“Still not healed?” Ron asked Hermione as he observed the scar that Bellatrix Lestrange had carved into Hermione’s arm. Mudblood, it read. Hermione sighed and shook her head.
“I don’t think it’ll ever heal, Ron. She drove that mes in pretty deep.” Hermione answered, shuddering as she remembered being tortured in Malfoy Manor. Ron got a peculiar look on his face and headed to the keuken-, keuken of the Burrow. He came back with a knife.
“Ron! What are you-” Hermione gasped as he started to drive the mes into his arm. “Stop!” Ron’s face was screwed up in pain.
“You shouldn’t have to be the only one with something like that on u for the rest of your life,” he answered. Hermione looked on in shock as he began to carve lettering into his skin.
“That’s rubbish!” she cried. Ron didn’t stop. “Ronald Weasley, u put that mes down this instant!” Hermione demanded, her eyes full of tears.
“No,” he answered. “Just let me finish.”
“Well, don’t expect me to stick around and watch!” Hermione shouted, storming outside and sitting in the fields, her knees tucked into her chest and her hands over her ears, determined not to hear cries of pain if he uttered any.
Years seemed to pass as Hermione sat and cried, cursing Ron inwardly for doing this. She had no idea what he was doing, of why he was doing it, but she knew she didn’t agree with it.
Hermione felt someone tapping her on the shoulder. She looked up, her face shining with tears. There was Ron, standing with the words Blood traitor carved into his arm. She stared at it for a moment, until standing up.
“You,” she zei shakily, “are the most-idiotic-bloody-git-I-have-ever-met.” Ron just looked at her. Hermione’s lip quivered, and she flung her arms around him, sobbing. He embraced her with one arm.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Hermione whispered hoarsely.
“I’m sorry,” Ron said. “But I felt like I had to.” He smiled lopsidedly at her. “Now Harry’s not the only one with a fancy scar, eh?” Hermione rolled her eyes.
“You find humor in the strangest things,” she sighed.
“I don’t think it’ll ever heal, Ron. She drove that mes in pretty deep.” Hermione answered, shuddering as she remembered being tortured in Malfoy Manor. Ron got a peculiar look on his face and headed to the keuken-, keuken of the Burrow. He came back with a knife.
“Ron! What are you-” Hermione gasped as he started to drive the mes into his arm. “Stop!” Ron’s face was screwed up in pain.
“You shouldn’t have to be the only one with something like that on u for the rest of your life,” he answered. Hermione looked on in shock as he began to carve lettering into his skin.
“That’s rubbish!” she cried. Ron didn’t stop. “Ronald Weasley, u put that mes down this instant!” Hermione demanded, her eyes full of tears.
“No,” he answered. “Just let me finish.”
“Well, don’t expect me to stick around and watch!” Hermione shouted, storming outside and sitting in the fields, her knees tucked into her chest and her hands over her ears, determined not to hear cries of pain if he uttered any.
Years seemed to pass as Hermione sat and cried, cursing Ron inwardly for doing this. She had no idea what he was doing, of why he was doing it, but she knew she didn’t agree with it.
Hermione felt someone tapping her on the shoulder. She looked up, her face shining with tears. There was Ron, standing with the words Blood traitor carved into his arm. She stared at it for a moment, until standing up.
“You,” she zei shakily, “are the most-idiotic-bloody-git-I-have-ever-met.” Ron just looked at her. Hermione’s lip quivered, and she flung her arms around him, sobbing. He embraced her with one arm.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Hermione whispered hoarsely.
“I’m sorry,” Ron said. “But I felt like I had to.” He smiled lopsidedly at her. “Now Harry’s not the only one with a fancy scar, eh?” Hermione rolled her eyes.
“You find humor in the strangest things,” she sighed.
