In Too Deep (Blairon)

A Dream Unlike Any Other

Ron sighed, staring out into the vast ocean below him. Hermione sat next to him, her hand in his. But just as the gesture didn't  help on their flight to Mage Island the week before, it wasn't helping on their flight back home. Goldenville. Goldenville is a small island off the coast of England. So small, the town was rarely found on maps and globes. It's name didn't suit it in the slightest, for Goldenville, though beautiful in the winter, was hell during the summer. Hurricanes, earthquakes and thunderstorms so bad people rarely fly in for holiday. But, as much as Goldenville had the most interesting and indecisive weather forecast, it was home. And for once, Ron was excited to get back to it.
He hadn't seen the Mers after Blaise had said goodbye. He had spent the rest of their week on Mage Island scouting the ocean everytime he got a chance. Though it irritated his friends at his lack of enthusiasm at times, and his constant distance, he couldn't help himself.
Blaise had done something to him, he was sure of it.

And it was driving Ron insane...

"Ron? Ron, we're here," Hermione whispered, nudging his arm. Ron shot awake, rubbing his eyes furiously to try and get a sense of where he was. He lifted an eyebrow. He was outside his house? How'd he get here?! Seeming to notice his confusion, Hermione chimed in. "You fell asleep the minute we got into the car. Harry went home with Draco and I promised I'd help Ginny with the last of her boxes the minute we get back. Will you be alright on your own?" Ron groaned, standing up and out of the car. His body stiff and his heart aching. He did not deserve Hermione. He did not deserve her after what happened on the island. Yet here she was. Oblivious to everything. Being the best friend, and girlfriend that he needed.
"Yeah, yeah I'll be fine," he reassured her, kissing her forehead lightly. Hermione smiled and nodded, hopping into her car after helping Ron escort his things inside. He waved her goodbye before falling onto his crimson couch; sighing in content at the familiar smell and feel. The warmth slowly lulling him to sleep, Ron dreamt of the weirdest things that night.

The waves were crashing against each other. Fighting as though they wanted to watch the other fall weakly, becoming little waves that merely set toddlers off balance. The high tide sent children and their  families running from the beaches, all in a hysteric panic. Yet there was one, lone figure who hadn't moved a muscle. He stared at the ocean, almost admiring it as the waves abused each other. He slowly lifted his hand, the wind seeming not to bother him, or set him off balance. Once his hand was high in the air, his fingers began to move in graceful, smooth movements. As if he were conducting an orchestra with his fingers alone. Suddenly, he opened his mouth and Ron thought he was going to scream. But I instead, he sang. He sang unlike a human. The song had no actual words. None that Ron could hear. But it was mournful, and it was painful. He felt it in his chest. Tugging at every muscle in his body.  His mind willing him to help the boy. The boy's hand slowly came down, laying limply at his side. Sighing in defeat, he left the beach, the storm subsiding the minute his bare feet left the sand. Clear blue skies were now visible, and people slowly stalked out of their shelters, utterly bewildered by the quick changing weather. None of them noticing the boy walking back into the confines of the city, waiting for another day, when he would hear their song.