Chapter 1 – Someone Like Me

As Ron climbed the stairs of the Astronomy Tower, he wondered if he'd actually go through with it this time. He'd lost count of how many times he'd trudged up those steps, stopping every so often to lean against the stone and pant, gulping down the metallic taste in his throat before continuing on, working hard to earn the breath-taking view and a wondrous idea. It was a hard means to a beautiful end. Though he was beginning to suspect that he was more taken with the idea than the reality, at least that what's he'd read in that book on depression he'd sneaked from the library. The conviction that it was easy to end the sadness comforted him; he was miserable and felt isolated but he wasn't trapped. To Ron, being backed into a corner was his worst fear, being restrained in any way was an unbearable nightmare; whenever those damned twins had a glint in their eyes he'd silently beg that whatever humiliation they had planned, it wasn't anything like that time when he was 7 and they'd locked him in his closet for the whole night. He still had nightmares about it and even though his mum had made the twins apologise and the brothers would sometimes share soft moments, he had held on to a fear of them. So the fact that he had an escape route made his life liveable. But that didn't stop him from climbing anyway. It was the only place he felt peaceful nowadays, the only place where he could be himself.

He loved Hogwarts; the warmth and grandeur of the castle, the challenge and interest of the classes and…the people. All of his friends were there, along with his sister; the twins having left the year before, thank the Gods. But he almost missed them because their absence emphasised the drifting sensation he was now feeling. There was no place for him anymore: Hermione and Harry were growing closer by the day, laughing more and literally cosying up to each other in front of the fire whilst they 'studied'. Harry had admitted to Ron that he fancied her and it didn't take a genius to read her expressions whenever Harry was around; it was only a matter of time. If Harry and Hermione were dancing round each other, Ginny and Dean were full on tangoing. Although not happy about it, Ron could see that they were good for each other; out of all the boys in Hogwarts, Dean was probably the best of them – save Harry – to be trusted to date his little sister. He was warm, loving and respectful, everything Ginny deserved. She didn't need her brother now. No one did.

He guessed he was fun to have around sometimes but not necessary, not needed. Forcing down his crushing shame at the laughably bad performance he'd given at the Ministry the year before, he pushed his dead legs onwards. He'd told Harry and Hermione that he was just owling a letter. They hadn't asked to whom, he doubted that they'd even registered his excuse for slipping out of the common room. That was to be expected he supposed. He patted his inside cloak pocket absent-mindedly, checking that the suicide note was still there. It was an unnecessary ritual; he hadn't taken it out from there since he'd first gone up to the Tower with suicidal intentions. It was oddly comforting, knowing that he could go anytime and not have to worry too much about leaving much confusion; because in his head, the only reaction from his family and friends would be disappointment and miscomprehension. He didn't like to brag, but the only thing he'd really excelled in was lying; not telling lies exactly, just projecting false images of himself. He would lose control when Malfoy could raise his temper but if something upset him, he'd either turn it into anger or paint a smile on his face and so far, no one had ever called his bluff. Then again, everyone had someone, why should they notice? Why did they need him as well?

…

Walking up the last few steps he had a straight view of the paneless windows and gasped as he saw a figure throw itself out of the Tower. Instinctively Ron lunged forward and drew out his wand, crying out a desperate levitation spell. Hand steady, he strode the last few paces to the edge, all the while chanting the spell to lift the figure back towards the window, eyes fixed on the cloak of what looked like a boy. Gulping he stepped back to let the figure gently down on the floor; panting from the relief and stress he was stunned to look down and recognise the jumper.

"You eejit!" The irate boy leapt up and punched Ron across the face; still a little shocked, Ron took another hit before snapping into defence strikes and attempts to hold the wild thing down. The pair struggled, arms and legs bearing the brunt of the twists and turns of their torsos against the stone as they moulded together and hit each other apart. Eventually when their hits became mere slaps and their tussling weak grabs, Seamus broke down and began to sob. Without hesitating Ron slipped his arms around his trembling dorm-mate and held him tightly. Considering it later, Ron theorised that his own desire to be comforted and the recognition he'd had of Seamus' pain had instantly overridden his blokish persona without much fight. Or something like that. Self-diagnosis was difficult, especially when you'd only read bits and pieces from boring medical books and also were possibly depressed.

"W-why dddidn't y-you let me?" Whispering what he hoped were comforting things, Ron tried to ignore the pain clear in that strained voice as he felt that shaking body clinging onto him firmly. Sinking into a sitting position from his awkward crouch, Ron pulled the sobbing boy half onto his lap without much resistance. As he sat there, trying to sooth the trembling heap on top of him, he frowned in thought.

He had his own reasons for considering to end it all; why Seamus though? What possible reason could he have for wanting to die? He was the life and soul of the party, of every party ever thrown in their entire history at Hogwarts; he was the light of their dorm, always ready with rude jokes, implausible but highly entertaining anecdotes and a cheerful humour. He seemed far too happy all the time to possibly be depressed. Ron paused in thought as another sob wracked the wretched body in his arms. But then again, couldn't the same be said for himself? Well, he wasn't the life and soul of the party but he certainly could contribute to it, when he wanted to. Until recently he'd always had a snappy comeback or rubbish joke to draw some laughs from his friends. Oh no, better not dwell on them again. The pair shifted slightly and glancing down, Ron caught sight of a red mark on Seamus' wrist. It was awkward to try and see it better without pulling away, something he knew would be a very bad decision, so he squeezed a bit tighter and tilted his head as far to the right as it would go so he could see past Seamus' hair. Still, his view only allowed him to see a small part of the mark and so he tried to ignore the nagging voice in his head that claimed to know what it was: thin line, probably done with a knife, self-inflicted. A few sniffles drew him out of his thoughts, though quietening, the boy showed no signs of loosening his grip. His mind flicked back to the furious scar. Well, that was something new, he'd never…he'd never even thought of, of doing something like that.

There had been a chapter on self-harm in the book. He'd skimmed through it, not really identifying with any of the signs or symptoms of that kind of unnatural despair. From what he could remember, it was usually a symptom of loss of sensation, a numbness; often born of a need to feel something within the dark, something, anything to feel alive. That really didn't sound like Seamus. But then again, his whole perception of the boy was being challenged; if he thought about it, how well did he really know anyone apart from Harry, Hermione and his family? Most of the time anyway, lately… Stop thinking about it!

So there the pair sat, clutching each other half-desperately at the top of the Astronomy Tower, not looking at each other, just feeling warmth in the cold air. Still Ron didn't speak – what could he possibly say? – he just held that calming figure in his arms; feeling a little spark of joy in the pit of his stomach at the thought of being needed. While he wasn't sure of the exact response he'd eventually receive once his roommate had calmed down, he knew that at least for the moment he was helping; he was comforting Seamus, he was giving him something worthwhile. So even though he was holding one of his friends who had just tried to kill himself, his legs were getting pins and needles and his perception of his roommate was rapidly un-stabilising, he felt ashamedly happy.

…

The clock struck seven and reluctantly Seamus pulled out of Ron's arms, wiping his face and standing up shakily. Although he avoided eye-contact and shrugged off the concerned boy's attentions, Seamus allowed himself to be directed to dinner, trying to restore contentment onto his face. Neither spoke on the long walk to the Great Hall, lost in their own thoughts. Chatting groups milled around them, excited, care-free and loud; thankfully they weren't noticed by anyone they knew as their stiff gaits and obvious silence would have been very noteworthy and uncomfortable. By the time they'd sat down, the Irish boy had lightened up and launched straight into an awful anecdote that everyone had heard before but although groaning, never refused to listen to. Ron was and wasn't surprised by this feat of self-control; he'd expected it and even related it to times he'd managed to drag a smile onto his face and force himself to be energetic and cheerful, but it was still worrying. He was uncomfortable by the thought and it made him realise that some serious thinking needed to be done. As far as he could tell, he was the only one who knew of Seamus' other side and he knew that as soon as he had to opportunity the other boy would try some damage control. But how? What could he actually do or say? Ron had to prepare himself for the arguments and reasoning he'd be faced with and he had a feeling that he'd need that book again, need to study it properly this time. A strong sense of responsibility came over him and suddenly Seamus was his new brother and he needed help. He needed Ron.

Sitting back whilst taking a sip of pumpkin juice, Seamus tried to clear the dark thoughts that had been crowding his mind. He'd been ready; he'd talked himself up into it. It had been a long time coming and such a tremendous relief to feel the weight being plied off his shoulders as he'd climbed. The view had been breath-taking, the sun still strong in the sky and the land illuminated and saturated with rich colours; the grand mountains were every shade of blue, ending with white peaks against the eggshell blue sky, the great expanses of grass and trees dark and shining greens and browns and there were splashes of other, vibrant colours amongst the distant fields. Cutting against the soft background, unidentifiable black bird-shapes had swooped and climbed, intertwining and dancing throughout the sky. It had been a perfect last view. Then he'd thrown himself into nothingness; he'd done it, no way back. Suspended in the air he'd felt like the whole world was surrounding him, like he could feel everything in the universe through the wind against his skin. He saw the ground and felt so many emotions overwhelming him. Intense joy, clawing fear, insane hilarity and bitter regret all rolling wildly around in his head, already dizzy with a single thought whispering through the storm. I'm going to die.

Suddenly he'd stopped falling, an abrupt jerk halted him and then steadily, he was being pulled back. He'd been unsure of whether he was in reality or if he'd somehow already died and this was him ascending. His father had often tried to talk to him about Catholicism. He hadn't really been sure about the whole 'God' thing before Hogwarts and when he'd come, magic had distracted him from any deep philosophical ponderings. So he wasn't sure what was happening: for a moment, it felt like the world wanted him back. Being lifted up from the brink felt glorious, the adrenalin pumping through him suddenly became more powerful, his whole being fizzing with energy. Euphoria lit up his own being and he felt like he was about to find his true home. But then the stone walls came into view and as he crumpled into a heap, the coolness of the stone shocked him from the ethereal haze he'd been bathed in. And there was someone behind him. Anger rose fiercely inside his chest as a reckless self-righteousness exploded inside of him. He'd been cheated from his answer to the endless darkness; someone had stolen his peace, his rest, his end. Rage crackled into his limbs as he'd kicked and punched and near screamed raw his throat before eventually it had faded and left him with empty despair. Weakly, he'd clung to the warm body, so quietly and sympathetically offered as he'd sobbed. It wasn't fair!

In some respects he felt ridiculous wallowing in nothingness if he compared his 'pain' to that of Harry or Neville. Yes, he did know about Neville's parents, completely by accident, the letter from Mrs Longbottom had just fallen open, but yes, he did know. So when he compared his fairly stable family life and lack of real problems to that of two of his closest friends, he felt stupid. But despite his shame and feeling of unworthiness, still the gaping oblivion loomed; he couldn't help it, he was always drawn in, helpless. He didn't ask to feel that way, just as he hadn't particularly planned to be such a source of fun and just, noise, that it was a constant effort to maintain the façade. Starting out in First Year, he hadn't known that he was to regret earning such a reputation when later on he'd feel like sinking into the ground or hiding under an Invisiblity Cloak all the time. No, he'd never foreseen or invited this darkness into his soul. That's what it felt like, a stain, a dark scar blistering in his very being.

And now there was Ron. He didn't know what to think about that particular problem. It almost seemed an insignificant detail when compared to the massive emotional turmoil he went through on a regular basis, but he knew in the back of his head that someone knowing his secret was definitely a bad thing. He liked Ron, they were friends; they weren't as close as Ron was to Harry but then again, no one was closer than those two. In fact, they were so in tune that some had questioned the nature of their relationship. Personally, Seamus thought that it was simple friendship; those two were the straightest boys he'd ever seen, so frigid when it came to sex, though Ron was fun, laughing and joking with a cheeky grin, even when he was moody, a sarcastic and faux-bitter retort never far from his lips. He wasn't the deepest of guys, not that Seamus had seen anyway. But then again, Ron had not reacted the way that Seamus had expected. It was true that he hadn't thought long and hard about possible reactions to his darkest thoughts, but the fleeting mental pictures of reactions didn't include comforting murmurs and a strong embrace with no questions asked. No, there had been understanding in his quiet voice and he hadn't pulled away or tried to get answers.

The last thing he needed was to have Ron running off to tell on him, to draw the kind of attention that he couldn't get rid of, the concern of those with the power to stop him. It was a very real fear, the fear of being trapped in his horrible existence, with no escape. But then, he forced himself to calm down, what was Ron doing at the top of the Tower anyway? He hardly took the red-head to be one to admire the scenery. Maybe he'd had similar motives? No. No way. Sneaking a look at his roommate from under his lashes, he saw the boy obviously in thought but not too deep to miss hearing his name. He looked up and answered Hermione's question with his little quirky smile. The change in his expression had been rapid and firm, definitely forced; so at the very least Ron was someone who could act alright when he wasn't. Though that wasn't really evidence; it wasn't like there were physical signs that you could interpret and figure out if someone was suicidal. Maybe Ron really understood his pain? If he managed to hide his depression reasonably well, then maybe there were others too, why not Ron? His mind whirred with different thoughts and ideas but the strongest voice in his head was the one of weariness. Having to stitch on a smile each day when all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry was exhausting. He held back a heavy sigh; what was he going to do now? What was going to happen next?

He supposed that only time would tell. Thanks to Ron, he now had more time in which to figure it out.