False Fate

By MD1016

Part I: Cup of Oaths

Chapter 7 – Righting Wrongs, Fighting Regrets

They were in Harry's kitchen - Ron and Harry and about fifty of their closest friends. An emergency meeting of the Order had been called, and naturally everyone responded to the call; a fellow member of the Order was missing, presumably taken by someone connected to You-Know-Who. The Dark Mark on Ginny's wall had been crude, but unmistakable.

Harry sat across the room from Ron, slumped in his chair with his face was drawn and vacant. Most of the sad and sympathetic glances were directed to Harry. Word had got out, it seemed, about his great Love. Though, really, it shouldn't have been a surprise. In addition to Neville and Luna, Hagrid had been at Hermione's party the previous night to witness their revelations and subsequent downfall. And as good a friend as Hagrid was – and he was the best – the half-giant couldn't keep a secret to save his life. Their story would probably be front page news in The Daily Prophet by tomorrow morning, which, Ron reasoned, might not be such a bad idea. If people knew Hermione was missing, they'd be more likely to call the authorities if they saw her.

Shacklebolt opened the meeting. He'd been the first Order member to arrive at the Weasleys' home and had immediately taken charge. He was quickly followed by Lupin and then Moody, who secured the house and conducted a detailed search for clues inside and out. It had also been Moody who'd been sent to break the news to Harry. Ron couldn't even imagine how that conversation might've gone.

"One of our own was taken from us," Shacklebolt said. "Hermione Granger was abducted from the Weasley home some time between nine last night and eight this evening. Thank you all for coming so promptly."

The wizard went into detail where he could, but as he told the story it was clear to everyone in the room that the only real clue they had to her whereabouts was the Dark Mark drawn in the victim's blood. Hermione's blood. Hermione was a victim.

The room divided into teams, and a canvas of known Death Eater haunts was planned. The Order would collect intelligence from reliable sources and place as many suspected Death Eaters under surveillance as possible.

"But why Hermione?" asked Dedalus Diggle, wearing his signature purple. "What possible good could she be to the Death Eaters? She's just a child."

Hardly a child, Ron growled in his head. She was old enough to have seen real battle – which was more than Diggle was likely to ever face in his velvet-covered life. Bloody git.

Shacklebolt cleared his throat. "As I'm sure some of you are aware, if you read the Daily Prophet at any rate, Miss Granger and Mr. Potter have become very close as of late. The current reasoning is that she was taken to get to him. Possibly to lay some sort of trap."

The room erupted in whispers of shock and outrage. Harry didn't seem to notice.

"I heard there was an…altercation. Are we quite certain Miss Granger isn't pulling some sort of stunt?" This from a well-dressed, slender wizard with a long mustache. "Perhaps she and Mr. Weasley, the younger, cooked up this little scheme in retaliation? Or perhaps Mr. Weasley, the younger, took matters into his own hands, passion having got the better of him–"

Ron glared at the man, furious that that could even be suggested. Harry closed his eyes against the thought.

"We found her wand snapped in two. I assure you–" Shocked gasps filtered through the room at this newest bit of information, and Shacklebolt had to begin again. "I assure you that she was most certainly taken, and under duress by someone following You-Know-Who. The questions on the table now are, where is Miss Granger and how will we get her back?"

"Have her parents been notified? They're Muggles, are they not?"

Lupin stood up and turned to address the room. "I spoke to them myself," he said. Ron was bowled over by how pale and sickly he looked: a radical change from the day before. He reckoned they must be coming up on a full moon.

"They are understandably shocked and upset," Lupin continued. Ron realized with some surprise that Tonks was sitting beside Lupin. He hadn't recognized her with her hair a dark, blood red and straight down past her shoulders. She wore no makeup and looked nearly as haggard as Lupin.

Ron leaned forward, his head in his hands. If only he'd checked on Hermione that morning before he went to work. If only he'd insisted she go with him to the shop. If only he hadn't kissed her, then Harry never would've chucked her out of the manse, and chances were that with all the wards and magic protecting number 12, Hermione would still be safe. In Harry's bed, yes, but safe.

Why had he even kissed her? What had prompted it? Insanity was his first thought, but then he remembered what she'd accused him of just moments before. He was selfish. He'd kissed her because of his own selfishness. She'd been right. She was always right. He hadn't considered the situation from her point of view, or from Harry's, for that matter. Ron's world revolved around Ron, and damn everyone else. Selfish, pathetic git that he was.

The meeting broke, and Ron realized he'd been lost in his self-loathing for a while. He caught Shacklebolt by the sleeve. "What do you want me to do?"

"Go home," Shacklebolt told him. "Stay out of trouble."

"What? But…I'm a Smisurato! I can help."

"Ron." It was Harry. He stood by the door and motioned for Ron to follow.

They went up the stairs to the first of the bedrooms, which happened to be Ron's old room. Nothing had changed in the room, and yet it felt so very different. It felt like a stranger's room. Harry shut the door behind them.

"Think, Ron. Who knew that she and I were involved?"

"What?"

"Suspects. We don't have time for the Order to survey the whole of the Death Eater army. We have to get her back now! She's counting on us. So who did this? Who knew she and I were together?"

"Not me," Ron darkly quipped. "And why do you assume this is all about you? Selfish git."

Harry's thick brows lowered. "Are you going to help me find her or not?"

"I am!" Ron said quickly. He hated having to work with Harry, having to collaborate when he was still so very angry. But Harry was right. Hermione was more important.

"So who? Lupin and Moody both warned us to behave as gentlemen, so they had at least and inkling."

"Then so did my dad, probably. Well, and Tonks. She and Hermione talked about that kiss you laid on her in the dining room."

Harry bit his lip. "Then more recently, there was Neville and Luna and Hagrid, so we can assume most of Hogwarts knows."

"Right," Ron agreed. He'd already thought of that. "But who at Hogwarts would kidnap Hermione?"

"There's someone else," Harry said grimly. "Someone we should've considered right from the beginning. Someone who wears that Dark Mark on his arm."

Realization turned Ron's blood cold, and his heart skipped a beat. It was true. There was only one suspect with the prior knowledge and the motive to take Hermione. So, he wasn't dead after all, and Ron wasn't a murderer.

"Draco."

That reasoned, the two of them considered where he might be holding her. It had to be somewhere Ron and Harry would guess, because, they reasoned, the only motivation for Draco to take Hermione was ransom. And the only thing they could reasonably assume he wanted was the Cup of Oaths. Which meant, following their logic, Draco had most likely abducted Hermione from the Weasleys' house and forced her to the Cave of Regret hoping that Ron would be able to put the pieces together and bring him the Cup of Oaths.

"But I don't have the Cup," Ron said.

"Yes, but Draco doesn't know that. He just woke up, probably with a splitting headache, and found you and Hermione gone."

"Right, then," said Ron, and he headed for the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked.

"To catch the others before they Apparate away."

"We don't need the others," Harry told him. "I've got you and my wand. We're good."

****

The Cave of Regret was located on an island known by modern Muggles as Chicken Rock, just south of the Calf of Man, which was south of the Isle of Man. To the magical world the hunk of stone and earth was called the Weeping Rock for reasons that legend failed to properly describe. There was a small lighthouse here, now automated, and miles and miles of sea. It was in the southern part of this isolated island that a small entrance in the rocks opened into a large underground cavern. And it was to this breach that Ron and Harry Apparated.

The wind whipped at their hair, tugged their clothes. Here, even a September night was brutally cold. Ron lit his wand and then crawled through the small opening first. About ten meters in and down, the crawlspace opened up dramatically, and Ron was able to stand. He brushed off his knees and then helped Harry to his feet.

"Yup. This is the place," Ron said. "I think I went down over there, and then there's a bend and some natural steps."

They followed the cavern, careful of loose rocks and puddles that were deeper than they appeared. Quartz glistened on the cave walls, reflecting the light from their wands. Stalactites and stalagmites created obstacles they had to negotiate and shadows that moved as they did through the space.

A tortured scream pierced the near silence and then echoed through the cavern. Hermione was there! The boys broke out into a run down the uneven stones that led farther into the earth. She screamed again, and as the two of them jumped down the last few boulders to the sandy floor, they saw Malfoy with his wand out straight, pointed at Hermione, who was bound and gagged and twisting herself up in agony on the ground.

Harry went for Draco and Ron for Hermione, but before either of them could really react, Draco had Harry disarmed and on the ground and his wand pointed at Ron. Draco had been waiting for them, just as they'd suspected.

"Don't try it, Weasel. I've learned a lot since last we met. Don't push me into something you'll regret." His usually white-blond hair was dark with grease and grime. His face and clothes didn't look as if they'd been washed in a while. Possibly, Ron thought, since he last saw him.

"Where's the Cup?" Draco demanded.

"We don't have it. I never found it."

Draco didn't seem overly surprised. "Too bad for her," he said casually. "It's been a while since she last had food. Or something to drink."

"Let her go, Draco," Harry said stiffly, pushing himself up from his seat on the ground. "It's me you want."

Draco smirked. "I don't want you, Potter, as wonderfully egomaniacal as that is. I want the Cup."

"But we don't have it," Ron insisted.

"Then you'd better correct that little problem, because I've got your friend, here, in some Ties That Bind – a useful product made by the illustrious Weasley brothers, so I think you're familiar with it. She can't get away, and you can't let her go, and if anything happens to me they'll twist so tight she'll lose both her hands and feet before the rope around her neck tightens enough to take her filthy Muggle head off."

"There's a safeguard," Ron said. "Don't believe him, Harry."

"Oh, do believe me, Harry, when I say I've removed any magical safe guards that were once on the ropes. I have her, and I'm going to keep her, without food or water, until you bring me the Cup or she dies, which ever comes first."

On the floor, on her side and facing away from them, Hermione whimpered a hopeless sound.

"That's right, sweetheart," he said to her without taking his eyes from Ron and Harry. "Your boyfriends are going to leave you now. You'll have to wait a little longer for that rescue you were so certain of." He motioned to a small gap in the cavern wall with his sharp chin. "Through there."

"No way!" Ron shouted. "I'm not leaving her here defenseless against you!"

"No Cruciatus Curse," Harry said. "Swear it!"

"Like his word is worth anything," Ron said. "He wants the Cup to get out of a Blood Oath he made!"

"Swear," Harry repeated, "or we won't leave her. We'll get you the Cup, so long as you let her go, and you don't hurt her anymore."

Draco's eyes narrowed. Ron was shocked to see he was actually considering Harry's bargain. "Bring me the Cup, and you can have Granger, as is. No more Crucio. Don't bring me the Cup, and I'll have to reconsider."

"Hermione!" Harry called. "We'll be back soon. I promise!"

Her shoulders began to shake, but she didn't make a sound as she cried.

"Come on," Harry mumbled quietly to Ron, who was moments away from losing it completely and blasting Draco into oblivion.

"But–" Ron argued in a whisper.

"Got any better ideas?" Harry asked under his breath.

"We can't leave her," Ron whispered back.

"We can't win this here, Ron."

Ron knew he was right, and still, it broke his heart to leave her lying there, sobbing quietly to herself, trusting them to help her out of this horrible mess. She trusted them: Harry, who had kicked her out, and Ron, who told her she was no longer a friend.

He should've killed Draco when he had the chance.

The crevice in the wall was narrow, and it forced the boys in single-file, sideways. Harry led the way this time, and Ron kept his wand up just in case Draco thought to jump them from behind.

"I think…I think there's a chamber or something up here. I can hear water trickling," Harry said. "Why is this place called the Cave of Regret? Your dad said something about the Cup being well protected. You wouldn't happen to know what's in store for us, would you?"

"Not a clue," Ron admitted.

Harry stopped and looked back at his friend. "And you were coming in after the Cup alone? Hermione's right, you are off your rocker."

"Focus," Ron reminded him, and he gestured ahead.

The cramped little crevice opened into a larger tunnel that led steadily downward until it split off, one corridor to the left and one straight ahead. The boys hesitated, peering down into the darkness of both choices.

"We could split up," Ron suggested.

"Straight on," Harry decided. "Together."

The air got cooler and wetter the farther down they went, and the ceiling flattened out and lowered until they had to walk hunched over. Ron's stomach grumbled unhappily to remind him it had been all day since he'd last eaten.

Water began to seep from the walls and drip from the ceiling, and finally they came to an unnatural, circular room cut directly from the rock. In the center of the chamber, on a pedestal, sat a plain, clear wine glass.

"That's the Cup of Oaths?" Ron asked. It was supremely unimpressive.

"This isn't right," Harry said. "It's too easy."

"Or," Ron said, wanting it to be just that easy, "maybe that's what we're supposed to think. Let's just get the Cup and go."

"Ron! Your dad said the Cup is well guarded. Does that look guarded to you?"

"Maybe there's a magical field or something," Ron suggested. He reached out to take the Cup, and sure enough a blast of energy slammed him back against the room's smooth rock wall. His head began to ring, his vision went black at the edges, and he saw very clearly in front of him Gretta Sweet, the thick-waisted girl from Hogwarts that he used to tease in third and fourth year. She looked just as he remembered her, and she was crying. He'd made her cry. But why?

He didn't know why he'd done it, why he'd made the nasty remarks when he knew she could hear them, or snuffed her attempts to be friendly with him. He couldn't remember anything that would justify hurting her, but hurt her he had, and on purpose. And if memory served, at the time he'd been a little proud of his accomplishment. He'd bragged to Seamus, and the two of them had shared a good laugh over Gretta the Cow.

A heavy lump of grief and regret formed in Ron's throat, and he tried to swallow it down. "Oh, bloody hell," he said.

"So that's your method of deducing whether there's a defense system or not?" Harry asked, pulling him up by one arm. "You just try and trigger it?"

"Gretta, I'm sorry."

"Gretta? Calling me names now? Stupid berk," Harry grumbled. "Forget it. Let's just get the-"

And even after Ron had made her cry, never once had she tried to retaliate. She'd been such a sweet girl. Blonde. His heart broke for her. Shame swelled in him, and disgust. "I'll make it up to you," Ron said.

"Forget it," Harry barked. "Let's just get the Cup and get Hermione out of here."

"Hermione," Ron said on an exhale, and his heart squeeze even more. The hole in his center twisted over itself. "I did this to her. It's all my fault. Harry, you've got to believe me: I was the one who kissed her. She isn't to be blamed. It was all me, and I'm sorry. I'm so bloody sorry. I love her, Harry. I never stopped. I tried to stop, but I couldn't. And I kissed her, and she chose you over me – but of course she did. She's Fated to you. She Loves you. I'm so bloody sorry! I'm sorry for everything. For looking at her breasts and touching her back…. I'm a sad sack, really I am. I thought about her charlies–"

"Stop talking!" Harry clamped a hand over Ron's mouth, but even muffled, he kept apologizing. He couldn't stop. His lament felt bottomless. Grief overwhelmed him.

"This is the defense," Harry tried to explain. "Or at least part of it. Just shut up, will you?"

"She wouldn't be here if I hadn't kissed her!" Ron gasped, breaking free from Harry's hands.

"Get a hold of yourself!"

Suddenly Harry was off him and thrown across the room, and Ron realized that they weren't alone. A hooded figure dressed in green robes towered over them, more solid than a dementor, and scarier than Death himself. The figure lowered a pale, boney hand at Ron and a bolt of dark green magic shot him in the chest. His eyes rolled back in his head, and everything went completely black.

****

When Ron came round it was partially because Harry tripped over him. He groaned, and Harry yelled frantically to him. "Ron! Help! I need your help! Wake up!"

Two dark creatures were now chasing Harry, shooting bolts of magic at him, over and over. The walls were singed from missed strikes. Not all had missed, though. Harry was sweating, panting, and burned badly in several places. Ron's right hand went protectively to his own burned chest, and he groaned in pain.

"Quickly, Ron!" Harry urged.

The room was starting to settle a little, and Ron found his wand not far from where his hand had fallen. He lifted it, pointed at the two cloaked figures, and then shut one eye to eliminate one of them. That was better. Two against one in Ron and Harry's favor. No problem. But he repeatedly missed. The figure just wouldn't stay put.

Harry made it around the chamber to Ron again, dove for him, and slid up beside him on the stone floor. "Your hand!" Harry insisted, and gripped Ron's fist. "Open it!"

The figure came at them, tall and terrifying. Ron tightly clasped Harry's hand. Instantly he felt the familiar cold at the center of his being as Harry began to siphon off his magic. Ron reached down like Moody had taught him and pulled that cold up, letting Harry take as much or as little as he needed, without forcing any extra on him. A blast of energy erupted from Harry's wand, and it pushed the creature back a few paces. Harry shot it again, and again, in rapid succession. Their attacker didn't have time to aim. Their link churned the air around them, whirling sand and dust. It scoured their faces, hands, anything exposed. Ron had to close his eyes, but he kept a constant stream to his friend – no, not his friend, he corrected himself, and a new wave of regret cut through him like a blade.

Harry cried out. "What are you doing?" His attack wavered; the sounds of his blasts hitting the creature became erratic. "What is that? Is that you?"

Guilt washed through Ron. "I'm sorry," he whispered over and over, not knowing if Harry was able to hear him.

"Ron, can you cast and maintain our link?" Harry's voice was muffled by his spells and the storm.

Ron lifted his wand and called out, "Evanesco!" He missed, and a plume of purple sparkles bounced off the central altar. It promptly disappeared, and the Cup crashed to the cavern floor and shattered. The green figure instantly evaporated, and the room went still and dark. Ron hadn't even noticed the Cup had radiated its own light. Now that he was sitting in the dark, of course, it was blatantly obvious.

He felt Harry beside him, heard his labored breath and a small, pained whimper. Ron said his name, but Harry didn't respond. With a flick of Ron's wand and the word "Lumos," a small light pierced the darkness. Harry lay on one hip against him, covered in sand and sweat. Tears tracked their way down his face. His glasses were hopelessly scratched from the scouring they'd taken. Harry was clutched his chest.

"Harry?" Ron didn't know what to do. Should he Apparate Harry out of there? Could he even do it? He'd never attempted a side-along before, and they were deep under stone and ground, and possibly sea. What about Hermione? The Cup was in pieces; what would Malfoy do when he discovered that?

"There's so much pain," Harry gasped out, his eyes screwed shut. "And emptiness, and regret. Ron? Is this you? Is this emptiness from you? It's trying to swallow me whole."

Ron realized they were still touching, and he inched away, remembering suddenly what Moody had said. Harry passed out.

"Sorry about that," he solemnly said. He hadn't meant to send anything through their link except the magic. He'd lost control again, and Harry had suffered because of it. The word "regret" wasn't prolific enough to describe the sense of loss and anguish he held. Regret for Harry and Hermione, for Gretta Sweet and the other thousands of things he'd done in his life that he was less than proud of. He looked around the chamber, thinking to himself that some powerful magic must be invested there if it was able to dig into his thoughts and pull out his most retched moments – many of which he'd forgotten all together – and then force him to relive them.

The torture of those moments, however, was dulled now that the Cup was broken and the Cave's protective spells rendered void. Ron wiped his own face with his sleeve and tried to focus on what to do next. He needed to rouse Harry without touching him.

"Ennervate!" he said, his wand extended. Harry twitched on the floor, but didn't wake. Harry was too depleted, Ron decided, and it would be hours before he would recover enough on his own. Unless, Ron considered, he could gently prod Harry awake with magic. Just a smidge. Enough to give him the energy he needed to regain consciousness. Could he find that kind of control? Could he give just enough to wake Harry, but not enough to hurt him?

As he stood he remembered the scorched flesh and fabric in the center of his chest and chose to move more gingerly. Ron closed his eyes. His magic was there; he could feel it like a hum just beneath the surface. Generally he didn't pay it any mind, he was so accustomed to the sensation; it was so much a part of him. He reached down inside himself and willed the smallest amount up. And then he thought about Harry's magical well, now cold and spent, and Ron gave him a few precious drops. Harry moaned. Not enough, Ron thought. Just a little more. And this time, Harry opened his eyes.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I broke the Cup," Ron told him.

"You cast a Vanishing Spell, didn't you? That was brilliant," Harry said, groggy. He coughed.

"I broke the Cup," Ron repeated, thinking either Harry hadn't heard him or he was off his nut.

"At first I couldn't understand why you'd use a little charm like Evansesco on that creature," Harry said, pushing himself up. "Kinda like trying to stop a Bludger with a handkerchief."

"Er, Harry," Ron said. " I broke the Cup."

"Yeah! That's the best part! I wish I'd thought of it!" Harry made it to his feet, wobbled a little, and then picked up his wand. He took a few steps toward the Cup.

"Reparo!" he called, and the Cup pulled itself back together, shards, glass dust, and all. Then he turned his wand on his own glasses and repaired them as well.

"But," Ron objected. "But Harry! The Cup's been broken. Its magic is gone."

"Draco doesn't need to know that," Harry said with a wicked grin. "We just need to distract him long enough to get Hermione out of here." He bent over, grabbed the goblet, and rose with a hand to his head.

"Easy," Ron told him. "I'm still sending you a little energy. We need to finish this quick."

Harry nodded.

****

They made it back to the large cavern, though it took some doing. Harry had to repeatedly stop to catch his breath, and Ron didn't dare increase the flow he was already feeding him. Harry looked weak to Ron, and it made him nervous. They weren't out of danger yet.

Hermione was still on the floor when they emerged from the fissure. Draco sat on a large rock biting at his nails. He leapt up when he saw them.

"You got it!" he said, shocked and thrilled. "Give it here!"

"I've got the Cup," Harry agreed. "Now let her go."

"Not until I have the Cup."

"Let me put it this way," Harry said. "Either you release her now, or I drop this and we can fight about it afterwards."

"You drop that Cup, Potter, and it'll be the last thing you do!"

Harry smirked. "I think you have an idea of what we went through in there. Believe me when I say that your threats fall short of scaring me at this point. Now untie her, or Ron will dispatch you the way he did the green figure while I smash this Cup into so many pieces–"

"Fine!" Draco sprung forward and pointed his wand at Hermione. Then he looked suspiciously at Ron. "You dispatched the green man?" His lip curled up in a snarl.

Ron lifted his wand with a slow, careful confidence. "Let. Her. Go."

Draco flicked his wrist, and a green mist flowed from his wand. Hermione's binds released – retracted into themselves until they disappeared altogether with a pop. She groaned, rolled onto her back, and Ron got the first glimpse of her face since he'd last seen her at the Burrow. Both he and Harry gasped.

Her right eye was swollen shut, and was black with bruising. Her left eye had a cut scored across her brow and lid that had bled thickly before it clotted. Her nose had been broken and leaned puffily off to one side; her cheek and mouth seemed a mass of contusions and lumps that were difficult to look at. Hermione's right hand was clearly broken. Her fingers were thick and bent at wrong angles. And, from what Ron could see of the gashes in her shirt and jeans, she had been similarly beaten over the rest of her body.

Ron ran to her, skidded to a stop on his knees, but hesitated to touch her. Where was she not hurt?

"Now, give me the Cup," Draco demanded with desperation in his voice.

It took Harry a moment to react. But then he turned to Draco with a terrible snarl and tossed the Cup. In the next second he raised his wand and, while the cup was still in mid-air, blew it up.

"Noooo!" Draco reached out to the shards.

Hermione seemed to finally notice Ron kneeling beside her, and she hurled herself into his arms, her own going tight around his neck. He hugged her to him, reassuring himself that no matter what she'd been through, she was alive.

Ron felt more of his magic drain, and a moment later a blast rang out behind them. Ron and Hermione turned to see Draco and Harry dueling, both firing dangerous spells. Ron allowed Harry to take what magic he needed as he helped Hermione to her feet. She clung to his shoulder, unable to steady herself, and he tucked an arm around her middle to hold her up.

Then, quick as lightening, she stole Ron's wand with her off hand and slammed Draco with a blood chilling, "CRUCIO!"

Draco dropped to the ground, screaming. The agony was clearly written on his face, in his tangled screams as he writhed. Harry lowered his own wand, seemingly all right to let Hermione have her revenge. Ron was not.

"It's an Unforgivable," Ron reminded her. "Hermione." He didn't have to speak loudly; her blood-caked ear was mere inches from his lips. "You need to stop."

A sob erupted from her cracked lips. She was still hurting. He needed to get her some help.

"Let her be," Harry said, not taking his eyes off the writhing Draco. "She deserves this."

"But she doesn't deserve what the Ministry will do when they find out."

Harry scoffed. "You think they even knew that he was torturing her with an Unforgivable? If they did, where are they?"

Ron ignored him. "Hermione," he said gently. A pink tear swelled in her left eye and then fell down her dirty face.

She thrust his wand even harder. "Avada ked-"

He couldn't let her kill him. Not when he knew what it felt like to kill a person. Not when he knew she'd end up in Azkaban with that horrible weight on her shoulders. Ron grabbed his wand away from her and pulled her tighter against himself. She crumbled against him and dissolved into tears.

Draco went limp. The cavern went silent.

"It's not supposed to be like this," Harry told him, his voice cracked. He was shaking, and Ron felt him drawing even more magic. "When I look at the two of you like that, after everything she's been through – we've been through – I'm not supposed to hate you both." It was then that Ron realized Harry's hand was fisted tight around his shaking wand. The room was suddenly even more dangerous.

"Harry, mate, we've got to get her out of here."

"Hermione," Harry called, and she turned to him. His own face crumbled. "Oh, Hermione." Harry raised his wand at her, and Ron instantly stepped in front of her.

"What the bloody hell are you doing? Lower your wand, Harry!" Ron demanded. He knew if he needed to that he could simply cut off Harry's energy supply. It was the only way Ron would survive a duel with him.

"I have to fix this," Harry said. "I wasn't meant to Love you, Hermione. I'm sorry. So very, very sorry."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "What are you going to do to her?"

"Curse her again. Get out of the way."

"Nooo!" cried Hermione. She began to panic, and tried to burrow into Ron's back.

"Moody asked you once if you trusted me. Do you trust me, Hermione?"

"Harry! Don't!" Her words were muffled by Ron's shirt and her swollen mouth. "Don't!"

"Harry, there's got to be some other way."

"There's not," Harry told him. "Now move. At this moment in time I'd have no problem blowing you away, Ron. Love may not be love to you, but it's everything to me. Everything. And I remember every second of that kiss in your room and what it felt like to be betrayed by the two most important people in my life. Do you want your death on my conscience, as well? The two people I trusted most in this world. How could you?"

"I…" Ron didn't have the words to make the situation better.

"I Loved you, Hermione! And you Loved me! And you kissed...HIM!"

"Oh, Harry!" She left Ron's protection and stepped toward him. "I'm sorry! So sorry!"

"I Love you. Trust me," he whispered, and then thrust his wand directly at her heart. "Falsus amor FATUM!"

She screamed a ragged, emotion-filled scream. Then she collapsed, and had Ron not caught her she would've hit the ground hard.

"What are you waiting for?" Harry asked, his voice rough. "Kiss her." He turned his back on the both of them.

Ron looked down at the battered and bloody witch in his arms. Hermione. She was so different than the little girl he'd known so well at school; so changed. She'd hurt him like he'd never known she could, and still, he loved her. He didn't know how or why, but he knew that he did. It wasn't fair.

"Forgive me, Hermione," he whispered, and with the empty center of his soul screaming out, Ron ever so gently lowered his lips to her beaten mouth.

Somewhere behind him, he heard Harry's body hit the ground, felt the energy link between them dwindle and then stop. But Ron couldn't bring himself to consider that, because what was once a vast nothingness within him was now full to the brim, warm, tingling, and alive. Everything inside trembled with joy, with tremendous relief. He felt his soul mate not just as a girl in his arms, but as a very tangible part of him again, a part that never should've been severed.

He was whole.

"Thank you," he whispered to Harry. "Thank you," he whispered to the Fates.

End of chapter 8

End of Part I of False Fates by MD1016