Title: The Words I Couldn't Say

Author: IndigoStarNight

Feedback: Yes please

Summary: As Harry goes off the face Voldemort, and possibly his death one last time, will Ron be able to confess his feelings? Or will it be too late? VERY sad, HPxRW slash

Pairing: HarryxRon

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters. Nor do I own the lyrics in the end of the chapter, those belong to Rascal Flatts

Spoilers: Don't think so…

Rating: PG-13 for somewhat graffic violence and mature themes

Warnings: Slash, if you don't like, don't read. Also some serious angst warning.

Author's Note: Hey all, this story was posted on the other account I used to be using before I merged the two accounts, so I deleted it and am reposting it here. So, please review!

Enjoy!


It has been nearly three months now, since he left. As I sit here, silent in this lonely hospital room.

Three months, three long months, of silence, of tears and pain and loss, and waiting. Waiting to see if the boy-who-lived will live again.

He has not moved, not since that icy morning, that frigid morning so strange for July.

As I sit here, watching his still face, I long for him to wake, for his eyes to open, for him to smile at me, to hear his voice. Hell, I would give anything if only for a change in the steady beep that represents the rhythm of his heart.

I think back to the last time I spoke to him, the things I said, and… the things I did not say; the things that I now may never be able to confess to him.

'Harry…' I whisper, gently stroking his cheek. I do not cry anymore, well, rarely. But as I sit and gaze at him I feel as though I may explode, the hollow chasm in my heart in which the words I never said to him cower making my entire body ache with longing to set things right.

With aching to say the words I couldn't say.


July 30, 2002 6:00 PM

"Hurry!" Hermione screamed, ushering the small flock of students in front of her across the vast lawn, all the while dodging the constant stream of variously colored lights heading straight for them.

Half way to the castle she paused and looked back. Harry was still outside of the gate, valiantly fighting off the countless Death Eaters alone, giving the rest of them time to flee. Ron hung only a few steps back, trying to help.

"Ron!" Harry yelled over his shoulder, "Run! Help Hermione!" Reluctantly Ron turned, but did not run far before also stopping, turning back to watch Harry.

With a huge burst of energy Harry yelled something that no one could make out and suddenly the entire area in front of him was lit by a blinding light. Even Ron and Hermione had to shield their eyes with their hands and blink several times. By the time his two friends' vision had cleared, Harry was swinging the huge iron gates closed with a bang and, touching the lock with his wand, was fervently chanting. He finished, just as the light faded and collapsed to his knees right inside of the gate, watching with exhausted eyes as the Death Eaters angrily continued to shoot bolts of light at him, which disappeared as though sucked into an invisible wall the second they reached the gate.

Ron and Hermione were immediately at their friend's side, helping him to his feet.

He swayed slightly, his face ashen, "That should hold 'em a while," he croaked.

"Come on, Harry," Hermione soothed in a motherly tone, leading him back to the castle, "You need food and rest."

The rest of their group stood in a frightened huddle on the front steps. They were mostly sixth and seventh year students, with a small smattering of extremely mature and talented fifth years. It was the summer holidays of course, and the school was empty, but the war was not going well, and they were in desperate need of help, so several of the older students who were most persistent about helping out had been allowed to join in the fight, these among them.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had been leading them on a special mission when they had been ambushed by a huge group of Death Eaters; thankfully they had been in the countryside just on the outskirts of Hogsmeade and had fled to Hogwarts for sanctuary.

Now they entered the castle, Hermione in the lead, headed toward the place that was most familiar and safe feeling to the three adults, the Gryffindor common room.

Once in the common room Hermione ordered Harry to sit on one of the worn, overstuffed couches before leaving to rouse the house elves into cooking them some dinner.

Ron sat quietly near to Harry on the couch, covertly glancing at him every few seconds, but Harry did not notice, he was instead staring blankly into the empty fireplace, his eyes unfocused and looking barely conscious.

The war, especially the past few months, had been particularly hard on him. He had barely had time to sit for a moment and catch his breath, let alone get a good night's sleep, or eat a proper meal, thanks to which, he was of course, skinnier than ever he had not even attempted to comb his hair in weeks, and it was in serious need of a trim. His eyes were hollow, with dark circles under them, and even his clothes were worn and dirty. Not that any one else look much better, but Harry had beyond a doubt had the worst of it.

After only a few minutes of silence, Hermione came bursting back in, trailed by a small army of cooing, bustling, overly-anxious-to-please house elves who immediately set about lighting fire places and making beds and fluffing pillows, and other such home making things in order to make the refugees as comfortable as possible.

In no time at all they were all warmly wrapped in blankets around a merrily crackling fire, as another battalion of elves marched in bearing impossible amounts of food. They set the trays and bowls down on the many tables scattered throughout the room and began loading down plates. Almost before anyone could blink each was holding a plate that looked ready to crack in half they were so weighted down with food.

Most of the students quickly dug into their food. A few looked rather green and tried to refuse the plates, but their friends were quick to convince them to at least try, many using the excuse that otherwise they would hurt the house elves' feelings.

Once they were fed Hermione flapped the students up the stairs, in a perfect Mrs. Weasley imitation.

Ron did not move, neither did Harry. Harry was sitting with his half eaten plate of food in his lap, his eyes glazed with the same look he wore so often these days.

Ron pondered that look as they sat silently in the dim light that seemed to fill the entire world lately. That look was dark, haunted, flowing from eyes the reflected the pain that not only had Harry experienced personally, but also what he had seen and heard of. There was brooding, dwelling on regrets of the past, the things that had been done, the things that had not, and the things that should have. Fear was held, tight and hidden from all but those who knew him best, shoved haphazardly behind the front of calm and courage that was what people needed to see from him, fear that he would fail, fear that more of his friends would die, would leave him alone in this mess. Loneliness positively radiated from his thin frame, cold and bitter, it spoke of longing hate for all those whom he had loved and lost, starting with the most recent wounds and winding all the way down, back to his parents as a baby. But above all else, in that gaze there was stark, hopeless determination, determination to in the end do what everyone knew he must.

That fear and pain tore Ron up inside. He hated it, all of it. The war that had started everything, Voldemort for being at the heart of it, that stupid prophesy for bringing Harry into the mix, all of their friends for disappearing and getting themselves killed. But most of all he hated himself, he hated himself for being over here, staring at Harry dumbly, his eyes unfocused and his mouth hanging up, and not being over there with Harry, holding him gently, trying to help him, to comfort him, the way Ginny had before she had disappeared. But no matter how much he hated it, he still could not bring himself to move, to go over, and to say the words that were scolding his insides just as they had been for years.

He took a deep breath. He had to do it, just scoot over and say it now, before it was too late. It was a familiar pep talk, he had given it to himself countless times before, planned it out, decided to tell him, he could do it! Subtlety he moved, just a bit, only a few inches closer, but it was enough, he could feel Harry, and found that his own breathing was pacing itself to his, he reached out, his hand only a hair's breadth from Harry's, he was so close…

"Well, they're asleep," Hermione said with false cheeriness as she came down the stairs and sank tiredly into an armchair opposite them.

Ron jumped back, nervously folding his hands in his lap and studying them carefully. So close, and yet, so far.

Harry nodded, coming out of his reverie. "How are they?" he asked quietly.

"Rather shaken, but then again, aren't we all?" she sighed, "I still don't like us putting them in the field like this, they're just kids."

"We were doing stuff like this at their age," Ron interjected.

"That was different," Hermione retorted.

"Either way," Harry interrupted, stopping the bickering match before it could begin, "Hermione's right, they shouldn't have to face this, no one should, but we do, and that's that."

There was silence for several minutes, each wrapped in their own thoughts.

"You two need rest," said Hermione at last, bringing them back to the present.

Harry nodded and Ron yawned despite himself.

"Don't neglect yourself either, Hermione," Harry warned, knowing she was all too prone to watching worriedly over them as they slept and not resting herself.

She nodded, and they all headed up the stairs to their beds.

It was dark, there was mist everywhere, he could not see. 'Harry?' he screamed 'Harry!' There were other voices, besides his own, screaming, crying, calling, but he could not make out what they said, nor did he really care. His entire being was focused on just one thing, 'Harry!' The mist swirl around him, he could see nothing, he was running, screaming, chasing what he could not find, yet at the same time, he stood, immobile, frozen and helpless. 'Harry!' he called again, 'Harry…'

Ron sat bolt upright, staring blankly into the gloom before him for a moment. His breathing was heavy his heart beat erratic. Slowly he turned and looked around him, trying to discover what woke him. His eyes fell on the empty bed next to his, Harry's.

His heart was just beginning to slow, but now it was pounding in his throat. Quickly he threw off the blankets and jumped out of bed, his half asleep mind forgetting rational thought and skipping straight to panic.

He stumbled down the stairs and stopped dead at the bottom, frantically searching the common room with his eye. Hermione was fast asleep on a couch, but otherwise the room was empty and silent. Then out of the corner of his eye Ron caught a flash of movement and realized it was the portrait hole closing. Quickly he crossed over it and shoved his way out, just in time to see the corner of a cloak disappear down the hallway.

"Harry!" he called, beginning to run. Whether Harry heard his calls or not, the raven-haired man did not stop or slow his pace, instead leading Ron on a direct course to the entrance hall and out of the huge double doors onto the lawn.

"Harry!" Ron finally caught up to him, grabbing his arm and making him stop, "What's going on? Where are you going?"

"To end it," Harry replied calmly. His eyes were deadpan, nothing there any longer but the cold empty determination from before, only now it had grown, seeping into Harry's very heart, soul and mind, until it drown out everything else.

"Are you insane, Harry!" Ron yelled, his voice squeaking slightly with emotion, "You can't! Not now, we need you!"

"Look Ron," Harry practically yelled back, "Voldemort is out there! He arrived nearly an hour ago, I watched through the window. That barrier I put on the gate won't hold much longer, and then it will all be over for us anyway. I am going to go out there and face Voldemort one last time, and bring the prophesy to completion one way or another. I have to Ron, I have no choice."

Ron choked and nodded, drawing away. He knew Harry was right, this was what had to happen, they had all always known, but that made it by no means any easier.

Harry gave him one last kind look, before turning to continue his suicidal mission.

'Ron! Idiot! What the bloody hell are you doing!' a voice in his head bellowed, 'This may be your last chance for real, just tell him already!'

He nodded to the night, steeling himself, "Harry?" he called again, last time, last chance. Harry stopped and looked at him expectantly. He choked. 'Do. It.' the voice growled.

"I- erm, good luck mate," he said lamely. Harry nodded and turned, disappearing into the night without another word, the lost, stoic hero vanishing into the shadows, to face his fate alone just as the huge castle clock chimed midnight.

'IDIOT!' hollered the voice in Ron's head, but he ignored it. Slowly he sank to his knees, one by one pearly tears sliding down his cheeks. He had not said it, had not done it, and now, maybe, he never could.

What hurts the most
Was being so close
And having so much to say
And watching you walk away
And never knowing
What could have been
And not seeing that loving you
Is what I was tryin' to do

TBC