False Fate

By MD1016

Part I: Cup of Oaths

Chapter 1 – Going It Alone

Ron looked down his outstretched arm, past the tip of his wand, and into the steely gray eyes of Draco Malfoy, who was threatening in a similar stance. Apparently the summer had not been kind to Malfoy, who was riddled with an assortment of bruises and gashes. His pale blond hair hung limp and dirty, his left eye was purple and swollen nearly shut, and when he snarled at Ron it was obvious that there was more than one tooth missing in his otherwise pristine orthodontia. The angry expression on his battered face told Ron he was as surprised to find himself at the end of a wand as Ron was.

"A bit under the weather?" Ron couldn't help but ask.

"Shut it, Weasel!"

"Right," Ron murmured. He didn't like the wild tinge of desperation in Malfoy's voice, the pitch of suppressed hysteria that hummed through the other boy. There was only one reason they were here, one reason why anyone would ever venture into this particular cave, at this particular time of night, and that meant Malfoy had found himself in serious trouble.

"Have you found it?" There was no mistaking to what Malfoy was referring. "Give it to me!"

"If I had it, I wouldn't be here chatting with you, now, would I?"

Malfoy's wand arm began to tremor under the strain of extension. "I need it. Give it to me!"

Ron had no doubt that he did need it. He could see the writhing tattoo peeking out from the cuff of Malfoy's filthy sleeve. The Dark Mark. A skull eating a snake over and over. The sight left a queasy wobble in Ron's stomach. You-Know-Who owned Malfoy, body and soul.

"I don't have–" Before he could finish his sentence, Malfoy let an "Expelliarmus!" loose, and a green bolt shot from his wand to Ron before Ron even registered it was there. Struck, he whirled in the air like a rag doll, slammed bodily into the jagged ceiling, and then dropped the three meters to the ground.

With the wind knocked from him, Ron could barely move, barely focus on the towering, black-clad figure approaching. Barely register the movement behind his attacker in the dim, murky dark.

"You're weak, Weasley. Not fit for the wizarding world." Malfoy began to raise his wand again, and Ron closed his eyes against the pain he was sure would blast through him.

"Ron!"

She was there! It was impossible, but Hermione was there, her own wand raised and pointing to Malfoy's head.

"What're you doing here?" Ron gasped at her. She shouldn't be there with him. It didn't make sense.

The evil grin that slowly stretched across Malfoy's face sent a cold flood through Ron's veins. He was insane, Ron realized belatedly. You-Know-Who had driven Malfoy over the edge. With a steadiness and speed that seemed unnatural, Malfoy threw his wand arm up at Hermione and screamed, "Falsus amor FATUM!"

The pure white light that shot into Hermione lit the whole cave as if it were full day, and Ron watched in horror as his friend whimpered, clutched her chest, and then crumpled to the floor.

Air flowed into his lungs along with a rage Ron had never before known. He was off the floor and flying through the air, unable to think over the sound of his own furious scream. He made contact with Malfoy's bare neck and dug his fingers into the soft, cold flesh. The two of them toppled, and Malfoy struggled to get out from under him while Ron demanded, "What did you do to her?"

Malfoy's face turned red, then purple as he clutched at his wand and tried to force words from his choked throat. When that didn't work he reached up to Ron's own neck with both hands and tried frantically to find purchase. But Ron was like a Berserker, more powerful in his passion, and there was nothing Malfoy could do to protect himself. As Malfoy's struggle weakened and the veins in his eyes began to burst, Ron, in a last fit of anger, slammed his head into the stone floor. Twice.

In its wake, the frenzy of the moment before left Ron disoriented. He still had trouble catching his breath. His mind hummed with an unpleasant vibration. His gaze fell on the Magi-o’-lantern he'd brought with him, still calmly glowing with its happy, carved face. Heat seemed to radiate from his chest and neck – from his whole body, really – but not from the body below him. Had he killed him? Had he killed Mal-

"Hermione!" His brain snapped into focus in an instant, and he leapt from his crouched position to the other lifeless form. She was on her side, her head bleeding onto the hard, dusty ground. He didn't know what to do. She wasn't supposed to be there. He'd specifically not told her what he was doing or where he was going, and she wasn't supposed to be there.

He said her name again, this time a whisper, and touched her cheek, but she didn't move. "No, no, no." He spoke the mantra that was already running through his brain. "No. Please."

By the time he'd managed to collect her in his arms and Apparate back to the Burrow, tears were streaming down his hot face. "Help," he gulped out at his mother, who met him at the door. The rest was a blur.

***

"And you're sure you can't remember the curse?" Lady Winkle asked grimly. She stood over him like a great white cloud in her healer robes. "It wasn't anything in the cross-hex family, was it?"

Ron shook his head and stared at his untied shoe. "I'd never heard it before."

His mother sat beside him on the bench, his father stood by Lady Winkle looking anxious, and Harry – Ron looked up at his friend – Harry sat by her bed. He'd come as soon as they'd called; arrived on his broom through the window, not even bothering to deal with the front door of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. He looked as tired as Ron felt.

"She wasn't supposed to be there."

On her back in the narrow bed, Hermione lay as if sleeping, her head newly bandaged. But she wasn't sleeping, Lady Winkle had informed them. And it was going to be difficult to rouse her without knowing what had been done to her.

"These things can be trying," Lady Winkle was saying to Ron's father. "But I'm sure you understand how crucial it is for a proper diagnosis."

His father said something else, something in agreement, but Ron didn't hear him. His whole body ached, every inch of him miserable knowing that this was all his fault. That she never would've been there if it hadn't been for him. If only he hadn't concocted the scheme to help Harry in his battle with You-Know-Who.

"Why?" Harry demanded, and Ron realized belatedly that his friend had got up and faced him across the room. "Why would you two confront Malfoy without me?"

"I…." Ron struggled for words. "I didn't know he'd be there."

"Where, dear?" Molly asked, putting an encouraging hand to her son's shoulder.

He didn't want to tell them. Didn't want to admit what a dullard he'd been. But they were all looking at him, and Ron couldn't hide. "The Cave of Regret. I was trying to find the Cup of Oaths. I thought that Harry, well...it's hard to know who to trust these days, you know. Who's a Death Eater and who's not. And I thought if Harry had the Cup of Oaths he could be sure. But Malfoy – I'm sure he wanted it, too. He said he needed it. The Cup can be used for the reverse, you know: to dissolve a magical oath. Like the Death Eater's oath that binds them to You-Know-Who." Ron shook his head. "Draco…he's gone mad."

"You should've told me," Harry said, his voice accusatory and low.

Ron bolted to his feet, on the defensive and angry for feeling that way. Yes, he knew it was his fault. He didn't need his best mate riding him about it. "So now I'm supposed to run everything by you? Can't a bloke think for himself anymore?"

"Now, now," Ron's dad counseled.

"Anyway, it wasn't supposed to happen like that, was it? I was just going to nip in, grab the Cup, and out again."

"Nip into the Cave of Regret?" his dad asked incredulously. "There's a reason that Cup is in there, son. It's protected in that cave. It's much too powerful for a boy of your age–"

"I'm a man!" Ron blasted out, a knee-jerk response. "Do boys worry that their friends will be killed by Death Eaters? Do boys live with the knowledge that in the near future they'll have to face Voldemort?" Boys don't kill, he added darkly to himself. And Ron had killed. The knowledge was like an ugly secret burning in his heart.

The use of the name took them all by surprise, and his father's shocked, red face drained into a pale, fierce one. "Some, it seems, do."

Beside him, Ron's mother stirred. "Come along, Arthur, the child's distraught. Leave Ron and Harry to sit with Hermione. You might remember something if you have a chance to calm a bit, yes?" she said to Ron, and stroked the back of his head.

Arthur gave a terse nod. Ron's parents left and Lady Winkle went back to tending her patient.

Harry sat down heavily.

"You're right," Ron admitted in a small voice. "I should've told you. I should've told her-" he pointed at their friend. "Then she could've told me how daft I am, and not to mettle with such nonsense, and tell me every bookie-thing she's ever read about people looking for the Cup."

"You…you didn't tell her?"

"She must've followed me," he said with a shrug. "Can't think how else she got there. Unless she's started to think like me…"

They exchanged dubious looks. "Don't suppose there's much danger of that," Harry said with a lop-sided grin. But the light moment vanished in an instant as they both gazed across to Hermione.

"Her parents will be here soon," Ron whispered. "What will I say to them?"

"You'll think of something," Harry assured him.

"Suppose I'll have to," Ron agreed.

***

The whole next day Ron and Harry stood vigil at her bedside, watching anxiously as Hermione grew more and more pale and the flesh around her eyes darkened with sickness. She was failing, that much was clear.

"We've got to do something," Ron insisted for the hundredth time.

"Dear, oh dear," Lady Winkled muttered over her charge. She had a cloudy crystal in one hand and a small bowl of water in the other. She looked up at Ron. "And you're sure you have no recollection of what curse was used? It was never a Fatum Curse, was it?"

A cold chill crawled slowly up Ron's spine. "Yeah, that's what he said!" Ron said the word Fatum to himself. "I think," he added, a little less sure.

Lady Winkle shook her head sadly. "Dear, oh dear."

"A Fate Curse?" Harry asked. "Why would Malfoy use one of those?"

"It worked, didn't it?" Ron snapped, gesturing to Hermione.

"The question isn't why, my dear, but which one. Must consult my tomes," she said, and headed out of the room.

"What's a Fate Curse?" Ron asked once they were alone. "And how do you know about them?"

Harry gave an exasperated groan that Hermione would've been proud of. "Because I did occasionally pay attention at Hogwarts. You never know when a spell will come in handy when you're fighting Voldemort."

"Yeah, OK," Ron said, chided into submission. "So what is it?"

"It's a curse that messes with your Fates. Particularly nasty because they're so hard to reverse without adverse effects. I didn't know they'd knock you out, though," he said, looking at the prone form in the bed. "Most of the Fate Curses have been banned for decades, but I don't think they've ever been listed as an Unforgivable. I only learned one. And I never used it," he added quickly. "Sisco Laus Fatum. It's supposed to make you completely untrustworthy, whether you want to be or not. Of course, she would know more. She's always backing us up, but it never seems we return the favor, does it? She counts on us to know things, to come up with the answers when she can't. Like now."

Ron swallowed at the lump that had formed in the back of his throat. "Harry," he said quietly, "I think…I think I killed him. Malfoy."

For a moment Harry didn't speak. Then he asked, "With magic?"

"No," Ron told him. "With my bare hands."

"Good," said Harry. "Then they'll never know it was you."

Somehow Ron had expected something more, some admonishment or blame or fear or something more than quiet approval. But they weren't boys anymore, and men killed when they had to. He didn't like how that made him feel. He began to shiver a little, and did his best to hide it from Harry.

"Falsus Amor Fatum," Lady Winkle said as she breezed back into the room. "Tell me, lad, was that what you heard?"

"Could be," Ron said, though he was far from sure.

"She's a Muggle-born, is she?"

Both Ron and Harry nodded.

"Falsus Amor was never intended for use on anyone of mixed parentage. Meant to help keep the lines pure, or some such nonsense."

"So, you can fix her?" Ron asked, hopeful for the first time since he'd left the cave. "You know what it is, right?"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. The curse has put this child into a suspended trance, and the only thing that will bring her out of it is a kiss."

"Wha'?" said Ron, shocked beyond proper speech.

"That's it? Right, then," Harry said, his tone lighter than it had been in days. He clapped Ron on the shoulder and said, "Give it a go, old chap."

"Just a minute, young man," Lady Winkle said, somber as ever. "Fate Curses are very dangerous to meddle with. Whoever kisses this girl will instantly and irrevocably become her True Love, and he hers."

"True Love?" Ron echoed dubiously. "Malfoy shot her with a True Love Spell? That doesn't sound right. Does that sound right to you, Harry?"

"Hang on," Harry told him. "If Ron kisses her and becomes her True Love, and she his, then what happens to their real True Loves out there?"

Lady Winkle shrugged unsympathetically. "Do without, I suppose. Mixing with the Fates causes a web of problems that the caster couldn't possibly anticipate. That's why they're not to be cast." Then she added, "Why someone would teach a Fate Curse to a teenager is beyond me."

"But True Love is just a myth, isn't it?" Ron insisted. "Just a load of rubbish to make girls happy."

"Oh, no, dear. True Love, while very rare, is most certainly real." She looked thoughtfully at Hermione. "This might actually be the only chance this child has at finding True Love. Or," she said with a causal shrug, "she may lose her True Love forever, to be replaced by an imposter. Either way, someone has to kiss her soon because the shelf life for a curse like this on a Muggle-born is about a day, and after that it generally snuffs them out completely."

"Snuffs them out completely?" Ron repeated, this time disgusted. "And you call yourself a professional!"

She ignored him. "So, who's it going to be?"

Both Harry and Ron glanced from Hermione to each other, and then back to their unconscious friend. "We can't let her die," Ron said plaintively.

"No," Harry agreed. "I'll do it. Can't be much chance of me having a True Love out there anyway."

"What about Ginny?" Ron demanded, indignant. "I assumed that when you started snogging my baby sister–"

"What? That it was True Love? I thought you didn't believe in it!"

"Still," Ron said, hurt and not quite sure why.

They turned back to the figure in the bed. She was hardly breathing.

"Right, then," Harry exhaled. "Sorry to have to do this to you." He leaned down over the bed, over the still face of their friend, hesitant and uncertain.

"That's it, dear. Full on the lips. Give it a go!" Lady Winkle was a little more excited about the turn of events than Ron was comfortable with. Harry seemed to feel the same; he glared at the doctor from the corner of his eye. "And when you kiss her, it might be best to think of something happy. Like sweeties or laughing babies – you're sure to have plenty of those in no time!"

Harry and Hermione, Ron thought. Harry and Hermione having a baby. And then, Harry doing to Hermione what it took to make a baby! Heat flushed up Ron's neck, and his stomach dropped out from under his pounding heart. No, his mind rebelled. "NO!" he screamed, and shoved Harry back by the shoulder.

Caught off balance, Harry landed hard on the floor. "Ron," Harry began as he turned and looked up at him. "Calm down–"

"No," Ron said again. He didn't want to hear it.

On his side on the ground, Harry straightened his glasses. "You kiss her, then," Harry told him.

"Why does it have to be this way?" Ron asked, all at once tired and scared. "It shouldn't happen like this."

"Maybe it should," Harry said. "Maybe it's Fate. I don't know. Just do it."

Ron rolled his eyes. He held out a hand and helped his friend up, and once again they were staring down at Hermione. If possible, she looked even more delicate. Ron shook in earnest, tremors starting in at the base of his back and working themselves up and over his shoulders. There were all kinds of emotions boiling in his chest, in his belly – things he didn't understand, and what's more, didn't really want to. True Love was nonsense. He had nothing to be scared of, he told himself. It's the kiss that breaks the curse. Just a simple…

The instant his lips touched hers he was socked so hard in the mouth that he was thrown backwards and off his feet. He landed on the other side of the room, against the wall, which now sported a large, person-shaped dent in the plaster. "What the…?" He touched a finger to his swollen lips and they came away bloody.

"Oh, dear," Lady Winkle erupted again. "Oh, dear; oh, dear; oh, dear–"

Ron could see from his improvised seat that Hermione's lips, while not bloody, were also swollen, and glowing ever-so-slightly with the faint hint of residual magic.

"Did it work?" asked Harry.

"I'm fine," Ron volunteered, getting to his feet, "in case anyone's concerned."

"Oh, no," Lady Winkle said, and then tsked her disapproval. "It seems you," she said, pointing an accusatory finger at Ron, "are not a suitable candidate to break this particular curse."

"Why not? What's wrong with me?"

Lady Winkle guffawed. "I would've thought that obvious! It seems you are her True Love, dear. Therefore, the spell cannot substitute you for you."

"I'm…? What…?" Ron was completely baffled by this new twist. "I am not! Harry, tell her!" Harry was staring at him. "What are you looking at?" Ron wiped at the blood on his lower lip with the back of his hand.

"If he's her True Love, and he can't break the spell," Harry asked as he turned back to Lady Winkle, "then if I kiss her, he'll lose his True Love. Because of me."

"He's going to lose her anyway, dear," she said quite honestly. "One way or the other."

"This is a load of rubbish," Ron cut in. "Kiss her, Harry, and get this whole mess over with."

"No," Harry told him with a shake of his head.

"What? Why not? You were going to a minute ago."

"I knew you'd stop me," Harry countered.

"You knew no such thing," Ron admonished. "I didn't even know."

"That I believe," Harry said, more under his breath than to anyone in particular. "Just…Lady Winkle, there must be another way–"

"Afraid not, dear. Now pucker up, there's a good lad. One good, solid kiss and everyone's right as rain."

"Not him," Harry said.

"Yes, well, there's always someone, isn't there? Now, kiss the girl."

"Kiss her," Ron urged.

Harry shook his head, and continued to shake it as he leaned over the object of their argument. Hermione didn't move, didn't protest, and Ron found an irrational part of him had expected she might. Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and the second – the very instant – that Harry touched his lips to hers, something deep inside Ron shattered, wholly and completely.

***

Ron woke with his hand still clutching his chest. Something was wrong. He lolled his head to the side and found Hermione, with her eyes open and a weak smile gracing her swollen mouth. Her hand was clutched in Harry's, who sat on the side of her bed, and her fingers were against his chest. Harry had tears in his eyes, and Hermione was telling him not to worry.

"I'm fine," she assured. "I'll be up and about in no time."

"It's not that," he whispered when his voice broke on the words. "I just never thought…never knew…" He turned and looked at Ron, and a drop rolled down the side of his cheek. "I had no idea it would feel this way. I've never known anything like it."

Ron turned his head away. He couldn't look at them, either of them. A tear of his own escaped the corner of his eye and pooled in his ear. He'd never felt this way, either, and he didn't understand it. It was a hollowness that penetrated down to his very soul; an emptiness he never knew could exist.

"Thank you," Harry whispered to him.

For the first time in his life, Ron felt completely and utterly alone.

End of Chapter 1