Edge Of Gravity

No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell!
-Lord Byron

The density of the night had been his companion since his escape; the quiet chirps of insects and animals his only friend in this place. They knew his secrets; they knew his pain that grew into a paralyzing, screaming molten throb that stole his sanity for more time than he remembered. The past, present and future dug into one another in his mind now, only keeping the clarity of time riding on the thin line in his thoughts.

Perhaps that is partly what had helped him escape from their clutches, and also what had kept him from returning to the people he was stolen from nearly five years ago. Or maybe it was the whispering of his inner voices, the imps that came into light during his imprisonment. Imps that had stripped him of all he was before. Their was nothing left of the old Ronald Weasley, only the name that seemed more like a distance dream to a nameless man.

He was nothing more then scraps of what the Death Eaters had allowed to live; the meat of his body, scarred with the torments that they had taken from his skin. He could still feel their touches on him, the muscle under his flesh, the burning of the Dark Mark he was forced to endure as a further torture and humiliation. They had claimed their ownership over him, and even when he tried to dig it out of his skin, its poison seeped up into his elbow then his shoulder. Now all he could do was endure the pain, to allow it to take him whenever it beckoned. To allow them, even at a distance, to steal his mind away for their own pleasure.

Ron stared deeper into the deep blue of the fire, ignoring the soft breathing of the wizard in the distance. The small cuts on his skin already scabbed over with the potion Ron had poured over the torn flesh before unceremoniously dragging him back to the hut he now called home. Causing only the slightest discomfort for the unconscious man, his face only wincing from the three steps he had taken to get into his home.

“Tonks,” Ron rolled the name over in his mouth, making a bitter salty flavor ooze from his taste buds. Even now, he felt the instinct to dig his fingers into her flesh, to rip at the frozen flesh until she was just like him. Raw.

“Betrayer,” he hissed under his breath. The fire flared up into orange pops, almost seeming to sense what the presence meant to Ronald. “Betrayer!” His instinct to run back to the field made his flesh burn more then the claustrophobic heat that pressed against him. To make her pay the crimes she had hidden, how she had snuggled herself sweetly into the arms of his unknowing allies. She would pay before the night was out though; he could almost taste the claws of the Death Eaters not far away. The offer of a fresh meal would appeal greater then Hogwarts, for the old dying cell could not compete with warm, unmoving magic.

“Tonks.” The soft half-dazed mumble barely made a noise above the crackle of the fire, but Ronald Weasley did not miss the familiar voice. He didn’t bother to turn to look at the wizard though, knowing Wood would not be strong enough to attack him.

For the first time in years, Ron felt a remorse for attacking before thinking. His instincts had turned animal-like, lashing out before thought, especially upon seeing the Metamorphmagus in the distance. All he knew is that another wizard could present a problem if he allowed him, so he had simply eliminated it. Wood had taken a hit, but nothing more then a minor Quidditch accident. Especially considering all the years Oliver had trained up in Pro teams.

“Tonks.” Ron did turn at voice this time watching the twitching skin. The wide-eyed stare focused on him for a moment before turning to look up at the ceiling. “I died.” The tone was so flat that it made Ron chuckle, despite the shock it registered in the back of his head.

“No.” Ron voice fell somber suddenly, losing why he was he was chuckling at all. “Not yet.”

Wood continued to stare up at the ceiling, his face turning dark shades of orange and blue from the heat and light. “Then Tonks is dead.” It seemed strange statement to Ron, but did not question it as he turned back to the fire.

“Most likely.” Death Eaters were not far off when he had frozen the witch, shocking him slightly but giving him a pleasure of knowing she would die a most painful death. No less then what she deserved, no less then the hell he had been put through. She would at least have the gratification of death once they stripped her soul.

“NO!” The red head didn’t bother to turn around hearing the man stumble up, Oliver’s body thumping against the wall twice before Ron heard the first clumsy footstep. “Where is she? What if the Death Eaters find her?”

“No less then what she deserves,” Ron whispered, tossing a stray branch into the fire. His eyes narrowing at the thought that the bastards find her, he doubted that they would give her a chance to tell all her secrets for the security of her life this time. She would not be able to betray the Phoenixes so easily, nor leave him to die with such an imprudence.

No one was theirs to take the brunt of their anger, while she watched with tear-filled eyes. Her screams making the earth more like hell in his pain-driven madness before she blurted out every secret that their allies had informed them. All he could do was watch in blood-hazed horror, his voice a gurgle of begging, telling her over and over that he would rather die. But it was not his life she had given away her comrades for but her own lousy hide.

Her babbling that she would inform everyone he had died a hero’s death before she was Portkeyed away from his sight. It was a memory that the imps had cherished and used while the Dark Mark ravaged his body. Sometimes, he could even picture her retelling the story to them while he lay in a cell, rotting away, laughing as he screamed in agony.

“WHAT?” Oliver grabbed the front of Ron’s robes, his hand rose threateningly, but it was a hollow gesture due to lack of wand. “SHE IS A…”

“BETRAYER!” Ron snarled, pushing against the taller Wizard’s chest. Wood stumbled backwards, hitting soundly against the wall before sliding down. His eyes losing focus for several seconds, before he forced his stare on Ron.

“SHE IS NOT A BETRAYER!” The blonde Wizard growled through clenched teeth, lifting himself from the ground with obvious pain. “SHE IS A…”

Ron took a threatening step forward, his hands holding both his own and Oliver’s wand. “A what?” His voice was low, taking a shade deeper than he thought possible. “Hero?” The word was spat out with venom, while his hands tighten harder on the wand handles.

Wood lifted his chin, glaring at the silhouetted Wizard with a preparedness. Dying was never far off for anyone who fought against Voldemort. “Yes, ” he curled his lips into a small smile, “she is.”

Ronald felt the magic tingling on his fingers, the beckoning of it making his imps scream in excited chants. “Kill, Kill, KILL!” His mouth tightened into a snarl, as the images of a dead wizard flashed in his brain like a separate reality.

“STOP!” Weasley turned on his heels, kicking a stray log from the magical fire to explode against the hut wall. The embers glowing deep red, then orange, then a hazy violet before he closed his eyes. He would not give in to those bastards, he would not give in to himself.

Wood stared at the dark back, his eyes blinking rapidly to get the image out of his head that had flashed before him only a moment ago. The fire log hadn’t created a burst into a hot light that illuminated the wizard for the first time since he had woke. His eyes hadn’t seen a bright red head, or a shape that looked like Weasley. He had not seen one of the fallen, the one he had grieved over with Tonks for years.

“I will let you go at first light,” Ron whispered, ignoring the way the wand felt in his fingers. “Until then, I suggest you get some sleep.” He turned stiffly, walking towards the door with purposeful strides.

“What about Tonks?” Oliver’s voice didn’t hold the conviction it had only minutes ago.

Ron stilled for a second, his jaw clenching at the name. “What about her?”

“Where…I…You can’t…She…” Wood was too caught up in thoughts of the past to get out anything beyond a few unfinished words.

“If she lives till first light you can have her,” Ron growled, dropping Woods wand to the floor. “But don’t expect much.” He threw open his front door, before looking back at Wood. “She didn’t.”