Chapter 26: Two With One Blow

Voldemort seemed to be winning.  First, Ron's own brother, Bill, bitten and corrupted by Greyback,  had put an Imperious Curse on him, and he -- under the influence of the curse -- had used an Infantiliamus spell on Harry.  Bill had later had been arrested and sentenced to Azkaban for using a Neuterus spell on Dean Thomas.  Then -- accused of murder -- Harry had disappeared; Ron's father had been fired from his job; and now, Hermione was missing.  Ron hadn't heard from her for almost three weeks; only a week before that, they'd made love for the first time.

It had been her first time.  They'd been up in his room:

* * *

Ron and Hermione were lying on his bed.  He had her shirt off and was rubbing her tits.  His trousers were pulled down, and she rubbed his cock.  That was the most they usually did.  He played with her tits, while she jerked him off.  Although Ron liked it, he wanted more.

He scooted up on the bed so he could kiss Hermione, at the same time, moving his hand from her breast to her crotch.  She'd let him touch her, as long as it was through her clothes.  He hadn't yet stuck his finger in her cunt.  This time, when he placed his hand between her legs, she thrust her pelvis against his hand.  She hadn't done that before.  Encouraged, Ron undid the top button on her jeans, then unzipped them.  Hermione did nothing to stop him.  She didn't push his hand away, as she had in the past.

Pushing his luck, Ron slid his hand under the waist band of her pants, encountering her curly pubic hair-- then her cunt.  It was moist -- ready for him.  He pushed his middle finger into it.  It was tight, but moist as it was, his finger slid in easily.  Hermione moaned, raising her hips off the bed, as if trying to suck all of his finger into her vagina.

Simultaneously, Ron thrust his tongue and his finger into the orifices at the opposite ends of Hermione's body, his tongue into her mouth and his finger into her vagina; then, withdrawing his finger, he rubbed it against her clitoris.  Throwing back her head, Hermione moaned, ramming her pelvis into his hand.  Knowing he was about to get some, Ron pushed down her jeans and pants.

He scooted down, away from her hand which was feverishly pumping his cock.  He as about to come -- and when he did -- he wanted it to be inside her.  Kicking off his trousers, he climbed on top of her; but wasn't yet ready to enter her, knowing -- if he did -- he'd climax immediately.  Instead, he kissed her, starting with her mouth, then working his way down to her breasts, paying each of them equal attention.  Her nipples became hard, erect, sticking out from her breasts like tiny cocks.  He ran his tongue around each, pausing to nip each nipple with his teeth.  It always seemed to turn Hermione on.

Down farther, he ran his tongue into her navel, then kissed the almost invisible line of hair below it, leading to the hair covering her mound of Venus.  He paused with his mouth resting in the top of her pubic hair, above her vagina.  He'd never gone down on a girl.  Until now, he hadn't thought he would want to; but it seemed the right thing -- a natural thing -- to do.  He could smell her -- a soft, musky smell, a natural aphrodisiac, better than any perfume.  Then, running his tongue into her vagina, he tasted her.  She was delicious -- sweet and sexy.

Rhythmically, she thrust her pelvis, grinding it into his mouth.  Ron found her clitoris with his tongue, licking it hard, feeling it slide back and forth.  Hermione screamed.  He knew she was ready.  He certainly was.

Working his way back up, pausing at each way point -- her navel, her breasts -- Ron kissed her mouth again, running his tongue into it.  That it had just been in her cunt, seemed not to bother her, possibly because -- at that moment -- his cock found her vagina.  entering it, sucked in by a sudden thrust of her hips.

God! It felt good -- warm and moist.  A few thrusts and Ron came, pumping his seed into Hermione.  The first time was over too soon; but it wasn't the last.  While they paused, having both climaxed, Hermione said, "Why did we wait so long?"

Girls!  Waiting had never been Ron's idea.

* * *

Ron loved Hermione -- all the more -- now they had made love.  Believing she loved him, Ron didn't think she would have left without telling him..  Voldemort must have her; but what could he do about it?  He had depended on Hermione and Harry.  He couldn't defeat the lowest of the Death Eaters by himself.

He was in his room when Dennis came in; he had a post in his hand.  Dennis always seemed to be the first one at the window when an owl came.  "You have a letter," he said to Ron, who noticed that the letter had been opened.

"Did you open my mail," Ron said.

"No," said Dennis.  "It was already open."  He dropped the letter onto the floor, turned, and walked from the room.

It wasn't the first time Dennis had delivered opened letters to Ron.  He had complained to his mother, but even she couldn't do much with Dennis.  Ron regretted that his parents had adopted the boy.  He'd been all right at first, but had changed after taking the hormone potion, which had taken him through puberty.  As far as Ron was concerned, that had been a mistake.  Now, he had all the needs of a teenage boy, but none of the equipment to satisfy them.

His mother, also feeling it had been a mistake, had urged Dennis to stop taking the potion, but he had refused, saying, "I don't want to turn into a girl like Colin did.  I'm a boy.  I want to stay a boy."  That was the only time he had mentioned Colin.  He hadn't even wanted to visit Colin's grave.

Unfolding the letter, saw it was from Seamus Finnigan:

"Ron:

    I've heard from Hermione.  She left a message for yeh, but I can' trust it to a post.  Meet me ternight at Hogwarts at 7:00 PM in the Potion room, I'll deliver it to yeh in person.  Don't tell nobody.  She be in danger.  We can' take the risk of the message fallin' into Voldemort's hands.

Your friend,

Seamus

Seamus had been one of his and Harry's best friends at Hogwarts.  If he couldn't trust him, who could he trust?  Harry and Hermione had disappeared.  Were they off somewhere together?  If so, why hadn't they included him?  The three of them always stuck together. Maybe Seamus would have some news of Harry as well as Hermione.

Neither Ron or Hermione had returned to Hogwarts this year because Harry hadn't.  They had expected that he would need their help in the fight against Voldemort. Now that Harry and Hermione had disappeared, Ron had nothing to do.  He had no job or prospect of one -- really hadn't looked for one.  He spent his time worrying about his friends.

Arriving at Hogwarts, Ron noticed that the school had changed.  It wasn't yet 7:00 PM, yet, with the exception of occasional small groups of students, the halls were empty; and he saw no one walking by himself.  They traveled in groups, looking at him strangely because his was alone.  A prefect -- Ron recognized him, but couldn't remember his name.  He'd been a lower classman from Hufflepuff -- stopped him, making him show the pass Filch had given him.  Filch almost hadn't let him in, and probably wouldn't have, if Seamus hadn't included a request for him to visit in the post he'd sent.

He thought about visiting Ginny, but they'd been on the outs lately over her decision to keep Dean Thomas's child.  Since his father had lost his job, and he had no prospects of one himself, the last thing they needed was another mouth to feed; besides... Dean Thomas's kid --.   If she had to have a kid, why hadn't she had Harry's?  He'd much rather be uncle to Harry's kid.  It was too late to visit her, anyway.  It was almost 7:00 PM, time for his meeting with Seamus.

Walking down the dimly lit dungeon hallway, he saw that the lights weren't on in the Potion room.  Where was Seamus?  The post had been in his handwriting.  Ron had recognized his scrawl and his misspelled words -- his massacre of the English language -- which seemed to express a disdain for all things English.  Seamus was proud of his Irish roots.

Thirty or forty feet from the door, Ron hesitated.  Was it a trap?  But if Voldemort had laid a trap for him, wouldn't he have chosen some place other than Hogwarts; and, was Voldemort even worried about him?  Oh, he'd helped Harry defeat him before, but the biggest part he'd played had been in the Chess game he'd won when Harry had kept the Sorcerer's stone from Voldemort; and Harry had been the one who had confronted Voldemort.  Ron had never seen him.  And he didn't ever want to.

He started when the door to the Potion room opened; but it was only Seamus, beckoning to him with his hand, inviting him into the darkened classroom.  "Seamus," he said.

But, Seamus, putting his finger to his lips, said, "Shh..." and beckoned again, holding the door partially open for Ron to enter.

In the pale moonlight coming in through the windows, Ron saw that others were in the room.  Frightened at first -- until he recognized Jimmy Peaks, Richie Coote, and several others, many from Griffindor -- Ron turned to question Seamus, but, as he turned, he caught sight of a shadowy figure, clothed in a cape with a hood pulled around his face.  "Hello, Ron," a cold voice said -- cold because it contained no emotion, no feeling, either love or hate.  "Welcome."

Voldemort.  Ron didn't know who else it could be.  The voice, cold as it was, must belong to Voldemort.  Ron reached for his wand, but it flew from his hand.  Turning, he meant to run from the room, but even as he turned, Seamus was shutting the door.  Had Seamus, Jimmy, Richie, and the others joined Voldemort?  If so, hadn't he already won?  Dumbledore was dead; Harry and Hermione were missing -- possibly dead.  Who was left to fight him?

"Stay awhile, Ron," the icy voice said.  "We've so looked forward to your visit."

"Who are you?" said Ron, although, convinced it was Voldemort, he didn't want to hear.

"Don't you recognize me, Ron?  It's me.  Your old friend -- Harry."

Harry?  At first Ron felt a flicker of hope at the sound of the name; but the voice --.  It wasn't Harry's voice.

"You -- you're not Harry," he said.

"Oh, but I am," the hooded figure said, "or -- I was."  Raising his hands to his hood, he pushed it back from his face.

Ron gasped.  He had red eyes.  Harry had said that Voldemort had red eyes.  "Voldemort," Ron said, naming the Dark Lord out loud for the first time.

"Ah...brave of you, Ron -- but wrong.  I'm not Voldemort.  I'm what you made me, Ron.  I used to be Harry, but now I'm something more -- more than poor Harry Potter could have ever imagined.  My name is now Khurban."

"Khurban?" said Ron. 

"Yes," said Khurban, "but it's my name you should fear to say, not Voldemort's.  I doubt that Voldemort thinks much about you one way or the other, insignificant as you are.  I wouldn't worry with you either, but no one who betrays me, escapes unpunished; besides, I have use of you."

Ron looked at him more closely.  His skin, pale and silvery in the moonlight, better suited a serpent than a human.  Monochrome, it had no hit of color, no reddening of the cheeks or lips -- no sign that blood warmed his skin.  Ron felt that -- had he touched his skin -- it would have been cold.  "You can't be Harry," Ron said, denying that possibility again; but as he stared, he saw a resemblance to his friend.  If the eyes had been green and the lips fuller, if the skin hadn't been so pale, it could have been Harry.

"Yes," said the person calling himself, Khurban, "you see now, don't you?"

"Harry?" said Ron, the uncertainty evident in his voice.

"Yes, I was Harry."

"What do you mean?" asked Ron, "You were Harry?  What's happened to you?"

"You made me, Ron.  As much as anyone, you made me.  You and that slut sister of yours.  You made me.  Oh, Voldemort helped, but he couldn't have done it without your help -- without your betrayal -- without Ginny's betrayal.  If you hadn't used the Infantiliamus spell on me -- if Ginny hadn't betrayed me with Dean -- I would never have used the potion I found in Snape's book.  I would have never become Khurban.  If you had stopped at that, perhaps I could have forgiven you, but you betrayed me again.  You told Voldemort that I'd left Colin at home alone.  You, as much as anyone, are responsible for her death."

"I -- I never," said Ron.  "I wouldn't even know how to get in touch with Voldemort."

"Your brother is a Death Eater.  I imagine he could have told you.  What happened, Ron?  Did Bill win you over to their side?"

"Harry -- if you're Harry," Ron said, " I never betrayed you.  I don't know what you're talking about."

"No matter, Ron.  I didn't expect you to admit it."  He waved his hand in front of Ron's face.

* * *

Ron didn't remember what happened next.  By the time he was out of the dungeon, on his way to Griffindor Tower, he didn't even remember being in the Potion room or remember having met Khurban or the other boys there.  One thing only occupied his thoughts: Dean Thomas.  He must find Dean Thomas.

Stopping in front of the portrait of the fat lady, he spoke the password.  "But, you're not in Griffindor this year," she said.

"Did I not give you the password?" Ron asked.  How he knew it, he didn't know, but he was certain it was the right password.

"Yes -- but," said the fat lady.

"Then, open the door," Ron said. 

The portrait opened, revealing the entrance to the Griffindor common room.  Some boys and a couple of girls were in the common room, but none of them were Dean Thomas, so Ron walked past them into the boy's dorm.  "Weasley," he heard someone say, "what are you doing here?" but Ron didn't even look to see who had said it.  The only person he wanted to see was Dean Thomas.

Dean was in the dorm, sitting on his bed, talking to a couple of other boys.  When Ron walked in, he looked up, saying, "Weasley, what --" 

But, he got no further.  Ron already had his wand out -- had it pointed at Dean.  "Avada Kedavra," he said.  A sickly green bolt of energy shot from his wand, striking Dean in the chest.  Hit by the Unforgivable Curse, he was killed instantly.

Confused, Ron sat down to wait -- for what, he wasn't sure.  Neither was he any longer certain why Dean had to die -- why he had killed him.  Up until the time he had used the Curse -- a Curse he no longer knew, nor had known before this night -- he had only known that Dean must die.  Up until the time he had killed Dean, that certainty had been fixed in his brain.  There must have been a reason, so sure had he been at the time; but he no longer remembered what it was. 

He was still sitting -- waiting -- when the aurors came to take him away.