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[the_wheezy]

Ron Weasley, in his day-to-day, does not look frequently and fondly on his childhood nor does he stop to realize that he's still a child. In dreams, however, the Burrow and bright light and family all feature prominently. Right now, it's a hot summer day. Ron is seven and his sister is six and she's his very best friend and they're walking hand-in-

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i am your thought but the water is amnesia

[honestlyrubbish]

She runs, through halls and halls of glass orbs lining dusty shelves, not a maze yet every bit as overwhelming as one, as there is no exit in sight, just a dimly lit path to follow. In the distance, she hears screams, yells, laughter that's piercing and Hermione would meet it face-on, but she's all alone, only the stitch in her side as company, or the breath on her lips.

Crack, and she lands on her back, but her screams are silent as that witch laughs, twirling her wand around as though this were some kind of game, and Hermione some form of bait. Her back arches past its limit, and she's sobbing, tears running down her face and warming the granite and then -

- seeping into moss.

Her arms fall heavily to her sides, until she realizes that she's far too high for her liking, perched atop one of the highest branches of a large fir, and her cheek scrapes against the bark of the trunk as she looks down, fearfully.

Height was never her strength.

"H- Harry?"

And then, louder.

"Ron?"

i am your thought but the water is amnesia

[the_wheezy]

The call of his name is like a cracking hit against his awareness, and he whips around in trying to find the source of it. For some reason, it's not all that difficult, and he ducks into the woods to find her. He still looks panicked but, when he sees her up the tree he instinctively pulls a face unfit for the occasion, purely confusion. "Hermione," he states, craning his head and squinting in the dimness. "What're you doing up there?"

i am your thought but the water is amnesia

[honestlyrubbish]

"I don't know, Ron," she replies, a sudden rapport started with bated breath, syllables tripping one over the other. It's strange, how in the midst of everything else they have to fear, sometimes the simplest fears are still those that hit home hardest. "I don't know. I don't know where this is, I-- do you think there might be a way to, erm. Get me down?"

i am your thought but the water is amnesia

[the_wheezy]

"I thought it was... Oh." Ron takes a moment to think it over. He wasn't sure attempting to climb of would be the right idea, and he wasn't sure that he could climb up.

A thought occurs to him, then. The broom shed! It was... He looked around. Right over there! "Right. Hold on!" he called up. "Found the broom shed!"

He has to remember how to get the lock open, temperamental thing, but his broom right inside. He knocks in a spider web and flinches, but gets the broom without any further problems. He has to find the right tree again, too, but there it is.

"C'mon. Easy enough, right?"