There are many who don't wish to sleep for fear of nightmares.
Sadly, there are many who don't wish to wake for the same fear.
~ Richelle Goodrich
*****
Chapter 1:
Funny how screaming didn't need sound for him to hear it.
Look at me Hermione, Ron thought desperately, just look at me!
She did, and he recoiled as if he'd been slapped; her eyes were dull and listless, as if she had already given up. This terrified him more than anything else.
NO, fight it Hermione, fight dammit!
"HERMIONE!" Ron continued to bellow her name, dragging his feet in an attempt to slow his captor.
Her gaze lingered on him, until she was wrenched away by the roots of her hair.
Ron was thrown facedown on the jagged stone floor, and he stumbled as he tried to get up—he was still bound to Harry, Griphook, and Dean.
"HERMIONE!" he sobbed, scrambling to get to the stairs.
There was a deep throaty chuckle before the prison door slammed shut, plunging him into darkness.
The hollow echo hadn't yet faded before there was an awful, drawn-out scream that froze the blood in his veins.
***
Ron woke with a sickening jolt, chest heaving, his face coated with sweat. He stared at the ceiling, gasping, trying to reassure himself.
The Manor's gone, I'm not there—not there...
As he slowly took in the familiar forms of Shell Cottage, the nightmare gradually faded from the forefront of his vision.
"You alright, mate?" Harry groggily murmured from his right.
"M' fine," he mumbled in answer.
"Same dream?"
"Same dream."
Ron sighed in exasperation, crawling out of bed with the air of someone who had done this too many times before.
Before, he was always the one asking that question; it had never been him who thrashed in his sleep, trying to shove away the images that seemed permanently seared into his retinas.
Once again, Ron found himself admiring Harry's stoicism; whereas he was still relatively new in his timeline of nightmares, the latter had been handling bouts with his demons, night after night—for much, much longer than him.
Of course, there were some notable moments where he'd observed Harry's distress—but he still had a sinking suspicion that his best mate barely let on to the true weight of the burdens that he carried.
Ron got to his feet. Crossing over to the door, he wobbled his head from side to side, like a dog trying to rid its ears of water.
But the screaming continued to reverberate in his head, like one of those old Muggle records that was hopelessly stuck in the same spot.
Ron paused, his hand resting on the doorframe.
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Does it ever get easier?"
There was a brief pause, and he heard Harry heave a deep sigh.
"I used to wish that, more than anything."
YOU ARE READING
A Mourning to Remember
Fanfiction"It's not forgetting that heals. It's remembering." ~ Amy Greene *** A revealing tale starring everyone's favorite ginger and brunette pair. It's been nearly a year since the defeat of Voldemort, but things are far from over. After a year of absenc...
