---First things first, I do not own any of the characters from the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling does.---
Chapter 1: Birthday Wishes
He had taken to going for long walks this summer. It gave him time to reflect on the things that had happened the past summer. He had watched over his best friend in his battle with grief over the death of his godfather. He had been in love with Hermione Granger within seconds of meeting her. Things had been bad, and seemingly gotten worse over the last couple of years. But today was one of the few days when he could stand outside in the rain and forget about all the problems, all the things he had to do. He could just sit and dream. Dream of what could've been, what still could be, what things should be. But no matter the dream, he still saw it as just that, a dream.
He had dreamt too long. He awoke under the large oak in the small thicket near his house. Night had fallen, and he knew he was going to be chewed out for returning home late. He stood and stretched, trying to rid himself of his remaining drowsiness. It was chilly, and the wind howled as it whipped through the trees. With a yawn, he began his trek back to the Burrow.
It wasn't meant to be. He took three steps and froze. He didn't know why he had stopped all of a sudden. He didn't even realize the weight forcing him to the ground. He lay sprawled out on the earth, choking back a scream that wouldn't escape. He felt the pressure condense around his shoulder, then it gave way. The pressure lightened somewhat. He could feel warmth enveloping his shoulder. There was a flash of red light, and a subtle yelp. He clambered to his feet, and stumbled back to his home.
He awoke once more in his room. His memory of the night before was splintered. His shoulder had been just as torn as his thoughts. He remembered being attacked. He remembered firing a full-on Stunner at the beast's chest. He remembered reaching his bed room. But everything afterwards was a blur. He found his wand discarded on the nightstand. He found his bloodied clothing cleaned and mended. He found his shoulder was bandaged as well. His room was spotless. His mother hadn't entered the room, nor did any of the rest of his family. He knew that he was the only person to enter the room in the last couple hours. He finally put to reason that in his state of shock, he tended to himself and the room. He lied there in a silent quandary for hours until Ginny came to wake him.
"Ron, get up! It's time for breakfast!"
She stormed into the room and flunge open the curtains.
"Ron, it's time to...oh.", she stopped in surprise to see her brother alert. She moved over to his bedside and leaned down to give him a kiss and a soft clout on the head. Leaving the room, she shouted, "You better hurry up before the Bill and Charlie finish off what's left of breakfast. They'll leave nothing for you, regardless of whether or not it's your birthday."
Ron stared at the space where Ginny stood. He had forgotten that today was his birthday. He'd been hoping all year that they had enough money to get him a new broom for Quidditch. But now it all seemed so unimportant. Looking at his Chudley Cannons posters only left him with a sense of hopelessness. But that didn't last long. His inherent temper gave way and the hopelessness quickly turned to outrage. He was ready to rip the posters from the wall when Ginny burst in again.
"Seriously, I've saved you some sausage and pancakes but if you don't hurry up, I'm gonna eat them myself." said Ginny. Ron merely rolled onto his side.
"Go ahead and eat them. I'm not all that hungry right now. I'll grab something later when I get up." he said sleepily to his sister.
His stomach wouldn't let him eat anything at the moment anyway. He could feel the heat that wrapped itself around his shoulder the night before worming it's way throughout his chest and lower extremities. His stomach did cartwheels as he layed in bed. His head pounded in unison with his heart and their harmonious rhythm lulled him into a deep sleep.
He slept all day. The only time he would stir would be to say, "Just go ahead without me. I'm not feeling too well."
He missed the birthday cake; he didn't blow out the candles. He missed the feast his mom had spent the entire week preparing. He missed his sister's jealous glare as Fred and George tore open his presents. He even missed the owl from Hermione wishing him a happy birthday. He missed his everything that he held so important only a handful of hours ago.
At the end of the day, on the edge of sleep, his last lingering, fleeting thought was, "Well, I better get used to it."