The moment the curse hit you, something inside twisted painfully — and then snapped.

You didn’t feel like yourself as you raised your wand toward your friends, as if strings pulled your body without permission. Spells erupted from your fingertips, wild and reckless, missing only by inches as Harry and Hermione scrambled for cover.

Ron stood frozen.

—“Don’t!” Hermione shouted. “Ron, move!”

But he didn’t. His wand was raised, but his hands were shaking.

He could see it — the terror flickering behind your unfocused eyes, the way your mouth trembled even as you launched another jinx. You were trapped inside your own body, fighting to regain control.

—"Come on, Ron!" Harry yelled. "Stun them!"

But Ron gritted his teeth, heart pounding in his ears.

—"I can’t," he muttered. "I’m not hurting them."

He ducked a curse that singed his sleeve but never lifted his wand against you. Instead, he stepped closer, arms raised in surrender, voice low and desperate.

—"I know you’re still in there," he said, breathless. "Fight it. Please."

Another spell shot toward him — this time grazing his side, making him stagger — but he still refused to retaliate.

Ron trusted you. Even now.

In a moment of impossible strength, your hand faltered. Your wand shook violently, the curse wavering as you wrestled against it, fueled by the sound of his voice, by the stubborn belief in his eyes.

And then, with a broken cry, you dropped to your knees, wand clattering from your fingers, the spell shattering around you like glass.

Ron was at your side instantly, gathering you into his arms, holding you tightly as you shook from head to toe.

—"I've got you," he whispered fiercely. "You’re okay. I’ve got you."