Ron

Ron and Hermione sat quietly in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione daring not to speak first. She knew the seriousness of what Ron was about to tell her.

"I'm in love with him, Hermione," Ron blurted out, 'No use beating about the bush', he said to himself as he twiddled his thumbs out of nervousness.

"Who?" Ron saw Hermione's confused and hurt face; he knew she'd fancied him for years but he'd never had the heart to tell her that he was gay.

"Malfoy," he whispered, eyes down towards the floor.

"Malfoy?" Hermione raised her eyebrows and silence donned the already silent common room.

Neither spoke for a few moments, but there was more Ron wanted to talk to Hermione about than coming out of the closet at long last.

"There's more."

Hermione nodded her head in encouragement for him to go on.

"He's -" Ron choked up. "He's dying, Hermione..."

She gasped, clasping her hand around her mouth.

"I've actually fallen for him just as he's dying, and there isn't anything I can do about it. I hate myself so much. We never used to get on and I caused the problem in the first place," he sobbed into his hands. "I really don't want him to die, I love him now I swear, I just wish he knew that, but he doesn't believe me. I was so horrible that I actually did this to him..."

Hermione stroked his back as tears silently ran down his face. "How is he, well, why is he...dying?"

"He's anorexic. He won't eat. He can hardly move and everything hurts, no matter what he does. It's all my fault..."

"No, Ron, it's not," she said firmly.

"Yes, Hermione, it is! He couldn't cope, he lost control. He fell in love with me and I was so horrible to him that I caused this to happen. How could I do that?"

"No, it's not your fault..." Hermione soothed. "Is he getting help?"

Ron nodded. "It's why he's constantly in the hospital wing, he got sent there last week and hasn't come out since. He doesn't want to move at all and can barely move his neck to see me."

"Aren't they giving him food?" she looked shocked.

"He refuses anything they give him, and they have tried force feeding but it's been ineffective. Madam Pomfrey said his stomach doesn't recognise hunger anymore, and he complains it hurts to swallow.

"I just -" Ron sighed. "He means the world to me, and we did have good times, but I just gave up on him. I said he was doing it for attention..."

"Sssh," Hermione put her hand in his. "Don't blame yourself. That'll do no good. Go and see him, tell him you love him – make him listen."

Ron shook his head. "He doesn't want to see me, he said so himself."

"He doesn't mean it. Please, see him? He'll be glad, I promise."

It took an hour for Hermione to convince Ron to go and see him, but he eventually agreed; he knew it was the right thing to do.

As Ron walked into the hospital wing, he could see Draco was the only one there and he was clutching his stomach and had a pained look on his face, but as his eyes caught Ron, the hand shot to his side and his look turned to stone.

"What do you want, Weasley?"

Ron sighed. He knew this wasn't a good idea. "To see you."

"Why? I'm not your problem anymore, remember?"

"How are you?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "How do you think I am, Weasley? I am straining just to speak, can't you hear my voice?"

Ron nodded, feeling stupid. Seeing Draco with drips in him and breathing aids by his side just made Ron's heart sink, and the brave face Draco was putting on just hurt Ron even more.

Ron put his hand softly onto Draco's, and silently they shared their emotions and feelings to one another. Their eyes said it all.

In a quick flash, the heart monitor tracking Draco started to speed up fast, causing concern for Madam Pomfrey who ran in and pushed Ron out of the way.

"What's happening? What's going on?" Ron said frantically as he got no response from Draco.

"His organs are packing in," she said hurriedly as she gave him air and got out the tools to electrocute his heart, to see if it would start working again.

Five minutes later and Draco Malfoy was pronounced dead; Ron held his hand and sobbed, tears dripping onto Draco's porcelain skin.

"I loved you. Will you ever know that?"

Draco

It all started after an argument with Weasley – I just wasn't hungry and pushed my food away, and Weasley commented I'd be better for it anyway. That day was the day I started to examine my body and how I looked; I took my shirt off in the mirror and I saw myself as fat, but Pansy told me otherwise.

I didn't believe her. But it didn't matter what she thought. He was all that mattered.

It was pretty easy to just stop eating. I worked out tactics like pushing my food around my plate, or offering it to Crabbe and Goyle who were too stupid to notice I wasn't eating.

I started to keep a logbook of my weight. I wanted to be thin for him, and the thinner I got, the happier I felt, but the worse everyone reacted to me.

"Are you okay?" Pansy would ask, constantly, whilst Daphne would tell me to eat more. It didn't make a difference what they said, Weasley still made jokes that I could lose a few pounds, so that's what I did. I loved him and I did it for him.

It didn't take long for me to start feeling weak. Some days I couldn't even get out of bed, but my body adjusted. Sometimes, if I got really hungry, I would take a square of cheese or a bit of bread and eat that just before I was about to faint, but I always felt guilty afterwards, as though I was betraying him and he wouldn't love me.

I started to hate myself for what I was, what I looked like. I hated everything about me, and the only happy moments I had were when I saw him. But then he usually taunted me.

There were times where I thought I'd made a real breakthrough, when I got him on his own without Potter or Granger – those times he was charming, funny, and I felt on top of the world. It never lasted. He always went back to them, back to taunting me.

I lived for the moments when he was kind to me, and I think that's what stopped me from getting depressed. I tried so hard to lose weight to be perfect for him, so the next time I saw him he'd be happy, and those happy times we did have confirmed my beliefs that being thinner was what he wanted. So I carried on doing it.

I started to pass out a few times, always waking up in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey telling me to eat and giving me drips. I pulled them out. She would never know.

But it got the point where I couldn't leave the hospital, and as much as I hoped Weasley would come and see me, he didn't. Well, he did at the very end, but before that the days in hospital were lonely ones.

Pansy was too busy with Blaise and her friends, and Crabbe and Goyle were enjoying their new found freedom without me. Slytherins don't make friends; they just have acquaintances. I'd always known that, and used people because of it, but now I regretted it. I just wished that someone, anyone was by my side. Wished that someone cared that I was dying.

The pain was immense. I was so thin my bones stuck out, so lying down, sitting up and standing hurt. It hurt to eat and I couldn't swallow properly. Eventually, it was as though even Madam Pomfrey gave up. She stopped giving me the drips, knowing I was just pulling them out anyway.

There had been a time where we had gotten so close, almost getting together close, but Ron wasn't happy with that and it didn't last long, him telling me he didn't want anything more to do with me.

There was no cure in the wizarding world for mental illness; it was virtually unheard of and hushed up, behind closed doors.

My parents weren't even contacted, I don't know why. I asked for them to be, but it seemed as if I didn't matter and she forgot all about me when Potter came in slightly injured from another Quidditch Match.

Weasley was with him, by his side, and I wished he would be with me. I smiled at him, weakly, and got a small smile back in return. Even though it faded quickly, it stuck with me and was the only thing that got me through the rest of the day.

Later that day, Weasley came back, alone – long after Potter had left. I had had my hand on my stomach, it was really hurting, but I didn't want him to see my weakness so I put on a front. I was cold towards him, almost cruel.

I softened towards him and he touched my hand. I felt calm and close to him once again, but my heart started to hurt and I felt pains running up my left arm. I knew this was it, this was when I was going to die.

But I died happy. I at least knew that he still loved me, that his feelings were still there, and that's all that mattered to me. It's all I had ever wanted.