Okay so. I was going through my old documents and found this old little fanfic I wrote at the tender age of 16, so it might be a bit embarrassing to read. I wanted to upload it anyway because why not. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: Yada, yada, yada, I do not own Harry Potter.

Harry and Hermione kept talking as Ron stared at them from his bunk, his eyes half-closed. He didn't know why, but there was something in Harry's slow, tender voice as he talked to Hermione that irritated him more than it should. Hermione looked at Harry; she was paying him full attention and seemed impressed about something he had said. Ron clutched his fists tightly. Hermione's hand brushed Harry's forearm and Ron looked away, lost in thought.

Look at him, slimy git, just trying to impress her.

Yeah? Well, she sure does not seem to mind, does she, now?

What do you mean?

I wouldn't say that's a friendly look she's giving him.

Ron looked at Hermione only to find out that it was true; there was more than friendship in her gaze: there was trust, tenderness and longing. That shattered his heart into a million pieces, but what really destroyed him was seeing that the picture in front of him seemed right; as if she truly belonged there, with Harry. He doubted he had ever been more hurt before; except that one time, before the Yule Ball, when he had seen Hermione walking down the stairs holding hands with Viktor Krum.

You're right. They just-fit, don't they?

Ah, yes, they do. Pity, though. All of that time wasted, all of the effort, and it only took him one look to get her.

And suddenly, something other than sadness and hurt filled his heart. An emotion Ron couldn't quite comprehend; it was cold, cruel and ruthless. It felt funny, though, as if that particular emotion was isolated from all of his others; like it wasn't his own. He had never felt that way before, but it was intense, and it blocked all of his senses. He couldn't think straight anymore: he was dominated by that feeling. It was hate. Hate as he hadn't known it. Hate that made him want to curse Harry and see him suffer just like he was. Because, if one thing was true, it was that Harry could never, everlove Hermione like he did. And yet, she had chosen Harry, his best mate, over him. Ron couldn't say he hadn't suspected it; oh, no, he had seen it coming, and he had dreaded it more than anything. There was nothing he could do now, but one thing was for sure: he was not going to just sit there and watch. He was fed up; he was sick of being ignored, outshone, and forgotten, as if he didn't even mattered, or worse: as if he didn't exist. He was tired of always being second best, and one thing was for sure: he didn't want to be an obstacle, or a burden; they could easily live without him, they didn't need him. They never had.

"What d'you reckon, Ron? Ron?"

"Oh, remembered me, have you?" he said, as bitterly as he could. He wasn't going to pretend like he wasn't mad, he was done with pretending. Harry looked at him; he seemed puzzled. Like you didn't know.

"What?"

"You two carry on, don't let me spoil your fun." Harry looked at Hermione, as if asking her for help. Ron detested the look they shared, a complicity look.

"What's the problem?" asked Harry. Ron refused to look at him; he didn't want to see Harry's bewildered, puzzled expression. Something inside him was trying to come out to the surface: guilt. Deep inside him, where his old being remained, suffocated by the influence of the locket, he was trying to fight it. But he couldn't, he simply couldn't: the locket was just too strong.

"Problem? There's no problem. Not according to you, anyway," he replied, his voice trembling with contained fury. He heard several drops of rain falling on the canvas over their heads.

"Well, you've obviously got a problem. Spit it out, will you?" Ron couldn't believe his ears. After everything that had just happened, he still didn't know what his problem was? Where should he start? The hunger? The cold? The fact that his little sister was being cruelly punished, all because of the guy that was supposed to love her, when he didn't even care? Or should he start by telling him that from all people, he never thought Harry would be the one to stab him in the back by taking away the one and only thing he had, the person whom he loved the most?

"All right. I'll spit it out. Don't expect me to skip up and down the tent because there's some other damn thing we've got to find. Just add it to the list of stuff you don't know." He felt a somehow sick pleasure: he had no reason to hide the bitter feelings that had been boiling up inside him since a long time ago, it was like the dam in his chest finally broke, and he wanted Harry to know it: that he was an incompetent git, an arrogant, pathetic attempt of a hero who didn't even know what to do next. He just wanted him to feel a minimum part of his suffering; it was all he had left.

"I don't know? I don't know?"

"It's not like I'm not having the time of my life here, you know, with my arm mangled and nothing to eat and freezing my backside off every night. I just hoped, you know, after we'd been running around a few weeks, we'd have achieved something," he said, coldly, impregnating every word with hatred.

"Ron," Hermione said, quietly, but Ron didn't want to hear her. He didn't want her making excuses, or stopping him from finally saying aloud all the things he had been keeping inside. He pretended like he hadn't heard her, which was believable due to the rain, that had been falling harder.

"I thought you knew what you'd signed up for," said Harry.

"Yeah, I thought I did too."

"So what part of it isn't living up to your expectations? Did you think we'd be staying in five-star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you'd be back to Mummy by Christmas?" bellowed Harry, and Ron was glad to see he was furious. But anger wasn't enough. He wanted to destroy him, like he had destroyed him, by hitting him where it hurt the most.

"We thought you knew what you were doing!," exclaimed Ron, emphasizing the word we. "We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!"

"Ron!" yelled Hermione, making herself heard over the rain, but then again, Ron had nothing to say to her.

"Well, sorry to let you down," said Harry, and Ron noticed he was regaining calm. "I've been straight with you from the start, I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in case you haven't noticed we've found one Horcrux-"

"Yeah, and we're about as near getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them- nowhere effing near in other words!"

"Take off the locket, Ron. Please take it off. You wouldn't be talking like this if you hadn't been wearing it all day." said Hermione, a tone of plea in her strangely high voice, and for the second part, the barely remaining Ron tried to fight the Horcrux. Because he knew it was not him, but the locket talking. However, it was just too strong, and by that time, he was simply tired of fighting. So he just let go.

"Yeah, he would. D'you think I haven't noticed the two of you whispering behind my back? D'you think I didn't guess you were thinking this stuff?" asked Harry, demanding her an answer.

"Harry, we weren't-" started Hermione, and that was it for Ron. If she was going to deny it, then there was no reason to keep fighting.

"Don't lie! You said it too, you said you were disappointed, you said you'd thought he had a bit more to go on than-"

"I didn't say it like that-Harry, I didn't!" she cried in desperation. Ron couldn't believe her. He took it as the maximum betrayal for her to do that.

"So why are you still here?"

"Search me." replied Ron.

"Go home then." said Harry, still incredibly calmed.

"Yeah, maybe I will!," screamed Ron, and he walked toward Harry. It was all he could do not to punch him, the last bit of self-control he still held, but he wasn't going to hold on much longer. "Didn't you hear what they said about my sister? But you don't give a rat's fart, do you, it's only the Forbidden Forest, Harry I've-Faced-Worse Potter doesn't care what happens to her in here-well, I do, all right, giant spiders and mental stuff-"

"I was only saying-she was with the others, they were with Hagrid-" replied Harry, with a tone of apology Ron hadn't expected to hear. He wasn't going to bend, though.

"Yeah, I get it, you don't care! And what about the rest of my family, 'the Weasleys don't need another kid injured,' did you hear that?"

"Yeah, I-"

"Not bothered what it meant, though?"

"Ron!" said Hermione, trying to separate them by putting herself between them. "I don't think it means anything new has happened, anything we don't know about; think, Ron, Bill's already scarred, plenty of people must have seen that George has lost an ear by now and you're supposed to be in your deathbed with spattergroit, I'm sure that's all he meant-"

"Oh, you're sure, are you? Right then, well, I won't bother myself about them. It's all right for you two, isn't it, with your parents safely out of the way-"

"My parents are dead!"

"And mine could be going the same way!"

"Then GO! Go back to them, pretend you've got over your spattergroit and Mummy'll be able to feed you up and.-"

Ron aimed to withdraw his wand from his pocket, and Harry reacted rapidly, but Hermione was faster than both.

"Protego!" she yelled, and both Harry and Ron were thrown back by the force of the spell, leaving Ron in one side, and Harry and Hermione in the other.

"Leave the Horcrux," said Harry, coolly.

Ron took off the locket and put it in a chair nearby. The minute the chain lost contact with his skin, he felt as if a huge weight had just been lifted off his chest. However, anger remained, implacable. He couldn't stand to stay there anymore. He was done with it; he was done with Harry and his hero complex. A part of him urged him to go away, where no one would find him, and just leave everything behind; he kept remembering all of those times when Hermione (or anyone, for that matter) had forgotten about his existence, all because of Harry. There was still that other part of him though, one that also remembered the good times; the moments they had shared together. He recalled Hermione's. laugh, her soft touch, her deep, sweet, intense gaze. Ron was torn: on one hand, he would be finally abandoning a miserable life: a life of starving, a life of constant embarrassment and humiliation. A life where his best friend had stolen the girl he loved. On the other hand, he would be abandoning his best mate, the mission he had accepted, and more importantly: he would be abandoning her. So he decided to give her one last chance; she would probably go with him, he thought, because she had told him that she was too tired of that life. Yeah, Ron was convinced that Hermione would go with him. However, when he started walking his way out of the tent, he didn't see her following. He turned around and glanced at her, incredulously.

"What are you doing? Are you staying or what?"

"I-" she started, but she didn't need to say another word. Ron saw it in her eyes: she had made her choice, and she hadn't chosen him, "Yes-yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help".

"I get it. You choose him." he said, and with no further explanation, he turned his back at them and walked away. He thought he heard Hermione say something else, but he didn't care anymore. She made her choice, and there was no going back. As he went deeper into the forest, he noticed the effect of the locket was starting to fade. It was like waking up from a dream, and everything was still blurry. He couldn't think straight yet, so he stopped to try and clear his mind. He heard faint sobbing, and he realized Hermione had run after him, and was calling his name. He wanted to walk away, but something kept him where he was, and as the screams grew closer and closer, he saw Hermione through the trees, soaking wet, her eyes blood-shot and swollen. He just stared at her, not really knowing what to say, as he was still very confused about what had just happened.

"Ron, please, don't-don't go!" she cried in desperation. Ron said nothing, he just stood there, hearing her pleas, but not really listening. He was blinded by rage. The rain was now falling harder, but Ron could barely feel it now. He walked faster.

"Ron! Don't leave! We need you! I need you! I-" she said, and then stopped, as she saw Ron standing right in front of her. It's now or never Hermione, so what's it gonna be?

"I-I-" she started, only to find out she couldn't say it. It was like the words were stuck in her throat, threatening to choke her to death. Ron just stared at her, expectant, and yet, indifferent.

"Please," begged Hermione, tearful, hurt reflected all over her face. She had never felt so devastated, or hopeless, but nothing she could do or say now would make a difference. Not now anyway, and without another word, Ron turned around and disapparated, leaving her alone, under the pouring rain, feeling like her heart had just been ripped out of her chest.

"NO!" she shouted, though there was no sight of Ron anywhere. She couldn't move; she felt dazed. That couldn't be it. He couldn't have…

"Ron! Come back!" she screamed, her voice breaking. Her eyes filled with tears. "Please," she whispered to herself. She childishly hoped he could hear her and would return, but after a few minutes, she had to admit that it was over. Ron was gone.

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