Just to get a short idea out of my head. Not looking for any reviews, but it's all good if you do. Another look at a path Ron could've gone down. Not for the weak, or Ron-shippers.

What if it was all a dream?
I'm floating in the darkness.
Cold. Naked. Hungry.
At least I'm not wet.

"Ron? Darling, it's your mother." Silence. That dreamy gaze that had become a permanent fixation rested on her. He looked so peaceful.
"Hermione?" The plump, middle-aged lady looked uncomfortable.
"No dear, it's me. Molly. Your mother."
"Where's Ginny? And Fred and George. And Dad?" Tears were glistening in the woman's eyes.
"Your father's at work honey. And Ginny...we've been through this before darling. They don't exist. They're not real." Ron's gaze drifted into focus for a second before his head lolled on his neck and he looked away.
"They are."
"Ron, don't make this anymore difficult on yourself! Please, sweety, we're just trying to help you..." She dabbed at her eyes with a hankerchief.
"And Harry? Where's Harry. Harry...hello...where are you Harry?" His voice rose an octave, making him sound like a child once more. It was too much, she burst into tears. The guards came, kindly taking an arm each to escort her away. Her sobbing could be heard, fading down the corridor as her footsteps echoed away.

"It's okay Harry. I know you're real. I think my mum's..." He hesitated.
"I think she's got some problems. But she'll be okay, won't she Harry?" He was talking to the air again.
"I know she will. She'll come around in the end." He was re-assuring himself.
"She loves you Harry, just like you were her own son. Like you were George or Fred. Or Bill or Charlie. She even made you another sweater, look!" He pulled out the thin cotton of his shirt.
"Ginny, don't you think? Mum'll believe us in the end, hey?" At the bars of the door, a pale, platinum-blonde boy shook his head, his mouth a tense line.

"Ron." He whispered. The boy's rolling eyes focused on him.
"Draco!" He hissed, running up and banging on the bars.
"Draco! Draco!" He shrieked. Foamy flecks of spittle sprayed everywhere.
"Ron! Hush! Don't you even remember your own brother?" The visitor pleaded. He looked maybe a year or two older than the imprisoned boy in the cell. He went as if to put a hand through the bars, to placate the younger boy, but snatched it back as Ron went to bite it.
"Malfoy! You Death Eater!" He was screaming at the top of his lungs now. James, the boy, winced and stepped back sorrowfully as footsteps came running down the corridor. Two heavily-built medics burst into the cell, pinning his slight 14-year old brother down as they injected a sleep drug into him.
The last words James Weasley heard, as he turned to walk down the corridor almost brought tears to his eyes.
"I hate that stuck-up bastard Harry. All I want is Mum to be better again." The words slurred. And a soft clunk as a body hit the padded floor.