Chapter Text
Fred Weasley is dead.
He's dead, Hermione and Harry are missing, and Ron is utterly alone. Death Eaters were outside, and Hogwarts was in pieces.
Ron felt his stomach turn and knew he couldn't handle this. Cries and wails filled with grief and agony ran out around them, the lines of dead students and order members seeming to only grow.
He couldn't bear to look at George— who had yet to let go of Fred. His cries distinct to Ron's ears despite there being so many others crying out with the same grief and sorrow for their own loved ones.
Fred Weasley is dead. George has lost his other half.
But there was no time to mourn. Time was running out, and with Harry and Hermione missing, it was up to Ron to run things. He had to keep things going, to make sure that those Death Eaters would harm no one else. He owed it, for their sake.
Molly Weasley was dead. She died saving her only daughter.
Ron's feet were moving without his consent. He ran and he ran, letting his body take him where he needed to go. Hall after hall, stair after stair. He ran, not knowing where he was going but knowing he had to be there.
Percy and Ginny are dead. Hunted down by a group of Death Eaters not long after Molly's passing.
There was a door. He ran faster and faster, reaching out and—
Bill is already long gone. Killed by Greyback.
Ron screamed as excruciating pain wracked through his entire body. The door swung open, and all Ron could see through blurred vision was bright white light.
Charlie had been killed by the one thing he loved the most. Dragons.
He screamed again, something metallic filling his senses. He was moving again, but it wasn't him. Ron was being dragged into the light, his screams of pain growing louder. His head was pounding, his limbs violently jerking and trembling.
Ron was alone. Utterly alone. Out of nine Weasley's, all were dead but only six had stopped breathing.
"We have been waiting for you." A voice, one and a million at the same time hissed, pulling Ron closer and closer. "Accept us, let us in."
But Ron couldn't focus all he could do was scream in nothing short of agony.
"We will not hurt them. You will save them, with our guidance. Let us in, let us guide you home."
It was pointless to resist. The moments the words were spoken, one's vision faded to black, just as the pain did. His body grew cold within a matter of minutes, and his blood stained the once pristine, bright room. Ronald Billius Weasley would remain there forever, never found nor forgotten. His body would rot, never to be found until fate opens its doors to someone new.
Seven had stopped breathing.
Grief took the remaining two.
Eight souls in the hands of death
The sixth rebirthed.
Seven
Seven
Seven.
_______________________
The next time 'Ron' woke up, he was surrounded by walls of burnt orange. He was seven years old, and something was wrong. It weighed on his body, making it far more heavy than it should be.
Ron lay in his bed, staring up at the tilted roof with eyes far older than his body.
"Mum.." He mumbled, voice hoarse as if it had never been used before. He coughed, forcing himself to sit up. "Mum, mum.."
It's still dark out, that much Ron can tell. He slid out of bed, just barely managing to hold himself up. He stumbled out of the room and gripped the railing on the stairs. Down. That's where he needed to go. One step at a time, one foot in front of the other.
Ron made it down a few sets, feeling like he had no control over his balance. He kept mumbling, it seemed to bring him back to reality. Ron was awake. He's here, he can see and he can breathe, but something is wrong.
He makes it down another flight of stairs, but before he can move again, a hand is very cautiously placed on his shoulder. Ron paused but didn't look up at who it was, not having the strength to.
"Ron?" The voice was male, so quiet and filled with concern. Ron blinked, and then he blinked again.
"Ring." Was what Ron mumbled, and distantly, he felt his feet leave the ground. He was gently pressed against something warm. It made Ron blink. Safe, he thought. Safe.
He was being carried somewhere, that he knew. A few slow blinks later and he was back in a room. It wasn't the one with walls of burnt orange. It was bigger, that's all he knew.
"Come on, Ronnie, just get some rest, alright? You shouldn't be up walking." The voice spoke again, and that's when Ron made the slow realization that he was lying on something soft, staring up at whoever was speaking.
"Ring," Ron mumbled again, feeling as if he was miles away from his own body. "Ring." He blinked, and the face above him was filled with grief.
"Oh, Ronnie.." A hand was in his hair and something warm briefly pressed against his forehead. "Go back to sleep. I'll be here, I'll always be here." The words were comforting, and Ron found himself slipping away from himself, eyes closing once again.
Float. Ron thought. And float he did.
As Ron finally fell back asleep, Bill Weasley took a shuddering breath and stepped outside his room. He sobbed quietly, head in his hands and shoulders shaking. The dull, glazed eyes of his baby brother haunted his mind, pulling apart the little strands of composure he had left.
You didn't deserve it, Bill thought fiercely. You didn't deserve what those bastards did to you.
And that thought haunted every single single member of the Weasley family
War was never kind, but it had been the most cruel to Ronald Weasley.