This is my entry for the Shakespeare Quotes Competition over at the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum :)

My quote is: "I am a man more sinnned against than sinning" King Lear.

Ron sat in the tiny kitchen of Shell Cottage, staring out of the window at the roughly tossing seas. A storm was coming in and both Bill and Fleur had already excused themselves to bed but Ron's mind was restless and he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep.

It had been three days since he had left Harry and Hermione alone in the tent and run into the group of Snatchers. As soon as he had Apparated away he had wanted to go back and he had but they'd been gone and immediately he had started to feel angry. So what if he'd said all those things? So what if he'd left? He hadn't expected them to leave so shortly afterwards, especially not Hermione. All those little moments they had shared through the years, all their fights and make-ups, and she had still stayed with Harry. The one who got everything.

Ron wanted to be the one who got everything, for a change. It just wasn't fair that he, Harry's best friend, was always the one left behind in the shadows. When Harry wanted a girl, he usually had at least fifteen fawning over him, following him everywhere just in the hope that he'd take notice of them, not that he ever did. Oblivious git. Even when it was his own little sister who was doing the fawning he didn't notice until sixth year, and then he left her behind to go save the world. Again. When Harry wanted a new broomstick, there was some sort of generous person up for buying him a new one. And, had Harry actually needed more money, he could just do an interview, or a tournament, or even a photo shoot and he'd be paid more than necessary.

Every year, when Harry saved the world and himself and defeated Voldemort in a new way, Ron and Hermione were always right behind him. In first year, Ron had been the one to win the giant chess game, injuring himself in the process, and nobody had cared. In second year he had followed the spiders, despite his hatred of them, had followed Harry into the Chamber of Secrets and nobody had cared. Then, in their third year, he'd been dragged into that shack by Sirius and had his leg broken. Sure, he hadn't actually done much but if it hadn't happened, Harry probably wouldn't have met his godfather. Fourth year had been a bad year though. Who could blame him for thinking Harry had entered himself in the Tournament? It had all looked pretty shifty, until the efforts of Hermione and the dangers of the First Task had finally got through to him and he had realised Harry wouldn't have put himself in for it. And then he'd been a model best friend, even going as far as to offer himself as one of the hostages in the lake. Well, he hadn't offered but still...

Then there was fifth year. And finally, finally he had got something that Harry hadn't in the much unexpected form of Prefect. It had given him a sense of satisfaction which made him feel slightly guilty but only slightly, especially when he got on the Quidditch team too. He had finally beat Harry Potter at something. And then Harry went and started the DA and battled the actual Voldemort at the Ministry and everything about Ron was forgotten. Again.

Ron wasn't quite sure when he had left the warmth of the kitchen but he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't even feel the rain beating against him, soaking him and his clothes completely so that Ron felt as if he would never be dry again. Yet, he didn't mind so much because his thoughts were taking a more central concern that his general well-being. He did back up a bit when the water washed over his feet, though.

He had never done anything wrong - apart from leaving Harry and Hermione – and, in fact, he'd done pretty much everything right so far as a best friend was concerned. He had been there to support Harry during pretty much every single one of his fights. He had been a (not very good) wingman when Harry had a crush on Cho and when they both needed dates for the Yule Ball. He had been the one to make Harry laugh when he was annoyed or angry about something, but it seemed he never got anything in return. He felt as if it wasn't that he had done bad things, more that they had been done against him, and yet nobody realised.

Ron threw himself down onto the wet sand and buried his head in his hands, the thoughts in his head so conflicting that it actually hurt. He vaguely wondered if this was how Harry felt when his scar hurt.

But what really made him angry was not everything that Harry had and hadn't done, not everything that he had and hadn't done, but everything that Hermione had and hadn't done. He knew what his feelings for her were, that had all become clear after the Lavender thing and the fiasco with the birds, but when she had said she was staying with Harry, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, he felt as if she had ripped his heart from his chest and torn it up in front of him. And despite his initial feelings of complete and utter heartbreak, he now felt angry and betrayed and, scratch angry, completely livid.

She was meant to stay with him, and support him! Not his best friend! And she hadn't done what she was supposed to, she had thrown him aside as if he were little more than a piece of rubbish, had thrown him out into the storm as if she didn't care at all.

Well, he would show her. He'd never go back. He was furious, and his pride had been hurt, and going back to them would just remind him of everything that Harry had, that he didn't.