"I had the notion that you'd make me change my ways,

And the bad habits would be gone in a matter of days.

Had the feeling that you'd open up my eyes,

To a whole new world that has since been in disguise."

Harry gazed at his best friend. Ron stood before the mirror, running a silver comb through his crimson locks. Over and over, he combed, until his hair laid straight and tangle-free. "What're you looking at, love?" the blue eyed boy asked, smiling as he saw Harry staring at him intently in the glass's reflection.

"Perfection." The raven-haired wizard replied simply.

Ron's smile faded from his lips as he made his way over to his lover, who sat perched on a nearby sink. His tightly crossed arms unfurled as the taller boy drew near, and he embraced him about the waist when he was within arm's reach.

"But that day will most likely never come for me,

And it's just my luck to end up getting stuck to everything you are."

Ron returned Harry's embrace, and pressed his hair-obscured forehead to Harry's. "Do you love me, Harry?" he whispered, his voice almost a plea.

The younger boy closed his eyes. "Yes," he replied, "Do you love me?"

Ron nodded, but when he spoke, his voice was thick with tears. "Yes."

Harry pulled away, and looked at the other boy, a worried expression plaguing his face. "What's wrong, Ron?" he asked caringly.

Ron was silent a while, but when he finally replied, his voice was so soft that Harry had to strain to hear it. "I don't want to hurt you. But I can't keep it from you anymore."

"So tonight, I'll sit and pick apart your pictures,

And over-analyze your words.

The truth is that I've never fallen so hard.

It's taken everything in me just to forget your sweater so far."

"Ron." Harry said sternly. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

Ron began sobbing. He pulled away from Harry's arms. He turned his back to the emerald-eyed boy, and buried his head in his hands. "Yes, I am." He choked. "Harry, I'm dating Malfoy too."

"I had the notion that you'd make me forget the world,

But your undecisive mind shows me that you are just another girl.

I had the feeling that those looks you gave me are real,

But what if I ripped your heart apart at the seams, maybe then you'd know how I feel."

Harry felt his stomach clench. His head was spinning, and he could barely stand. He felt as if he'd just been hit by some world-distorting jinx. He clutched a sink for support, and gazed speechlessly at the boy he'd been friends with for six years now. Ron? His best friend and lover, dating his nemesis? "Ron…" he whispered. "Why?"

"But that day will most likely never come for me,

And it's just my luck to end up getting stuck to everything you are."

Ron shook his head. "I don't know." He sobbed loudly. "But I don't want to hurt you anymore." Finally, after what felt like eternity, he turned to face Harry. His eyes were puffy and red, and tears still shone like glitter on his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"So tonight, I'll sit and pick apart your pictures,

And over-analyze your words.

The truth is that I've never fallen so hard.

It's taken everything in me just to forget your sweater so far."

Harry felt as though he was going to be sick. And yet, he moved forward to embrace Ron. But the older boy pulled away from his touch. "No, Harry. I'm not going to let you comfort me, because I don't deserve comfort. I deserve to feel like I do; Like a whore, a traitor."

"And I can honestly say that I never, ever, ever felt this way.

Your lips, your eyelashes, your skin, these are the parts of your body that caused my comatose to begin."

"Ron…" Harry whispered. He didn't know exactly how or what he was feeling. But he knew that all he wanted to do right then was pull Ron close, and wipe away all his tears. He moved towards Ron again, but Ron pulled back again, this time rather sharply.

"No!" the redhead yelled. "I won't let you forgive me, not after this. I don't deserve it." He took a deep breath, looked Harry in the eyes, and said, "Harry, just give up on me; I'm not worth lingering on." He ran then, past Harry, out of the bathroom, and away from the one person who would forgive him for anything.

Alone and cold, Harry began walking back to the Gryffindor boy's sleeping quarters.

"I will sleep another day; I don't really need to, anyway.

What's the point, when my dreams are infected with words you used to say?

I will breathe in a moment, as long as I keep my distance.

I wouldn't want to go messing anything up."

Harry was deaf to the greetings of his classmates as they passed him in the corridors. The only thing he could hear were the last words Ron had said in that bathroom. They replayed over and over in his mind. "Just give up on me, Harry. I'm not worth lingering on." He absentmindedly muttered the current password to the portrait of the fat lady, and entered into the Gryffindor common room.

"So don't go worrying about me, it's not like I think about you constantly.

So, maybe I do. But that shouldn't affect your life anymore."

Harry stripped off his robes, and pulled on his bedclothes. But before he laid down, he spotted an envelope on his pillow, with his name emblazoned on the front. He instantly recognized the messy handwriting as Ron's. Carefully, he tore away the top of the envelope, and extracted the letter that lied inside.

"I'll let you get the best of me, 'cause there's nothing else that I do well."

'Harry,' the note read, 'I want you to know, I ended it with Malfoy. I didn't love him, I only loved you. I still love you. That'll never change, never. But I don't want to risk ever hurting you like this again. I'm sorry.'

Harry stood, and strode slowly towards the crimson-haired boy's bed. It was empty, just as he'd expected. He walked back to his own bed, and as he laid his head upon the soft pillow, his foggy feelings became clear.

He was angry; angry at Ron's betrayal, angry at Malfoy for stealing the one boy he loved more than anything, and angry at himself, for not stopping Ron from running out of that bathroom.

He was sad; the tears that now flowed from his eyes proved this quite sufficiently.

He was empty; he couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around the prospect of a life without his lover.

But mostly, he was cold. He felt as if he were standing amidst a flock of Dementors, like he'd never be happy again. He felt incomplete, like the best part of him had died away. He felt as if he'd lost his reason to live. He closed his eyes, but he knew he wouldn't sleep. Instead, he thought about all the times they'd fallen asleep together in that very bed, and continued to let his tears flow; after all, he no longer had anyone to hold him, and tell him that everything would be fine, no longer had anyone to fall asleep in his arms, no one to love with all his being.

"I'll be the giver, you'll be the taker. You've got me down on my knees, and I'll proclaim,

'All hail the heart breaker.'"

Fin.