A quick warning before it starts: this is an AU, but I can't tell you why because it would spoil the fun! XD

Summary: Ron knows he shouldn't, but he can't help but digging up the past.

Rating: T

Warning: Violence, references to character deaths

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I don't make any money out of this story.

.:.

Written for:

[QLFC - Round 4]

Position: Keeper

Team: Tutshill Tornadoes

Prompt: Use as inspiration and as dialogue — "Well as long as we're digging up the past, we may as well dig up your mother." (Grimm)

[HSWW] Assignment #11: Voodoo Magic: The Loa / Task #5 - Write about a good person with a dark side

Word count (without the A/N): 2,235 words

The Past: Ron Weasley and Harry Potter

There he stood, alone by his mother's grave. Ron knew he should have asked Harry to come with him (he knew about dead parents, Harry's had been dead for most of his life), but he couldn't bring himself to ask that of his best friend.

So there he stood, completely and utterly alone. All he felt was regret… Regret and anger. And really, it was eating him up inside. But it wasn't like there was much he could do about it.

Ron turned around, wiped a tear away, and walked out of the graveyard. He apparated home and searched everywhere for George (his lost, desperate brother). Ron felt like he was the only one who could possibly help him out. Like his older brother was the only one who felt the same way he did.

Ever since he had lost Fred, George had behaved… strangely. Not that it was unexpected from someone who had just lost his twin, but still… Of all people, seeing George mourn that way was weird, to say the least.

He had told him he had something that could help him, and Ron hoped that was the truth.

"Ron? Who are you looking for?" Ginny asked, pulling him out of his wandering thoughts.

He turned towards his younger sister and frowned when he saw the dark circles under her eyes. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who had trouble sleeping. But seeing her in such a bewildered state was hitting him like a ton of bricks. Ginny had always been the fiercest one, and he couldn't help but feel sorry for the shadow of herself she had become.

"George," he answered her question (perhaps a little late, but she was still staring at him, her arms crossed over her chest, so he guessed that wasn't a problem at all). "I am hoping that he can help me out with something."

"He's in his room. Doesn't get out much, but I think you know that already ."

Ron nodded and sighed. "I had hoped he would have returned to the shop by now."

"No. It's too soon."

"It's been two months, Gin," he reminded her, his gaze lowering to the ground.

Two months… Had it been two months already? It felt like it had been barely one week since everything had fallen apart.

"Two months, and you're still not feeling better either," she said, looking at him intently.

He shook his head and left her there before he could take his anger out on her. He really didn't need to be lectured by his little sister, and this was exactly what was happening. Her tone had been so infuriatingly… lecturing, and Ron loathed her for it. He hated that she was right even more.

Once he reached his brother's door, he knocked on it, and George called, "Come in," in a weak voice. When Ron opened the door, he certainly wasn't prepared for the sight that was waiting for him.

George was lying on his bed, his hands folded on his stomach, and it almost looked as if he were petrified. He didn't move, didn't wince, didn't blink, and he was so thin that Ron wondered when his last meal had been.

"It's me, George. It's Ron," he finally whispered, but his voice echoed through the silence of the room.

George didn't answer immediately, but when he did, his lips barely even moved. "Ah, Ron. I'd been waiting for you, y'know."

"I think…" He paused then, looking at his empty brother, and he wondered how he could word his feelings without upsetting him. "I think I need help," he finally finished lamely.

"I remember… I told you to come to me if you ever needed help, right?" George asked.

"Yes. Does that offer still stand?"

"My nightstand. You'll find a vial in it. It's a—a potion. But you shouldn't use it in front of other people. It's just—It makes your anger come out, and you shouldn't be anywhere near someone when the effects kick in." He paused then, and continued, a longing smile on his lips, "Fred would've called it 'the Potion of Being a Jerk' if he…" He trailed off, but Ron perfectly understood what his brother meant. If he were still alive. But he wasn't, and he wouldn't get to name the potion.

"Thank you, George," he said in all honesty. "Maybe I'll take it."

His brother nodded, and that was the first real movement he'd seen coming from him, and tears welled up in his eyes, thinking about how his lively and laughing and caring brother could have become this… this barely-living body.

Ron walked up to his brother's nightstand and took the vial filled with a bright red liquid. He gazed at it for a few seconds, before looking back at George, who was staring up at the ceiling again.

Ron sighed and told his older brother, "I think you should get up, George. Get up and do something."

"That's the thing about the potion, Ron," he answered grimfully. "It just… takes out your energy as well. One of the unexpected side effects."

Ron looked at the potion again, and its bright red colour just seemed so aggressive that he almost dropped the vial. This was just unhealthy! But it might also be the only way he could get help, so he gathered the remains of his Gryffindor courage and opened the vial, taking a quick sip of its bright red liquid.

He quickly got out of the room and almost sprinted out of the house, walking as quickly as he could away from his family. He remembered George's advice clearly; he had to get away from everyone so he wouldn't hurt them unintentionally.

Once Ron was sure no one was around, he turned around and gazed at the Burrow. The house that used to feel like home, until his mother and his brother died and left them all to grieve.

He heard someone apparate near the house but could barely see them, and he squinted, hoping he would get a glimpse of the newcomers. And when he did, his blood froze in his veins. No, they couldn't be here… and certainly not together!

He narrowed his eyes at Hermione and Harry, and his fists tightened at his sides. He couldn't remember anything now but Hermione kissing him and… and then betraying him. She never stood by his side; she always would rather stay with Harry Potter, the celebrity he had for a supposed best friend!

Anger boiled in his veins. A hot, boiling rage that made him see red and start towards his house with long strides. Ron couldn't control his body, and even if in the back of his mind, he was still reminded of his brother telling him not to go around people after drinking the potion, he kept walking towards his two friends, a scowl painted on his face.

They both heard him coming, apparently, because they turned towards him and their eyes widened in surprise.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed to greet him. "We came here to—"

"I'm guessing it was to see Ginny, right?" he seethed, his anger showing in his voice.

Her eyes widened even more, and he sniggered. She really looked stupid like this… And maybe she was, because why would she have given him up when he would have given her everything?

"Ron," Harry started.

"No. You don't get to do that!" he exclaimed. "You don't just get to barge in here and—and do whatever you want! This is my home, and you don't get to come here after everything that you've done!"

"Everything that I've done?" Harry repeated incredulously.

"You ruined everything, Harry! But you already knew that, didn't you?"

His friend shook his head, his brows furrowing, and he could see it in his eyes that he had hurt him.

"We fought for you, Harry," Ron continued, his voice low with anger. "And people died."

"That's what happens in a war, Ron," Hermione tried to intervene.

"My brother died! My mother too! And Lupin, and Tonks. And Colin, who was too young. A lot of people died for you, Harry. I hope you know that. And the first ones… The first ones were your parents."

"Don't tell me about everyone we've lost, Ron. I'm well aware that—"

"Do you even remember them?" Ron asked bitterly. "Do you remember the way my Mom was like a mother to you—always taking you in when you needed it, always—always making you things for Christmas. Tell me, do you remember that?"

Harry stayed silent and nodded slowly. He didn't understand what Ron was getting at, but he suspected he would find out soon enough.

"And then there was Fred. He was the one who gave you the Marauders Map, wasn't he? And without that, we wouldn't even have succeeded in half the things we did at Hogwarts. And Lupin and Tonks, who just had a baby… Lupin was like a father figure for you, right? Just like Sirius. And you let them die! You let them both die fighting for a cause you should have been the only one dying for!" His screams rang through the fields as he stepped towards his former best friend, his fists tightening once more.

All Ron wanted to do right now was hit Harry. Hit him until his face bled and he couldn't keep on his feet without help.

He didn't know if Harry saw his state of mind, but he glared at him through his glasses and scowled. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't feel guilty for letting so many people die for me? You think you need to rub it in my face?"

"I don't know, maybe that would work and actually make you want to crawl underground and die like them!"

"Really? Is that really what you are thinking?" Harry growled at him.

"Boys! Please, stop it! I—" Hermione tried to say.

"Shut up!" they both screamed at her, and she took a step back, her hazel eyes flashing with anger. They should have known that if there was one thing Hermione hated most of all, it was being talked to like she was no one, and being ordered around.

"I'm gonna call for help," she decided, looking at the both of them and shaking her head with disappointment written all across her f ace.

"Now that she's gone, what are you going to do?" Harry asked him, his voice like that of a snake to Ron's ears.

"Well as long as we're digging up the past, we may as well dig up your mother," Ron answered, his pupils dilated by his fury, though his voice was calm now. "You understand, since she died for you too, begging for your life."

"Do not talk about my mother." Harry's voice was tranquil as well now, but the threat underneath it was perceptible even to his ears.

Ron didn't care though. He was too far gone in his anger, and he took a step towards his former best friend, aggressively saying, "Why shouldn't I? You got mine killed! I mean, if you had arrived just a minute earlier, Voldemort wouldn't have killed her for killing Lestrange. But you didn't arrive on time, and I even wonder what you were doing."

"I did the best I could!"

"Well, your best just isn't good enough!"

And just as he said that, he did hit him, square in the face. The blow sent Harry staggering backwards, a hand on his broken nose. He was tired of Harry playing innocent, always playing innocent, but now…

All he felt was regret. It was like the effects of the Potion were now disappearing, and he stepped towards his best friend, extending a hand for him to take. Harry didn't though and kept glaring at him from under his hand and his broken glasses.

"I'm—I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me…"

"It's the potion," another voice came to his ears, and he turned towards George. "I warned you not to drink it with people around."

"The potion?" Harry repeated, trying to understand.

"Yes. I named it the 'Potion of Being a Jerk'. It's what Fred would've wanted. But I don't know why he used it in front of you."

"I—I didn't plan on it. I'm sorry, but when I saw you… It's just that you were with Hermione, and she's always with you when she's supposed to be with me… So I got even angrier and I walked up to you and… Everything happened."

Harry's shoulders sagged, and he looked at Ron with something akin to pity in his eyes.

"Hermione's still with you, Ron. It's just that—"

"I've been afraid of you, Ron. And with good reason, apparently," Hermione intervened, appearing from behind George's back.

"No, it wasn't him, Hermione, it was the potion. I'll keep it to myself now. I promise."

And with that, George walked back inside the Burrow.

"I'm better now… I think," Ron told his two best friends. "I promise. And I won't drink any more potion, and I'll stop digging up the past. All that matters is the future, right?"

Slowly, the two friends nodded, and Hermione walked up to him and took his hand in hers, and for the first time in two months, he felt like all was going to be well someday.