Authors' note: I'm slightly mindless from pain now. Might take this down when I come to my senses.


Nearly midnight, twenty minutes to go. Freckled boy, brilliant red hair, a Weasley. The scene is the boys' restrooms, the props are a knife and a wand. The actor is Ron, face thickly painted with despair, hurt, anguish, love.

Hey, Harry.

Do you know I love you.

Oh yes I do.

I do.

Do you know how much I love you.

Too much would be about right.

Oh yes I do.

Do you know how long I've loved you.

Do you.

Forever. And maybe some more. And some more after that.

Feels that way to this broken heart at least.

Do you know what I would do for your love.

Everything. Anything. At all. I could die for you. I would die for you.

Do you know how it hurts to see you fawning over her.

Do you.

It hurts too much. It hurts to the core. Ripping, tearing, shredding, rotting, disintegration.

Do you know how it feels like.

Like hot hot strips of red searing down my arms. Like burning trails smeared over and over. Like the feel of hacking away through something solid, left, right, left, right, criss cross, hatch, bleeed. Like a warm puddle of brightness soaking in. Like a wound that will never ever close.

Do you know I love you, Harry.

Yes I do

I do.

Cross my heart and hope to die.

The clock strikes twelve and we all fall down.

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