Change Comes From Words

All Previous Disclaimers Apply.

Author’s Note: I just wanted to thank everyone who sent reviews! I’ve never had such a reaction to what I’ve written and it was very exciting for me! So, thanks to everyone so much! Secondly, (and lastly) I have considered heavily what my next move in this fiction should be and I think I’ve come up with something that will satisfy both those who love angst and those who love happily ever after. (As well as sex, but let’s not talk about that just yet.) For those of you who love happily ever after, you’re just going to have to bear with me for bit. It will be a little time in coming. I can assure you, however, that it is coming. So, enough of my rambling and thanks again!


Ron.

Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Golden Child, had only one thought in his mind as he surveyed the torn battlefield, the many bodies scattered motionless among the fogged wood. Some he knew to be on his side. Some he knew to be his enemies. He felt regret for all of them. He stumbled forward, always forward, kneeling painfully next to every new body he encountered.

“Oh, Seamus,” he felt a single hot tear streak down his cheek as he turned over the lifeless body of his year-mate, his good friend. One of the few he had still felt he had. His hand trembling, he reached out and closed the young man’s lifeless eyes so that they would not stare forever into the void. He deserved to rest in peace.

Again. It was all happening again. Ever since Voldemort and his followers had taken their private magic war public to the other witches and wizards of the world as well as all of the muggles this same scene had happened again and again. And it was always someone new. Always someone Harry cared about. As if the Death Eaters knew that he would be the one always left alive. Always walking the battlefields when the killing was over for the day. Harry could close his eyes and see countless other faces found in the same position as Seamus. Lee, Cho, Ginny, Percy, Penelope, Moody, Tonks, Luna . . . the list was never ending. But, there was only one person he was looking for right now. Only one person he had to see before he could let everything wash over him. Before he could let himself breathe.

Ron. Ron, please. Too long. He’s always here before now. Too long. Where is he?

He took a deep breath, attempted to call his best friend’s name, doubled over when heavy coughing racked his weakened frame. He braced his hands on his knees and waited for it to pass. It always passed. He wiped the blood away from his mouth with a resigned sigh. The one thing he needed was the one thing he could not afford at all right now. Rest. He needed more than a half day to simply rest, heal. No time. No time to rest. No time to heal. No time to breathe until he could see that Ron was safe.

“Harry!” Harry turned his face toward the voice and said a small prayer of thanks when Hermoine stumbled toward him out of the fog, Viktor at her side. She was bleeding from a small gash in just above her left eye and he cradled his left arm close to his chest, but they both seemed to be as close to fine as they could be, so the bands around his chest loosened in the slightest.

“Ron,” he murmured as Hermoine hugged him close, then ran her hands over his face and chest as if checking him for wounds, “Have you seen him? Do you know where he is?”

“No. We . . .” she stopped suddenly, looking down at their feet, “Oh, God. Seamus. Oh, no.” She turned away and Viktor took her into his arms, turning her head away from the sight, whispering comfort that only they could understand in his native language. Harry felt panic seize his mind, blocking all thought except that he had to find Ron. Now.

“I have to find him,” Harry mumbled, his wild eyes and strained tone making Viktor and Hermoine look up, worried, “I have to find him now!”

“Harry!” Viktor called as Harry spun around on his heels and ran. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew where he was heading. It didn’t even make sense in his own mind. He had no idea where he was. This battle was the first time he’d been to this particular wood, yet somehow as he ran everything was familiar, as if he had seen it all in a dream. Or through eyes not his own. He felt it instinctively. He was heading for Ron. He needed to reach Ron. There was no time.

No time? No time for what? What was happening? Even as he ran, Harry grabbed his head. Somehow he knew where Ron was, but he didn’t know why. Somehow he knew Ron was in trouble, but he didn’t know in what way. All he knew was that he needed to be by Ron’s side. Now.

And suddenly, he was. He stopped in his tracks, breathing hard, gazing at the man he loved laying on the ground not far from him now.

Love? He took a step back in surprise. Did he love Ron? He shook his aching head. Of course he did. The same way he loved Hermoine.

He’d been so panicked to get to Ron . . . what was stopping him now? Now that he saw that Ron was on the ground? Suffering.

“Ron!” He ran the last few steps and fell to his knees next to Ron.

“‘Arry,” Ron gasped, his breaths were shallow and rasping, but Harry could find no physical wound on him as he took the young fire-headed man into his arms and looked him over as best he could in the gray light.

“Ron,” Harry held his best friend closer and didn’t even realize it as he pressed a light kiss to Ron’s temple, “What is it? Tell me what happened to you. Tell me how to help you.”

“Don’ know if you can, mate,” Ron gasped in pain and his body arched away from Harry’s arms with it. Harry held him closer again, “Not this time. ‘E hit me with somethin’. Don’ know what it was. But it hurts.”

“Hurts? Well, just hang on until Hermoine gets here. She’ll put you to sorts. She’s as good as any Mediwitch.”

“Yeah,” Ron murmured, his body stilling and his eyes beginning to close, “Good as any Mediwitch. . .”

“Ron!” Harry shook him, “Don’t you dare give in. Open your eyes. Look at me.”

“‘Arry,” Ron lifted a trembling hand to Harry’s face, “Beautiful. Beautiful, ‘Arry. Wanted to see you one more time. Please don’t . . .”

“Ron,” Harry’s voice took on a desperate edge, “Ron, please don’t leave me.”

“Never . . . never.” Suddenly Ron’s body went stiff again, “‘Arry. Dark. Don’ let it take me! Don’ let it! ‘Arry, hold me! Don’ let it get . . .”

“Ron?” Harry felt the tears streak down his cheeks as Ron’s body went limp in his arms, “Ron?” He shook him a little, turned his face up, and let out a strangled sound when he saw the peaceful expression on Ron’s lax face, “Oh, no, Ron. No. No, please. Come back. Come back. Please, Ron. You can’t leave me like this. You can’t. Please. Come back.” He didn’t even notice as a strangled sound of pure pain was released from his throat. He held Ron close and rocked gently, his silent sobs racking his body.

“No,” he looked up through eyes swimming with tears as Hermoine and Viktor finally caught up with them. Hermoine was looking at him with eyes both horrified and saddened. Viktor turned away as if he couldn’t bear to look as she fell bonelessly to her knees next to them.

“Ron,” she whispered, and traced a finger over his still features, rested a hand against his chest. Harry looked up at her again when she let out a gasp and set two fingers to Ron’s neck.

“Hermoine?” he questioned.

“He’s alive, Harry,” she whispered, “He’s alive. There’s still hope.”


So, what do you think? Even if you don’t know where it’s leading yet, I do and I’m pretty satisfied with it.
Next Chapter: Ron’s Fate And The Reading Of The Letter
As always, should you feel the need to flame, please make the flame civil and refrain from attacks on my person. Thanks so much.