be heard whispering angrily.
"Get off me you great oaf! Stop that!"
"Watch it! Oomf! Watch where you're kicking!"
As Hermione struggled to get Ron off of her, Ron was trying very hard to ignore the way Hermione was moving beneath him. He was rather enjoying himself; too much in fact. Knowing he had called out when he fell, Ron tried to calm Hermione down so he could free himself from her twisted gown, and listen for sounds of her parents. Hermione continued to struggle wildly, so Ron trapped both her hands above her head with one hand, and covered her mouth with the other.
"Quiet! Do you want to wake you parents?" Ron asked.
Hermione's eyes were as wide and bright as an owl's. Then they turned to angry slits. Ron could almost hear her thinking that waking her parents would be a marvelous idea.
"I wouldn't call out to them if I were you Hermione." Ron bent over her to whisper in her ear, "You don't want them to find out all your secrets, do you?" he asked huskily.
Hermione was furious. He could feel the tension in her body, and the hot ragged breaths that blew against his palm. His eyes travelled up to her hands, and fell on the ring which glowed pale in the moonlight against the wild soft curls of her hair. Hermione's eyes grew even wider when she realized that Ron was going to try to remove the ring by force. With one last wild thrust, Hermione bucked up against Ron and threw him off.
Ron lay sprawled on the floor by her bed, while Hermione stood in a corner, panting and shaking a trembling finger at him in fury.
"You! I... I ... ," she spluttered incoherently.
Ron thumped the back of his head on the floor several times before getting up. Taking the ring that way was never part of his plan. What on earth came over me? He had only come to talk to her, to plead with her to take it off herself. He must have lost his mind. Now she would never listen to him. Idiot!
"I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean for this to happen. I swear it! I only came to talk to you," Ron held out a hands in a gesture of supplication, but Hermione was in no mood to listen.
"Talk? You call assaulting me that way talking? You beast! You never wanted to talk to me. You are after my ring, Ron. I knew it."
I was the quietest argument Ron had ever been in, but he had never seen anyone look so furious. Even her hair seemed to fluff out like an angry cat's fur.
"I don't want it for myself, Hermione. Listen. I know about the Ring of Destiny, Hermione. I also know you're the one who's been casting all those spells. Please, Hermione, I'm begging you to give up the ring. Trying to take it from you was stupid. I know that. I am asking you to just take it off. Do you think you could do that?" He asked her this gently, but she flinched.
"Take it off? No! My precious? It's mine and you can't have it," she answered in a strange lisping voice.
Ron took a step towards her, but she dove for her wand and pointed it at him.
"Stay back, Ron. I mean it! I'll never give up my precious ring," She threatened. "I want you to leave. Now!"
In a foolhardy move Ron took another step towards Hermione, and the air around them began to shimmer. Ron looked Hermione in surprise. Her eyes were closed. He watched her uneasily. Then Hermione's eyes flew open, glowing red. With her head flung back and her arms raised above her, Hermione gathered her will, while behind her the moon filled the open window with its cold, pure light.
"Imperio," she hissed at him, and watched Ron's eyes register shock for a fleeting moment before glazing over.
Then Hermione began to play. First she commanded Ron to drop to his knees and crawl to her so that he could grovel at her feet. He shuffled over immediately, like a dog, bowing and begging for her forgiveness in a slurred voice. Hermione laughed softly. Next her face lit with pleasure as she watched Ron gently cradle the enormous brown spider she had conjured for him, in his palm.
"Enough!" she commanded in a ringing voice, when all this began to bore her. Ron froze. The spider jumped from Ron's had and skittered away, but Hermione simply crushed it with a flick of her wand before it could escape. Hermione's parents had finally been awakened by the commotion and burst in on them, but Hermione had dismissed them with a wave of her wand and an Obliviate spell.
When they were gone, she once again turned her full attention to Ron. "I want you to leave now, Ron. Leave the way you came," she told him. As these words left her mouth, a tremor went through her body. The mocking smile slipped for a moment, and Hermione's eyes flashed brown.
Ron walked to the window. Without pausing, he stretched one long leg up to the window sill, and pulled himself up. Red eyes watched eagerly as Ron prepared to jump out of the tall window. Then shrill voice called out, "Stop!"
He reacted instantly and one foot was left dangling in mid-air.
"Get down," she sobbed, her brown eyes enormous and tear-filled. Ron jumped nimbly down, landing softly like a cat. He stood facing her, waiting for more orders, mindless and willing to do whatever he was told. Hermione wept. She fell to the ground at Ron's feet and cried in despair over what she had done, but even more for what she had become.
Ron stood stoically as she soaked his shoes with her tears for nearly half an hour. Eventually Hermione decided she needed to collect herself. She blew her nose, and dried her eyes, not wanting Ron to see she had been crying. She put Ron back into the position he had been in before she had cast Imperio on him, and took her place before him. Then she released him from the spell.
Ron stumbled a bit as he stepped towards Hermione, but stopped quickly when he looked into her fiercely gleaming eyes. He looked around her room several times as if trying to get his bearings.
"Get out, Ron. Go home, and don't ever come back," Hermione ordered.
Ron must have seen her clench the wand more tightly, and decided Hermione meant business. He slowly inched his way to the window, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head a bit as he went.
"Take it easy, Hermione. I'm going. Don't do anything crazy," he urged. Then under his breath he added, "As if you could get any nuttier." Ron climbed onto the window sill, and Hermione could see him feel around with his foot to find purchase on the trellis.
"Please, Hermione. Give up the ring now, before it is too late. It's the only way," Ron begged once more. She feigned disinterest, and heard Ron sigh before he pulled his head through the window and began inching his way down the trellis towards his fallen broom. He must have made it about halfway down before she heard the trellis snap, and Ron swear softly when he hit the shrubs below.
To think that earlier this week she had thought she was having such great fun with the ring, thought Hermione grimly. The scent of apple blossoms was her favourite, and she had decided to treat herself by forcing the apple trees in the park into bloom. After all, she had been performing good deeds like helping Michael with his ankle, and that little old man who had lost his wallet for days. A simple Finding Charm was all it had taken. Everything was perfect; even animating the statues in the park so they could defend themselves against vandals had been tremendous fun. On Monday she had helped almost a dozen people in some small way or another. She felt sorry for the Muggles, though she was happy not to be one. Why shouldn't they benefit from her gifts?
By Tuesday, she had helped almost twice that many people, and more than half of the Muggles she had helped now sported a perfect set of teeth. Hermione had imagined confounding all the dentists in London, including her parents. It hadn't all been perfect; there was that quarreling couple in the park she had helped out with a Love Charm. Hermione frowned as she remembered what they had said.
"Oh darling, I don't know why we were fighting either. Of course I love you! I would never leave you."
"You promise? You'll stay with me forever?"
"Of course, my sweet Baboo. Forget my wife and seven children! They've had enough of me these past twenty years! I can't imagine why I ever wanted to break off our affair in the first place. I must have been mad!"
How was she to have known he was already married to someone else? The experience had shaken her, but she had soon recovered her sense of rightness. It had been an accident, and Hermione congratulated herself on helping all the other Muggles whom she felt sure would have been grateful to her, had they known she was their mysterious benefactor.
It all seemed so clear, despite the odd unexpected result of her magic. Then on Wednesday she had flown by the park to once again breathe in the light spring scent of the apple trees in bloom, when she had to brake hard to take in the view of rows and rows of dead trees. They stood like barren black skeletons in sharp contrast to the fresh green grass. Tears burned in her eyes. Perhaps it was something else that killed them? A fire? But inside she knew that she had been responsible for the devastation.
Hermione had bicycled home in a daze, the front wheel wobbling drunkenly. There was something wrong with her; she knew it. Just as wrong as the scent of apple blossoms in the summer and flying bicycles. Yet somehow she felt helpless to stop it. Powerless.
Once home she mumbled something to her parents about a headache and ran straight up the stairs. How could she face anyone? Her father was watching the news. It had been a real lark to hear people telling reporters about the "Tooth Fairy" yesterday, but today it brought on a blush so painful it seemed to blister her face. She put on her nightgown and crawled into bed, wishing for sleep to come and blot out the shame she felt and dull the fangs of fear that pierced her. It was after hours of restless sleep that Ron had appeared.
She had been dozing lightly when Ron's voice had woken her up, and she had slipped out of bed, grabbing her wand as a precaution, before padding to the window. Of course, Ron hadn't heard her approach because she'd been in her bare feet. When he'd let out that little yelp of surprise and fallen, her heart had seemed to fall with him, and a thousand thoughts poured through her mind like a waterfall of emotions.
When she had seen him tumble down, she reacted without thinking. Saving Ron was an instinct she couldn't ignore; it was part of her. Then later, when she had saved him and he had fallen on top of her, another instinct had taken over and she struggled to throw him off. Yet even while she had been twisting beneath him, furious that he had pinned her down, she had wondered, for a moment, if he was going to kiss her. The idea was humiliating and further more, too disgusting to even consider. But she couldn't forget the strength in Ron's arms as he held her down, or the way his freckles had looked up close.
Now she lay alone on her bed, cursing herself. What did it matter how Ron had looked, or how his eyes had lingered, if only for a moment, on her lips? Hermione didn't need an inner eye to see the ugliness inside of her; it permeated her entire body. She could feel it like an oil on her skin. She felt as if her whole body was covered in a slippery sheen of evil. After what she had done to Ron, she could hardly bring herself to take a breath. She simply wanted to stop everything.
Hermione lay on her bed clasping and unclasping her hands. Once in a while she would stop to run her fingers through her tangled hair, or rub at her skin. Though confused and tormented, she eventually fell prey to exhaustion. But instead of slumbering peacefully, she dreamt. She felt just as lost in her dream as she had when she was awake, only now she was wandering in a strange and desolate land. In the distance she could make out the sharp peaks of a vast range of dark, pitiless mountains. The air smelt foul. She looked around, but saw nothing but black, rocky ground. She sat on a boulder and buried her face in her hands, weeping in despair at the desolation around her. Suddenly, Ron appeared before her, sitting on the ebony chess piece he had ridden years earlier when Harry, Ron, and she had gone after the Philosopher's Stone. Then he had looked like a frightened boy, with his face covered in soot and dirt. Now he was older and sterner. Dressed in a silver suit of armour, he held his seat on the black charger proudly. A plumed helm was grasped in one hand, while a shining sword gleamed in the other.
"Hermione, you are in great danger. You must listen to me. Give up the ring, Hermione. It is the only way."
"I... I don't think I can," she answered. She stood and reached out to touch the hand that held the sword. "Why have you come here? Do you want the ring for yourself?"
Ron's face changed. He looked down at her sadly, "No, Hermione. My one wish is to save you, but the only way to do that is for you to give up the ring yourself. You must take it off of your own free will."
A sharp rap on her bedroom door woke Hermione in the morning. It was her mother.
"Hermione, darling? Why aren't you up? May I come in?" she called through the closed door.
"All right," she answered tiredly.
Her mother opened the door cautiously, then rushed in when she saw her daughter's face.
"What's happened? You look dreadful. You must be ill, poor thing. How do you feel?"
"I'm fine. Just a bit tired, I suppose. I think I'll just have a quiet day at home today."
"Would you like me to stay with you?" her mother offered.
It tempted Hermione. She suddenly longed to be looked after by her mother, but things were far too complicated now. The less time they spent together, the better it would be. At least for now.
"I'm fine. You should go to work. Don't you have that root canal to do today? I'm sure your client would be devastated if you cancelled."
Her mother nodded in agreement at this piece of nonsense, and it made Hermione grin just a bit. Her parents really were keen on their work. Her mother and father had brought up a tray for breakfast, and then left for work. Hermione felt a strange restlessness growing inside of her, and accompanying it was a new sense of foreboding. She got up slowly, forcing herself to throw her legs over the side of the bed, and went to take a shower.
Once under the hot spray of water, she played the scene with Ron over and over in her head. Each time she thought about it, it made her more angry. She began to forget her horror over casting Imperio on Ron, and felt herself growing indignant at the way Ron had tried to steal what was hers. Her lips thinned and her eyes hardened. No one would take the ring from her. But each time her temper threatened to get the better of her, a picture of Ron in his suit of armour appeared in her mind, looking down at her gravely, begging her to give up the ring.
Later, she sat alone at the kitchen table in a warm terry-cloth robe, drinking some hot black tea and listening to the Muggle radio. The events of the previous night seemed far away. A news report about an elderly man came on the radio. Apparently, he had been so badly frightened by the statues in the park, he had shot at the postman as he was delivering the mail, thinking one of the monuments had followed him home. The tea sat untouched on the table, growing cold for almost half an hour as Hermione rested her head on her arms, alternately crying and shaking her head in denial. Inside of her a battle raged.
At last she got up, put her mug in the dishwasher, and stood in front of the kitchen sink, looking out the window, and wondering what she should do next. She glanced down at her hand, the ring sat there glistening, winking at her in the golden light streaming through the window. It was so lovely. How could this ring possibly be responsible for what was happening? She smiled fondly at it, and stroked the smooth surface of the ring across her cheek.
"My precious," she murmured, and her desire for the ring threw out invisible fetters over her heart, holding it down, a prisoner within her.
The telephone hanging on the wall close by began to ring, and Hermione reached out to answer it.
"Granger residence. Hermione speaking," she answered.
"Hermione? Hullo? It's me, Ron. Can you hear me?"
"Ron? I can hear you, though I'm not sure if I want to," she responded tartly. "What is it now?"
"Listen, Hermione, I've just snuck away from work, and I haven't got much time to talk. I am at one of those fey phones. I had to bloody-well steal some Muggle money from Dad to get the darn thing to work, so don't hang me," Ron said loudly.
"I think you mean hang up on you, though the other sounds more appealing just now. What is it this time? More nagging about the ring, I suppose?" she answered him as she wrapped a curl of her hair around her finger. Part of her, a part she was trying unsuccessfully to squash, was thrilled to hear his voice.
"Of course it's about the ring! Don't be so blasted cheeky, Hermione. I'm worried about you. I wish Harry were here. He could talk some sense into you."
Harry. Hermione suddenly felt dazed. She hadn't thought of him in ages. How odd.
"Hullo? Hullo? Hermione!" Ron was shouting into the pay phone, but Hermione wasn't listening. She was thinking about Harry.
"That's it! I'm coming over!" Ron shouted. There was a thump as the receiver hit the ground, and then the muted noise of traffic and beeping horns, though Hermione never heard them.
Still feeling a little off balance by the realization that she'd been so wrapped up in the ring that she'd forgotten all about Harry, Hermione hung up the phone without paying much attention to Ron's last comment. A knock at the door startled her, and she went to open it.
"Hi. I, ah, may I come in?" asked Michael. He stood there, shifting from foot to foot, with eyes wide and pleading.
"Please, come in," Hermione answered, as she gestured for him to enter.
"I've been listening to the radio..." he began.
"I don't know anything about that old man!" she blurted instantly.
Michael frowned. "What man?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing. Go on." Hermione insisted, feeling relieved. Michael looked around the house for a moment, before turning towards Hermione. She thought he would have been more curious about the way "aliens" lived, but all of his attention was focused on her with an intensity that made Hermione's stomach flip over.
"I heard about some of the miracles you've been doing," Michael began in a rush of words. "At least, they must have been you. One lady said her arthritis was completely healed. Anyhow, something's happened. Something awful." He paused for a moment to blink back tears. "It's my mum. She's been tired lately - you know - feeling a bit run down. Yesterday she told me and my brother that she had cancer. It's bad. She didn't say how bad, but I could tell by the way tried to act like it was no big deal." Michael stood up straighter and swallowed before trying to finish. "Make her better. Please. I'll do anything. Just make her better."
Hermione watched him as he wept. She wanted to hold him, and to comfort him, but she felt ashamed. Instead, she patted his shoulder with a trembling hand and passed him a tissue.
"Oh, I wish I could help her, Michael. Truly. However, there are some things that even wi..., ah, aliens can't fix," her voice began to crack. "I'm sure the doctors will be able to help her, though. They learn new things about cancer everyday," she added weakly. Cancer, thought Hermione bleakly. Even the best Medi-Wizards and Witches at St. Mungo's hadn't been able to find the cure to that particular nightmare.
Michael looked livid. He yanked back his shoulder, and Hermione's hand fell limply back to her side. His bloodshot eyes glistened with fury.
"You don't want to help her!" he spat at her. "You could help her if you really wanted to. You fixed my ankle. Why don't you just fix her?"
Stepping back nervously, Hermione felt her own eyes begin to burn with tears. He looked so young. For some reason, the way Michael stood there looking at her with accusing eyes, reminded her of Harry.
"Really, I want to, but I..."
"Shut up! Liar! We're just toys to you, aren't we? Toys to play with. This is real! How can you say you can't help her?" Michael grabbed both of Hermione's arms, and his fingers squeezed her upper arms with bruising force.
Sobbing loudly, Hermione allowed Michael to shake her. She hung her head and sobbed while Michael exploded in fury. In her mind she could see Ron jerking like a marionette on a string.
The shaking ended abruptly and Hermione looked up to see Michael pinned up against the wall by Ron, who held the wildly struggling boy with one strong arm. He stared back at Hermione.
"Hermione? Are you okay?"
She stared at the floor, not wanting to Ron to see into her face. Not even when she heard Ron's voice soften as he called to her, did she look up again.
"Let him go, Ron," she said quietly.
"What? But he hurt you!" Ron protested.
"Please."
She couldn't see the look on Ron's face because her hair hung in her face like a curtain, but she could hear by his voice that he was confused.
"Go then, but don't ever lay a hand on her again. Ever," Ron growled.
"I hate you!" Michael cried, then Hermione heard him run from the house. Presumably that parting shot was for me, she thought. I don't blame you. I think I hate myself right now, too.
A finger touched her chin and lifted it gently until she was face to face with Ron. His hand swept away a spiral of hair, and though she could tell he was about to speak, his tender gesture overwhelmed her and she threw herself into his arms. He held Hermione tightly, and once again patted her back awkwardly, but this time she could feel his chin and cheek rubbing lightly against her hair.
"What happened?" he asked.
"He wanted me to make his mother better, Ron, but I couldn't. She has cancer."
Ron didn't respond, though she felt his chest expanding as he inhaled deeply and sighed. Magic wasn't the answer for everything.
Finally, Hermione let her hands slide from Ron's shoulders and she took a step away.
"You've got to give up the ring, Hermione. You see that, don't you?" he asked her, as he reached one hand out to her, then let it fall back.
They stared at each other silently. To Hermione, it was almost like gazing into Professor Dumbledore's face, so kind and knowing was his look.
"Yes," she answered him. "Yes. It's time." She bit her lip, and grabbed the ring with her thumb and forefinger. It burned her, and she gasped in pain. Ignoring the fiery sting, she closed her eyes and yanked hard at the gold circle on her finger - wishing it off with all of her might.
It came off suddenly, and she nearly dropped it. She stared at it, once again struck by its beauty. One glance at Ron stiffened her resolve, and she closed her eyes, putting the ring into the pocket of her jeans. She felt lighter, somehow, as if the ring had been an enormous stone she had been carrying around.
Ron looked surprised by her sudden change of heart, but grabbed her arm and began to pull her towards the door.
"Finally! Well, let's go then. Chop, chop. No time to waste," he urged.
Hermione winced when he touched her, and Ron, though his mind was obviously on getting her out of the door, stopped to ask her what was wrong. He released her, and then saw the red marks on her arm where Michael had grabbed her.
"He's left a mark on you," he said and touched the bruise gently. His voiced hardened. "I'll kill him."
"He was upset about his mother, Ron," she reminded him quietly. Then she added, "And besides, I think maybe the ring..." Her voice trailed off, but Ron seemed to understand her intent. He nodded in agreement.
"It's changed all of us, Hermione. Even me. About last night, I swear I only...," but Hermione silenced him by putting her fingers over his lips.
"I know," she answered. Now she understood that it was the power of the ring that had been controlling them both. Ron nodded, apparently satisfied by her response, and this time he grasped her hand and led her out of the house.
"I know what we have to do," he said. "We've got to bring the ring back to where you found it, Hermione. You've got to throw it back in the well."
Chapter 16 - The Wraith in the Ring
They stood in the garage, looking at Hermione's bike together. Ron was reluctantly impressed by it, and even a bit jealous.
"You mean you've even managed the Invisibility Spell?" he asked. Why should he be surprised? This was, after all, Hermione they were talking about. Never mind that Ron knew for a fact that it had taken his father months to get their old Ford's Invisibility Spell properly cast, and look how well that had worked.
"I'll fly back to the well, and you can follow me." she said firmly. "You can follow me on the ground with the map I drew for you. Do you have it with you?" she asked. Ron could tell she was beginning to feel better when she got that bossy tone back in her voice. For some reason it didn't bother him. In fact, he was grinning at her like a complete idiot.
"How did you get here, Ron?" Hermione asked, looking around as if to find the answer.
"I flew," he replied, still grinning.
"What do you mean you flew? On your broom? But that's dangerous, Ron. You must have been seen by the Muggles. Stop grinning like at me like a loon, Ronald Weasley! You'd think you would know better than to fly during the day by now!" she scolded him.
"Oh, you mean like you have?" he replied sarcastically. Though Hermione blushed, she didn't retreat a bit.
"I couldn't possibly have been seen. It isn't the same thing at all," she said, holding her chin up a bit as she answered. "I'll just cast another Invisibility Spell on your broom now, then."
"No!" he shouted quickly. Hermione looked shocked by his outburst, but Ron crossed his arms and repeated himself. "No. I don't think you should use it anymore, Hermione. All right?"
She nodded in agreement, though her hand kept going to her pocket and rubbing the spot where the ring was. "I guess we'll just have to take a chance," she said.
*************
They were in the air and headed towards a dark patch of woods. Ron knew he should have been afraid, but he instead he wanted to shout with laughter. The sun felt hot on his face, and though Hermione was nowhere in sight, he knew she was close by. She would call out landmarks to him every so often, so he could follow her directions and her voice. Flying his broom like this was brilliant. He wished he and Hermione could keep on flying forever.
Hermione suddenly appeared to next to him; Ron swore and his broom bobbed a little, until he quickly got it back under control.
"I wish you would quit doing that!" he yelled at Hermione, but she was already beginning her descent. Ron rolled his eyes and followed her, spiraling down in sweeping circles until he landed softly on the grass beside the now-visible bicycle.
Hermione was walking through the trees towards the well. Ron followed her. He stared up at the trees, and felt an itch between his shoulder blades as he threw nervous glances behind him. It was too quiet. Where were the birds, or the whirring insects? The air felt heavy. No wind rustled the leaves or teased his hair.
"This place gives me the heebie-jeebies," he muttered.
When Hermione knelt in the grass, Ron crouched down beside her, resting on his haunches. He craned his neck and stared down into the well, its dark maw looked like it was ready to swallow the ring, Hermione, and Ron whole. He put his hand on Hermione's back and said quietly, "Go ahead, then, Hermione. Throw it in."
She slipped her hand into her pocket and when she pulled it out, the ring was on her finger. Ron swore.
"What are you doing? I thought we decided that putting it on again was dangerous!"
"I didn't put it on, honestly! It was like it slipped itself on my finger," she cried, but Ron noticed that she wasn't in any hurry to pull it off again.
"Well, take it off then, Hermione!" he ordered her, but Hermione was looking at him strangely.
"I can't," wailed Hermione, tugging at her hand.
"What do you mean you can't? You had it off before!" Ron replied, he could feel a drop of perspiration run down his forehead and fall from the tip of his nose. Hermione had her eyes screwed shut, and he could see her straining to get the ring off again, but without luck.
"Let me try," he said impatiently as he took a firm grip on the ring and tugged.
"OW!" yelped, Hermione. "Just take the ring off, Ron, not the whole finger."
With every ounce of concentration Ron could muster, he focused on the ring and pulled as hard as he could. There was a loud bang and Ron was thrown back, landing on his back in the grass a few yards away.
When he opened his eyes a few moments later, he sat up, feeling an ache in each and every bone as he did so. His ears were ringing.
"I feel like I've been hit by lightning," he croaked. Remembering what he had been doing when he was struck, Ron looked around for Hermione. She was still sitting by the well, her back turned towards him. The panic began to ebb when he saw her there, looking comfortingly disheveled and whole.
"Hermione," he called out, and she turned to look at him. I must have been thrown pretty hard, thought Ron. Hermione's eyes look red.
But he wasn't imagining things. They were red, and glowing horribly in her face, which had gone from merely pale to bone white. Ron stumbled to his feet and began to back away from her.
"You won't escape, Wizardling. You haven't a hope," said an echoing voice coming from Hermione's mouth. Ron could hardly think with the sound of his heart hammering in his ears, pounding out what sounded like, "Doomed, doomed, doomed."
"Hermione! Hermione! Are you in there?" Ron cried out. "Hermione! You've got to fight it. Listen to me, Hermione. Fight it!"
His pleas must not have reached Hermione because the creature inhabiting her body raised her arms, and cast a spell.
"Crucio."
*************
Hermione felt lost. She knew there was something she had to do, but she felt so weak. Too tired to even gather her thoughts. She was drifting. She saw her parents looking at her with a mixture of love and fear. She saw Harry, his lightning bolt scar seemed to shine, and he was looking very fierce. Ron was there too, but he was somehow sharper, and more in focus than the rest of them. She could hear him calling to her from a long way off. "Fight it, Hermione," he implored.
Fight what? she thought. It is lovely in here. So quiet and peaceful. But Ron's voice was persistent. "Fight it!" she heard him say, this time a bit louder. By concentrating on his voice, Hermione's memory began to return to her. The ring.
Suddenly, she heard screaming. It was more like the howling of an animal, really. She listened to it, confused by the sound, until she heard, under the agonized screams, the familiar tones of Ron. Ron! He sounded like he was being killed. She strained to find the source of the sounds. Bit by bit she fought her way back, like a drowning swimmer fighting to reach the surface of a lake. The desire to help Ron was more urgent then any mouthful of oxygen could have been, but a malevolent current pushed her back. Only Ron's voice crying out kept her from drifting back into peaceful oblivion.
With a final thrust, she suddenly felt herself sliding back into herself, though she was still on the periphery. Someone else still controlled her body, but her mind was once again hard at work. She could see Ron on the ground, his limbs contorted into impossible positions as he fought the pain. She had to help him. Ron's name became her mantra and she directed every ounce of her energy towards breaking free of the evil force which held her captive within her own body. She imagined herself ripping the ring off her finger and throwing it into the Wishing Well.
A murky wave of hatred, much stronger this time, shoved at her consciousness, trying to push her back into the void of confusion from which she had finally managed to surface, but Hermione fought back. She knew that Ron's life and her own depended on winning this battle, so she directed all the thoughts of love, truth, and joy she could muster at the evil presence. Slowly, she felt its hold slipping more and more until she actually could feel the ring burning on her finger. Quickly, she grabbed it and pulled. The screaming stopped, and Ron was lying still now. No longer could the power of the ring maintain its spell, especially when all the fiery strength of Hermione's will was focused on banishing it forever.
The Ring of Destiny began to slide up her finger, searing a path as it moved. Hermione's face became a study in determination. Eyes focused, teeth clenched, muscles tensed, and sweat-soaked hair plastered to her forehead, she wouldn't give up.
"Yes!" With that triumphant cry she held the ring up in the air. After a moment's hesitation she turned towards the Wishing Well, and tossed it in. When it hit the water, a hissing sound, and a thin grey plume of smoke began to rise from the ancient pool. Hermione ignored all this. It was Ron, still lying crumpled up on the flattened grass, who absorbed all of her attention. Throwing herself to the ground beside him, she lifted his head onto her lap, and smoothed back the spiked red hair from his face.
"Ron. Can you hear me? Ron? Please, please be all right. I need you, Ron," Hermione pleaded as she stroked his hair and rocked him back and forth.
A low groan forced its way from Ron's mouth. It seemed to take all his strength just to make that tiny sound. His pale, almost invisible lashes, fluttered open. For a moment Ron couldn't see anything; he only stared ahead blankly. Then, abruptly, he blinked and focused his eyes on Hermione with laser-like precision. "Are you okay? What happened? Your eyes were red, Hermione. Where's the ring?" His voice was weak, but Hermione recognized his look from that terrible moment in the Shrieking Shack when Ron had vowed to die defending Harry. She bit her lip, and tried to blink back her tears, but failed. A tear fell onto Ron's cheek, and he reached up to brush it away. It left a smear on his dirty face, but Hermione thought he looked wonderful.
"I threw the ring in the well, Ron. It's over now," Hermione said, though her voice quavered as she said his name. More tears spilt down her cheeks and rained down onto Ron's face, washing away some of the dust he had kicked up while he was trapped in that hot fist of agony. She stood slowly, her knees giving way for a moment before she could draw herself all the way up. She reached down, grabbed Ron's hands, and tried to pull him up. Ron grimaced as he tried to move his cramped muscles, but he gritted his teeth and allowed Hermione to haul him up. They both staggered a little as they tried to walk, but Ron and Hermione leaned on each other with arms across each other's shoulders. It was time to leave the clearing and the well behind. They walked away together without a backward glance.
There came an angry hiss from behind them. Ron and Hermione froze when they caught the scent of sulfur, and each could feel a cold finger of fear on their spines. As one, Ron and Hermione turned to face their new enemy.
Hermione screamed, and Ron stood gaping at the creature. It was hideous. Enormous, black and covered in a slimy, scaly hide, it rose up from the well. Red eyes, all that could be seen from beneath the hooded cloak that hung loosely on its giant frame, gouged at her own with their evil gaze. Beside her, Ron's hand caught hers.
"Run!" he yelled, and he began to drag her along, through the thick brush. Hermione's hair caught on a branch and she screamed. Ron merely broke the branch off, and tossed it away as he continued to run, never letting them slow down. An angry roar echoed behind them. Hermione began to cough as the creature's vile stench enveloped her. She could hear Ron coughing beside her, but he plunged on.
It was a gnarled root that tripped her up. For years it probably had lain there, quietly growing, soaking up the water and minerals from the earth and sending them up to the hungry leaves. But now it was her downfall - her enemy. Hermione stumbled and fell hard onto the ground, and her hand was ripped out of Ron's tight grip. He stopped almost instantly and went back to help her, but he was too late. The creature was on her. It caught her up in its claws and went sliding back towards the clearing.
"NO!" shouted Ron. He stood there stunned for a moment as she was swept away in the darkness that surrounded the creature. "Not Hermione," he whispered. "You can't take Hermione." He felt despair creeping into his bones, weighing him down. He couldn't give up, not now when Hermione had worked so hard to save him. He chased after the creature, determined to get her back, but it was quick. Ron put his head down, and pumped his arms fiercely to push his long legs faster.
"Accio Nimbus," he panted, and within seconds he was flying at a breakneck speed through the trees. He nearly lost his head when he almost forgot to duck under a low lying branch, but he held on tightly, and whipped between trees until he had the creature, and Hermione, in sight.
He slowed the broom down, got alongside the creature, and jumped onto its back. He tried to get his arms around where its neck would be, but the scaly body beneath the dark cloak was hard and bony. The creature roared in fury as Ron pounded it as hard as he could with his fists. Ron knew his blows could hardly be hurting the creature, but at least it seems like I'm ticking it off, he thought.
His tenacity paid off when it dropped Hermione and reached across its shoulder to tear Ron off with both hands, like a rabid grizzly throwing off a wolf. He felt his shirt rip, and the flesh beneath it tore as well, but he hung on in a way that would have made a broncobuster proud.
Hermione watched, horrorstruck as Ron struggled with the beast. She searched the ground frantically for a weapon - anything to give her an advantage. She spotted Ron's shattered Nimbus 2000. She plucked the broken shaft of the broom off the grass, and dove at the creature, stretching up to drive the point into one of its red burning eyes.
The sharp end of the broom sank in with a sticky slurp, and a stream of acid burnt Hermione's hand. The wraith howled. It was an ancient evil that had lain dormant in the ring for years, acting as its guardian when danger threatened the ring's existence. The pain enraged the creature, and it seemed to fight with an even greater ferocity. Now it turned its one remaining eye on Hermione.
Ron knew he had to end it now - forever. He leapt off the wraith's back and felt for the ring that hung around his neck.. A ring had begun this whole mess, and a ring would finish it. He heard Hermione cry out, but he dared not turn to look. Her only chance was another wish made in the Wishing Well. Thinking frantically, he snapped the chain and tossed the ring in.
"Send the creature and the ring away to another world, and never let them return," he begged the well.
There was silence.
He didn't want to turn around, fearing what he might find, but he had to know. Hermione stood there cradling her burnt hand, her sleeve torn and bloody, but looking otherwise unharmed. She looked around, as if expecting to see the wraith, and Ron stumbled over to tell her what he had done.
"I reckon maybe old Uncle Ronald wasn't as barmy as I thought," he said when he finished his tale. "Maybe he knew all along that someday I would need it." Hermione looked skeptical
"Don't tell me you're actually starting to believe in all that Divination hogwash, Ron," she said accusingly, but Ron didn't answer. He was too happy to start another row with Hermione. Not to mention too bloody tired.
He took her hand and led the way out of the clearing, and as they left did, Ron could hear some birds singing in the trees overhead. It was a good sign.
"How am I going to get back?" Ron asked when they left the shadow of the trees and stepped back into the bright sunshine.
"I suppose we'll have to ride double, but I only have one helmet," she trailed off worriedly.
Ron surveyed Hermione's bike critically. "I'm driving," he said at last.
"Not on your life, Weasley," retorted Hermione.
Ron had gotten rather good at finding his way to Hermione's house. This time he decided to walk most of the way and think about what had happened during the previous week. Now that it was over, he had taken to imagining himself telling Harry all about the way he had ridden the Ring-Wraith like a bucking Hippogriff. Then he shook his head in disbelief. It had been a bit tricky to explain the notice for breaking the underage wizard law to his father, but his dad let him off rather easily by not mentioning the letter to Mrs. Weasley.
"Never mind, son. Just don't let it happen again," he said, and that was it.
Ron vowed fervently to his father, "I promise, Dad. Nothing like this will ever happen again." How could it, with the ring banished forever?
Things were getting back to normal. The Ministry of Magic was perturbed that they hadn't been able to find the rogue wizard, but they were grateful the wild magic had stopped, and soon it was business as usual. Everything was as it should be, except for one thing - Hermione.
When he had been knocked out momentarily by the creature, one of Hermione's hot teardrops had hit his face and awoken him. He remembered how her eyes, shining brown once again, had little flecks of gold in them. He had seen them clearly with Hermione's face so near his own. They had shimmered at him. It was then that his own words had come back to haunt him, "Whatever house she's in, I hope I'm not in it." What a fool he'd been. She was everything: brave, loyal, beautiful, kind. Everything. Something was still bothering her though, and he wanted to set it right.
Ron had noticed right away that she was nowhere near her old self when he had made a rather rude comment about Mafalda Hopkirk, and what she could do with her letter, and Hermione hadn't scolded him for his bad language. He had waited for her to give him that disgusted look she had perfected over the last few terms at school, but it was as if she hadn't even heard him. He was worried about her. The monster was gone, miraculously no one had fingered Hermione as the "Tooth Fairy" (he could hardly wait to share that one with Harry), and neither of them was dead! It seemed to Ron that their adventures had turned out smashingly well, all things considered. Why wasn't she happy?
After the long walk to Hermione's house, he still didn't have an answer. One thought kept slinking back into Ron's brain, but he shoved it back with surprising viciousness. Maybe she isn't happy with you, Ron, whispered a little voice, betraying his deepest fear. Ron relived every touch and word that had passed between them past few weeks. He was in the habit of taking out each precious memory and polishing it, so he could enjoy it over and over again with perfect clarity. Ron frowned. He'd finally done something smart by admitting to himself his feelings for Hermione. How could she not feel the same way as he did?
He found her in the backyard, sitting on a swing that hung from the thick limb of a maple tree, one of the many that protected the lovely gardens behind the Grangers' home. She looked like a lost child sitting there, with one of her feet kicking the grass and her hair hanging down hiding her face. Lately it seemed she was always hiding from him.
"Hullo," he called out. Hermione looked up at him and smiled, but Ron noticed her eyes remained sad, despite her grin.
He stood in front of her for a while before blurting out, "What's bothering you, Hermione? I know that things have been tough, but everything's okay now! Our parents don't know we almost unleashed an ancient evil on the world, nearly getting ourselves killed in the process. The ring's gone. And last, but certainly not least, you didn't get thrown in Azkaban for all those crazy spells you cast. So what's the matter?"
The wind sighed in the grass and ruffled his hair as Ron waited for Hermione's answer.
"I was so stupid," she said at last. "So bloody stupid. I let that ring take over my life. After what happened with Ginny I should have known better. I should have realized that I couldn't see the ring's "brain," but I didn't. I was so sure I was in control, and all the while I was a puppet for that evil thing." She paused to kicked a little harder at the grass. "And all those people became my toys. Just as Michael said. I was the monster."
Ron had heard enough. "That's rot, Hermione! You're no monster. Anyone could have been fooled. You said it yourself - look at Ginny. Sure she's a pain, but she isn't a complete idiot. If she could be taken in, why not you?"
Hermione regarded him solemnly.
"Do you know what I wished for when I lost my charm in the well and started this whole bloody mess?" Ron could see the colour rise in her face as she asked him this. "I asked to be someone special. Can you believe that? It is rather pathetic, now that I look back."
Ron gaped at her. Something special? How could she even think that?
"But, Hermione! You are special. You're the smartest witch I know. Even Professor Lupin thinks so. Remember when he called you the cleve..."
"Oh, I know that, Ron. But that's just books! I wanted to be more than just a clever witch. I wanted to be... I don't know. It was dumb. Dumb and dangerous."
Ron continued to stare at her. He remembered the Mirror of Erised, and the haunting vision he had seen there. Oh, Hermione. I do understand, he thought. She wanted to be special... Of course she was special! How could she not know?
He walked behind her, and put his hands around her waist.
"You are special, Hermione," he said quietly. Hermione looked over her shoulder at him in surprise, but he could see the beginnings of a smile on her lips, and in her eyes. He gently shoved Hermione and sent the swing in motion. He stepped back and felt his heart grow in his chest when she laughed out loud and began to pump her legs. Most certainly you're special, Hermione, and if you don't know it, it's up to me to show you.
Ron watched her swing higher and higher as she kicked her legs and pulled hard on the ropes. He reached out to grab her. She didn't really need his help, but with just a little push from him, soon she'd be flying.
The End
Many thanks to my two beta-readers GinnyPotter and Arabella. You have no idea how hard they worked to clean up my writing - how encouraging Arabella has been, or how often GP's genius ideas saved the day. I cast a spell of Gratitude on them both. I also acknowledge my debt to two of my favourite writers - J. R. R. Tolkien and J. K. Rowling. I've borrowed some of their ideas, but not for profit. Hope they understand.