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*
They… They don't need you…
Ron's fingers clench tightly to the locket. Its metal, laying against the bare skin of Ron's chest, as icy as the river's water.
They are having a go… when they think you're not looking…
He turns on the pillow. Over by a kettle, Harry pours Hermione a cup of hot water for her tea. He murmurs something, and Hermione laughs, her face brightening from its earlier locket-induced gloom. Ron's heart sputters. The locket's heart does, too.
It… feels like a much tinier and mechanical heart on the inside, beating clockwork's pace…
They don't deserve you…
Ron gruffly turns on the pillow, crossing his arms to face Hermione's tent-wall, forcing his eyes to shut.
The voice, behind his eyelids, sounds eerily like Ron.
But… it's not.
It's distorted and fractured in a higher octave. It's coming out of Ron's deep anger burning as icy as what's laying on his chest. It's what Ron hears whenever his eyes do shut, and it grows less Ron-like every passing night… beckoning him, beguiling him into…
A dream?
He's dreaming.
Ron falls in step with a man no older than Ron himself, his dark hair combed and coiffed.
Borgin and Burkes, smelling of ancient dust, remains unlit.
The man doesn't look at Ron. He inspects and handles a poisoned candle with thick, dark dragonhide gloves.
Then…
He looks over and expectantly cradles the side of Ron's face, smirking hardheartedly.
Isn't this Ron's dream?
Ron feels nothing… you're nothing, nothing, nothing… and feels everything at once. The man's mouth hungrily claims him. His tongue snaking into Ron's mouth, filling the emptiness within, stroking in. Wetness dribbles down Ron's chin. His prick throbs.
He grasps at the man's forearms lowering to their sides.
I HAVE SEEN YOUR HEART…
Something's… wrong…
Ron tries to pull out the kiss, as the voice alters into a handsome and overly sinister manner, but he's caught… he's…
AND IT IS…
He's…
MINE…
MINE…
MINE…
"—'mione, we need to move on," Harry says urgently, touching Ron's shoulder and shaking him.
Ron gasps, jerking into consciousness under the lower bunk.
"It's my turn," an expressionless Harry tells him, gesturing for Salazar Slytherin's locket. Tom Riddle… You-Know-Who…
With a tremble, Ron yanks it off.
"Merlin's beard…"
The heaviness of the locket's dread vanishes from Ron as he does. Harry's expression weighs.
Ron apologetically wraps his arms round Harry. Harry's own arms do the same.
Hermione sobs gratefully, hugging both of them.
They do need each other.
No matter who says different.
*