Dark Love

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  • Published: 15 Jul 2014
  • Updated: 29 Dec 2014
  • Status: Complete
Did You-Know-Who really die? Or, did he fake it, plotting the biggest war the world, Muggle or Witch/wizard has ever known? Dramione ship.

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35. Ron POV

I was fighting well when I heard the scream.

Hermione.

I broke into a run, determined to help her.

There she lay in the Great Hall, her mousy brown hair spread like a fan around her head, screaming in obvious agony.

And also there, almost on top of her, kneeled Neville.

Anger at him rushed through me, adrenaline pumping through blood as I ran and tackled him. "Don't-touch-her!" I growled, breathing fast as I punched him, a blow per word, Muggle style.

He laughed. It was a cold, mirthless one, a laugh that was shockingly similar to Voldemort's.

I drew out my wand and Neville hesitated, losing his advantage. I dived for his legs and was true to my aim, and I knocked him flat on his back.

"What the hell," I snarled. "Do you think you're doing?"

His face broke into a grin that sent shivers down my spine. "Trying to kill her, of course."

I gasped. "No," I whispered, my heart sinking to my stomach, looking away and shutting my eyes. She's been through so much, and now this?

"Yes," he said, and I could feel his smile getting wider. "And now, since you stepped my path, I'll kill you also."

"Fat chance of that happening, Longbottom."

"Lost the first-name basis have we now, Weasley?" His voice raises with every word.

I don't know how it happened. But in a flurry of color and pain, he had flipped me onto my back and pinned me down with his body.

I struggled like a worm on a hook to be freed, but no avail. I did, however, manage to free one of my arms, which gave his an uppercut to his nose.

Spitting out curses, he proves his nose, which is gushing blood at an ungodly rate.

I smirk at the sight of him so weak, which makes him angrier. "I will kill you and the girl, Weasley. Be ready."

"Okay, I'll be ready for when that doesn't happen." I waggle my eyebrows.

He glares at me and runs out, hands still covering his nose.

The coward.

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