Hello, everyone! I'm back, with the fic I've been talking about working on for the past few years. This one hits close to home, dealing as it does with PTSD specifically, and mental illness in general. As someone who has dealt with it myself, as well as watched many people I care for go through it and other illnesses, I've often found myself...annoyed with how it's portrayed in fiction. Generally, you have two extremes. Either the person goes completely of the deep end with drugs, alcoholism, and sex and violence, or else everything is magically cured by love. Anyone in between is left to fall through the cracks, not 'interesting' enough. Not spicy. Not dramatic. As if the pain is somehow less, just because some level of functionality is retained. In this fic, I want to explore this middle ground more, and the effect it can have on relationships; romantic, platonic, and familial. I also want to show that while support definitely, definitely helps, it doesn't cure you. People can love you, and support you, but the healing takes place within, and only you can make the choices to get there. And even then, it often doesn't go away completely.
Just to clear a few things up, since I know this subject makes some people nervous; Ron isn't going to be portrayed as some sort of monster. He is never going to physically harm Hermione. He's not going to do the cliche *gasp* he calls her a Mudblood! bit either. He's not always going to be perfect. He's going to be snappish sometimes. The mood swings and slight paranoia is going to make him say things he doesn't mean. He's going to make progress and backslide. Hermione, for her part, isn't going to be the quiet, dutiful girlfriend. Yes, she is going to be supportive; yes, she is going to try to be mindful of his needs. But she is going to crack a little under the confusion of not knowing what to do-it changes and it's hard to keep up with. And sometimes she's going to snap back at him; it's not always easy to control your own emotional reactions when someone hurts you, even when you know why. They aren't going to be perfect, because people...just aren't. But it is going to be based on love and respect, and the determination to make it through to better times. Now, I know this sounds sort of dark and depressing, but I promise, that even though this is a serious subject, there's going to be humor, and tender, loving moments throughout!
Some of you have been with me since the beginning of To Know You is to Love You; I hope you enjoy this second (shorter!) journey with me. Onward, into the fray!
The silence in the flat felt like two heavy weights in his ears, making him uncomfortably aware of the whoosh of blood pumping through them. With a jerk of his arm, he used his wand to turn the radio on, then almost immediately turned it off; the sudden, loud noise scraping at his nerves. Fuck, but he hated days off. It threw off his schedule, and he hated sitting around, not doing anything useful when there was fucking scum out on the streets that needed to be cleaned up. He had tried, early on, to work his off days anyway, but had been banned from doing so after an...iincident/i with Pethwick.
Ron rolled his eyes. Alright, he might've snapped, but in all fairness, he'd been without sleep for nearly four days straight, and that arse Pethwick was going to get someone killed one of these days with his carelessness.
"But of course, iI'm/i the one that gets called out for it," Ron grumbled, his voice breaking the silence. At least Harry hadn't mentioned it to anyone else-they were already nagging him about getting more sleep. Then he would have to smile and nod, when sleep was the last thing he wanted to do. Sleep meant the never ending nightmares, reliving a past he could never change. It meant waking up in a cold sweat, sobbing like a baby, feeling helpless and weak. And when he icould/i sleep, he did too deeply, for days at a time, barely waking enough to perform basic bodily functions, too sluggish to do anything else. The best thing for him was to keep going, keep working-but no one understood that, and he was tired of trying to make them.
He looked down at his watch, which showed that enough time had passed since he woke up that he should be making an appearance at the Burrow. He was keen to go, but dreading it at the same time, a feeling that had plagued him during family gatherings for the past couple of years, ever since...
But today was his dad's birthday, and he wouldn't hurt him for the world by not showing up-even if he didn't end up staying long. While he knew his dad worried about him as much as the rest, he was at least...quieter about it. He let Ron talk, and did more listening. And if Ron didn't feel like saying much of anything at all, he was happy for him to sit out in the shed in silence while he puttered around with whatever barmy new Muggle contraption he had brought home.
Pushing himself to his feet, he yawned, and scratched his cheek, pausing at the stiff bristles that rasped against the pads of his fingers. He didn't really shave on a regular basis, since something about it took too much energy, and he didn't particularly feel like doing so now. But that, combined with the perpetual dark circles under his eyes, always made his mum fret about how he wasn't taking care of himself, so he stood there, debating on whether or not it was worth it.
"Sod it," he muttered, using his wand to do a quick job, wincing at the slight sting.
With a deep breath, he braced himself to face his family, and Apparated with a small pop.
He landed at the edge of the front yard, Already able to tell that it was crowded by the noise coming from inside, and the movement of people passing back and forth in front of the windows. He stood there, watching, unable to bring himself to move, even though the cold, bitter wind that was blowing bit at him through the heavy scarf his mum had given him for Christmas. As he stood gazing on the building he still, in some ways, considered home, he noticed that the paint had begun to peel, and made a mental note to do something about it when the weather warmed up. A project, he happily realized, that could kill several of his days off. Movement at the door had his hand flexing instinctively around his wand, only to relax when he saw it was Ginny, waving at him to come in. He raised his hand in return, trudging across the lawn to meet her.
"Mum was getting worried, since you're the last one to show, but I told her all we had to do was open the door and let the smell of the pot roast pull you in," she said lightly, taking his scarf and cloak to hang up.
"It might have a tough time getting through the cat piss to the left of me, and the smell of burnt hair always coming from the flat below, but if anything could do the trick it's Mum's cooking," he said with a smile, grateful that she didn't ask why he hadn't come sooner.
"Then you'll be extra glad that she already set aside some leftovers for you to take home. She said you looked too thin at Christmas, so I suspect she's been trying to fatten you up at every chance since then."
Ron rolled his eyes. "According to the staff Healer, I'm the picture of physical fitness. Not that I'm going to turn down extra food, mind you."
Ginny laughed. "Somehow, I expected as much." Her smile gave way as she moved slightly, blocking him from coming further into the house. "Ron, I'm not sure if anyone mentioned, but it's going to be...a bit more crowded than usual today,"
At the hesitance in her voice, he frowned. "I'd say eleven is pretty crowded by most standards. Wait, did Charlie come for a visit?"
She bit her lip, her eyes flickering to the side before meeting his head on. "No, Charlie couldn't make it. It's Hermione. She's here today. And, well, Teddy too, but I'm thinking only one really concerns you. Are you going to be able to handle it?"
He froze, fighting the impulse to snatch his cloak and scarf and Apparate back home. Hermione. He hadn't been expecting that. Sure, she visited sometimes, but not often. Not here. iNot since she chucked me,/i he thought bitterly. They still saw quite a bit of each other. Hard not to, since they were both friends with Harry, and worked in connected departments. But as polite as he tried to be, he nevertheless made a point of limiting interactions with her. Every time he saw her, it was like knocking the scab off a wound he thought was healing, only to find it as raw and painful as it had been before. This would definitely be one of his shorter visits.
"'Course I can. Why couldn't I? Not that I'll be here long, since I've got some things I need to get done today."
A knowing look entered her eyes, and she opened her mouth, as if to call him on his lie, before she snapped it shut, giving a resigned shrug. "Alright. That...that's good then. Come on, we'd better get to the kitchen before they start without us."
Reluctantly, Ron followed her in, leaning down to kiss his mum on the cheek when she bustled over to give him a hug.
"Sit down, sit down! I was just getting ready to start passing the food," she instructed, pointing him to the empty seat that had been left for him.
Directly across from Hermione.
Subtle, Mum. Very subtle.
He dropped into the chair between George and Harry, giving a half nod at the chorus of hellos that went up around him. Hermione hadn't spoken yet, helping a squirming Teddy, who must be visiting Harry today, sitting at her side. Once the toddler had been given a few spoonfuls of food to keep him quiet, she faced forward, giving him the small, plastic smile that seemed to be the only kind he could get from her nowadays.
"Hello, Ron. It's nice to see you."
"H'llo," he muttered, not meeting her eye as he took the bowl of mashed potatoes from George. "Didn't know you'd be here."
As he spooned the creamy, fluffy clouds onto his plate, he saw her flinch, the motion making him realize that it sounded like he meant he wouldn't have come if he had known. He felt guilty, then almost immediately, angry for feeling that way. How many people would do cartwheels at the sight of their ex at a family event? Alright, yeah, they were still friends. That didn't mean that the crappy, depressing memories of being dumped didn't surface every time he saw her. And he was always polite, wasn't he? Well, as polite as he ever got. Why was she even here? He could understand if it was Harry's party, or even his or Ginny's, but this was ihis/i dad's birthday. She was pretty keen on being part of the family, wasn't she? Unless, of course, it meant having to be connected through ihim.i/ Did she enjoy rubbing his face in it, or-
"Ron, if you mash those potatoes any more, they're gonna be a liquid," George said out of the corner of his mouth, low enough for the rest of the table to miss.
Blinking away the red haze, he looked down to find he was holding his fork in a death grip, and had made a small mess on his plate. Gritting his teeth, he scraped it back into a neat pile, and began eating normally, careful not to look up. He could feel her eyes on him, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of starting a row and looking bad in front of his family.
Luckily, the rest of the meal passed without incident, and when they moved into the living room for his dad to open gifts, Ron managed to get a seat in a far corner, slightly apart from everyone else. He watched his father closely as he tore into packages with brightly colored paper, laughing and exclaiming over the contents. Both of his parents had aged quite a bit when they lost Fred, but Ron was pleased to note that his dad had some color in his cheeks, and a genuine twinkle in his eyes that had been missing for a long time. While still showing his age, he wasn't looking as frail and breakable, causing Ron to let out an inward sigh of relief.
"Where's your present, Ron?" Percy called, startling him out of his thoughts.
He shifted, discomfited to have all the attention suddenly on him. Tugging on the collar of his shirt, he leaned to the side to focus on his dad.
"Sorry, mine wasn't exactly wrappable. You know Mum's been on you about how that shed of yours is going to fall in on you one of these days, and it doesn't really have enough space for all your ju-stuff? Well, I'm building you a bigger one."
"Oh Ronnie, that's so thoughtful! Isn't it, Arthur?" His mum beamed, poking his dad in the arm. "And since he's going to all the trouble, I expect you to keep this one in good condition!"
His dad patted her hand absently, his eyes already gleaming with the possibilities. "Of course, dear, of course! Thanks, son. I've been meaning to for a few years, but I never seem to find the time..."
"If you're getting a bigger one, maybe we should get you another car to tinker with," George said slyly, watching his mother out of the corner of his eye.
Ron laughed along with everyone else when his dad's face brightened, at the same time his mother roared no, in her best Howler voice. He was distracted by a soft weight falling against his leg, and looked down to find Teddy grinning up at him, His greenish blue hair standing up in downy spikes. Beside him was Victoire, in a tiny purple dress and some type of ribbony clip that must have been charmed to stick in her fine blonde hair. She smiled angelically, bringing one chubby arm up to shove Teddy down. His diaper made a smacking sound as he hit the ground, and Ron watched as fat tears welled in his eyes, his face a picture of surprised betrayal.
"Victore! We don't push!" Fleur's voice rang out.
Not really understanding, Victoire waddled over and patted Teddy on the head, looking at her mum for approval.
Watching the toddlers, Ron was surprised by how big they'd gotten. It felt like only yesterday he'd taken turns holding one or the other, and he felt like he'd missed the leap from crawling to walking-in Teddy's case, starting to run. His mood darkened. He'd been able to see more than others had. How twisted was it that he knew Teddy better than his parents ever would? And Fred and never even gotten the chance to be an uncle at all. The room became too hot, the noise from the kids too loud. Dizzily, he stood, making his way to the door.
"Ron? Is something wrong?" His mum called.
He looked back at her worried face, her hands wringing as her eyes searched his.
"'S'alright. Just a little hot, gonna go for a walk to cool down. Be back in a bit."
He barely waited for her to nod before he was out the door, breathing in lungfuls of cold, burning air. It was too much at once, and he began to cough, staggering slightly as he walked away from the house, towards the fence. Once he got it together, he'd go back in for a few minutes, then make an excuse to leave. He had the file on that smuggling case they were trying to crack, and he figured a few extra hours with it and he might have a new lead by the time he had to clock in.
"Ron?" A voice came from behind him.
Oh, bloody hell.
"I said I'd be back in in a minute," he said tightly, "You can tell Mum not to worry."
Instead of leaving-not that he really expected her to, this being Hermione after all-he felt her arm brush against his as she came up to stand next to him, draping his cloak and scarf over the top rail of the fence.
"She was worried you would be cold, so I brought these out so she wouldn't try to get you to come back in," Hermione explained, her voice even.
"If that makes it more comfortable for you," he sniped, not moving to put either on.
"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked, a hint of irritation creeping into her voice.
He tilted his head sideways, to watch her from under his fringe. "It imeans,/i I'm sure you'd like it better if you could be inside with everyone else, without having to worry about me coming back in."
"I'm not the one avoiding the other, here," she said, a trace of hurt in her voice that he tried to ignore.
"Of course not. You'd rather just spend time with my friends and my bloody family, without having anything to do with me. You made ithat/i fucking clear when you dumped me. 'But we'll still be friends, Ron!'" He said in an annoyingly high-pitched voice. "'I'll still be a part of your life!'"
This time the hurt was unmistakable as she flinched away, tears welling in her eyes as she shook her head. "I didn't 'dump' you, Ron! I said we needed to take a break-"
"Two years is a helluva long break, Hermione!"
"One year, six months, and three days," she said, her voice shaking. "Merlin, Ron! Did you think I actually iwanted/i to?"
"Since I've never known you to do a damn thing you didn't want to, yeah, pretty much. But I reckon you have a reason that makes it all my fault."
Hermione clenched her eyes closed as she turned around and threw her back against the fence, her hair crackling from her hands running through it, the hair tie falling to the ground unnoticed. "I wasn't going to go into this today. I don't know, maybe i've just been avoiding it, knowing how difficult it was going to be. But since you brought it up, I might as well. Do you want to know why I did it? Do you really, truly want to know?"
Did he? Probably not. It was probably just one more thing to hate about himself. Knowing that didn't prevent him from giving a short jerk of a nod.
"Right. Fine. I'll tell you then. It was good in the beginning, Ron. Better than you'd imagine, given the situation. We were both messed up from the war-I think everyone was, who was involved to any extent. But I thought we were helping each other. I thought that over time, we'd get better."
"That's what I thought, too," he put in, when she stopped to gather her thoughts.
"But it didn't work that way," she continued sadly. "You didn't get better. You got worse. At first, it wasn't really noticeable. You would get quiet, at times, and upset-"
"My brother had just fucking died! I think I was entitled to-"
"And that's why I didn't think anything of it, then! Or the nightmares, since most of us were having them. And we've always been the type to bicker over harmless things, enjoying the challenge and...well, the making up. But you began to do it over every little thing as if they were important. You were harsher about it, and it wasn't just with me, but everyone else. You were angry so much of the time...When I was in Hogwarts, I wasn't aware of how bad it had gotten. I only knew that your letters came less frequently, and that they were shorter. I thought things would be better when I graduated and we had more time together."
"I iwas/i busy! And hell, I missed you, I don't think you know how much. Writing was hard because it always reminded me how far away you were," Ron frowned down at the ground, remembering.
"And sometimes, you even acted like it," she allowed. "But more and more often, it felt like being with me just upset you. I began to notice you were that way with others, too. And when we...when we would make love, it...hurt."
Ron reared back at that, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. She'd never told him that! Never acted like it, either! He'd never wanted to hurt her, would've cut off his cock first. "I didn't...you never told me I-"
"Not physically," she rushed on.
"Then how?" He asked sharply, his fear starting to turn to anger from the scare she had given him.
"You started wanting to less, and when we did, you acted as if-as if enjoying it disgusted you. After awhile, it wasn't just sex. It was doing anything together, and you were acting that way with others. When Victoire was born, it was almost as you resented her, and Bill and Fleur for it."
"That's stupid!" He snapped. "I didn't-I was just upset that Fred wasn't there for it, and it happened so soon after-"
"But that was going to be true no matter how long they waited. Was it ever really going to be long enough to make that pain go away?"
He shook his head, feeling dizzy and slightly smothered, everything closing in. "No, of course not, but-"
"Everyone noticed, Ron. Everyone's been worried."
"Talked about it, did you?" He snarled, his head snapping up. "Everyone getting together to talk about what a cock-up Ron is. Is it at random, or do you have monthly meetings?"
"Don't be ridiculous, of course we don't-"
"I bet no one ever points out anything else i've done," he said, talking faster and louder. "How I helped George with the shop, or Mum. How I-"
"We all know that, Ron! Do you think any of us could have missed it? You were amazing with everyone! I think George would have fallen apart completely if you hadn't been there for him, and you were so good about spending time with your mum...but something was clearly wrong!"
"And knowing that, you decided it was a good time to leave me?"
"I didn't know what else to do!" She implored, reaching out to grip his arm.
He drew in a breath at the contact, but didn't move to break it. He couldn't look away from her eyes, and the undeniable sadness he found in their depths. She sounded confused, a tone he wasn't used to hearing from Hermione except in the most dire of circumstances. She was always so sure of everything, always in control of a situation, that Ron knew things had to have been worse than he realized for her to be pushed that far.
"I thought that maybe I was too much on top of everything else, that you just needed some space and time. I thought...I thought if I just waited a while, you'd...you'd get better. But oh, Ron, you haven't! You haven't, and I d-don't know what to do to help!"
She was sobbing at this point, her hands having moved up to grasp the front of his jumper. Since the breakup, it had felt like there was a chasm between them, an empty space that neither could cross. For the first time in a long time, she felt close, and in ways that were not at all physical. Rusty, long disused instincts stirred within him, and slowly, he raised his arms to pull her closer, his head resting lightly on top of her hers. He half expected her to push him away, but if anything, she pressed more closely into him, and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
Was he really as fucked up as Hermione was saying? He knew...he knew he wasn't exactly the way he was before the war. And while he hadn't really expected to be, there was always the nagging little feeling that his changes were different in some way than the others. Hermione wasn't a liar. At least, not unless it had something to do with keeping them alive. If she didn't want to be with him, she wouldn't make up an elaborate reason like this. And, as odd as the situation was, he got the sense that she did actually want to be with him.
"Hermione?"
"Y-yes?" She sniffed, pulling back slightly.
"Are you saying that if I fixed whatever is wrong with me, we could, you know..."
She sighed. "Ron, I don't want you to do it to be with me. I want you to get better because that's what you ineed./i If you were getting help, then yes, I would support you, and we could work on getting our relationship back, although I don't think it would be a good idea to...jump right back to how it was before. But I think I could at least say that seeing each other exclusively was an option."
He considered it for a few minutes.
"I'm still not sure that there's really all that much wrong with me," he said slowly, "But I'm willing to look into it, and work at it if there is. Can...can I ask one thing, though?"
Using the cuffs of her jumper, she wiped the moisture away from her eyes. "What is it?"
"Do you love me?"
He hadn't realized it until he said it, but a lot was hinging on her answer. Ever since they had broken up, it had eaten at him. He'd lie awake at nights, going over and over in his mind what had made her stop loving him, or if she ever really had. Sometimes, it felt like a tiny piece of that bloody locket had stayed with him.
Tenderly, she brought her hands up to his face, her thumbs stroking over his jaw. "I love you, Ron. So much! That's one thing that's never changed."
She was looking at him with such a loving expression; one he'd only ever seen her use with him, and it brought to mind their first few months together, of stolen kisses in the orchard, and holding her hand under the kitchen table.
"Me too. You know that, right?" He asked, his heart sinking when her expression clearly said she hadn't. "Fuck. Well, I do! But...I guess somehow, I stopped being able to show it very well. Are you sure that we can't, you know, just try again, and see if just having you around helps?"
She was already shaking her head, her voice firm when she answered. "No. If that was going to be enough, we wouldn't have reached this point. I love you, Ron, but I can't fix this for you, as much as I wish that weren't so. I can help you, and I can support you, but the one who has to make the changes is you."
Somehow, he had suspected as much. But she was at least going to be with him, right? He wasn't helpless. If there was really something he needed to fix, he could do it. He just didn't particularly like the idea of doing it alone.
"Fair enough," he said, feeling some of the tension leave her arms. "So...can I come over or something when I...when I figure out what I'm doing? Is that alright?"
"Of course it is; you can even come over before that, if you want, and I'll help you figure out what to do."
That...no. He was more than a little confused right now, and he knew Hermione would take this and run with it, planning things out before he was even sure that was the direction he wanted to take. Things between them had been strained, and she was right in saying they needed to ease back into it. A fight this soon was the last thing they needed.
"Actually, I think I'm going to go home right now and think it over. I'm not sulking, or anything!" He added, seeing her looking disappointed. "It's just...a lot to take in, you know? The Burrow is too full for me to be able to think straight right now."
Hermione smiled in understanding. "I'll make an excuse for you, then, so no one worries. Come by when you have everything sorted, alright? We can talk more then."
Relieved that she wasn't going to press him, he smiled. "Yeah. It'll probably be tomorrow or later, but I'll at least send an owl, or stop by your office during lunch."
"That sounds good. Ron? I-I'm really glad, that you're going to, you know, get some help. I want this to work, so badly...Not just us, but you. I-I want you to be alright. Happy. More at peace."
"I want that, too," he agreed, although he wasn't sure what she meant by the last two. He was happy, wasn't he? Well, now that they were going to try again. And he was peaceful. Except for the nightmares. And dealing with complete arses, who seemed to pop up everywhere.
"I'm gonna go ahead and go now," he said, looping his scarf around her neck, flopping one wide end over her head. "It's fuckin' freezing out here, so you should go in and warm up. Tell Dad I'll be over soon to work on his shed, will you?"
She nodded, her eyes suspiciously wet again, and stood on her tiptoes briefly to give him a quick peck on the jaw, before she turned and darted back to the Burrow. Ron, surprised at the display of affection, reached up to touch the place where her lips had made contact, tingling at the sensation. How long had it been since he had been touched like that? With a shake of his head, he gripped his wand, shivering. Now that he wasn't so upset, he was feeling the cold. With a small pop, He Apparated back to his flat, doing his usual check to make sure no one had broken through his wards.
Feeling a bit peckish since he'd left before the cake was brought out, he headed into the kitchen, fixing himself a small sandwich and grabbing some crisps and a few biscuits to go with it. He plopped down at the table, eating slowly, thinking over the things Hermione had told him. He had never meant for things to end this way between them. At first, it had seemed like things were going to be alright. Better than alright, even. They had been supporting each other, and he had decided even back when he had returned to camp after abandoning them that he was going to be more mature, take better care of the people that mattered to him. He'd thrown himself into that, trying to help everyone heal as much as possible, after the gaping loss of one of their own. Then Hermione started back to Hogwarts, and he was still helping the others and working, and eventually adding training to that. Things had gotten pretty stressful, but there was nothing to be done for it. Everything he was doing was important, and he just figured that once he got to a certain point, things would slow down, and the tight, tense knot in his chest would loosen up.
It hadn't, though. Sometimes it seemed like it would, then it would come back in full force. Maybe he was working too hard? Everyone was always telling him he was. Could be that all he needed was a break. The idea made him uneasy. He couldn't ireally/i take a break though, could he? There was too much to be done at work. If he wasn't there, who knew how long some of those bastards would be left out on the streets! Innocent people were counting on him...
A sense of guilt filled him at forgetting them for the afternoon filled him, and he quickly cleaned and put away his dishes with a few flicks of his wand, before going back to the files he had been looking at earlier. He tried to focus on them, but his head was hurting, and his conversation with Hermione kept coming back. She had said the others had noticed, hadn't she?
He looked down at his watch. It had been about an hour since he had left; people might be starting to head home. He'd just pop over to Harry's and wait for him there, and see what he had to say. Having been Harry's best friend since they were eleven, and also having lived here himself for a little over a year, meant that Ron was one of the few people able to get through the wards, making himself at home in the living room. Sprawled on the couch, he picked up a Quidditch magazine that either Harry or Ginny had left lying on the table, flipping idly through the pages. He squinted, puzzled; why did the layout look different?
"Would Master Weasley be wanting any refreshment?" Kreacher croaked from the end of the sofa, where he had silently appeared.
Ron gave a small jump, his hand going for his wand. "Damn! I'm not used to you sneaking up like that anymore! Nah, I ate before I came, but thanks."
Kreacher sketched a bow, then shuffled from the room.
Ron watched him go, wondering if he wasn't moving a little slower than usual; no one was really sure exactly how old Kreacher was, but he had to be ancient. At the sound of the Floo, he twisted his head in time to see Harry stumble into the room, coughing slightly from some powder that must've gotten in his mouth. Catching sight of Ron, he drew up short, blinking in surprise.
"Ron? That you?"
"Well, I'm certainly not Ginny," he drawled.
"True; when Ginny meets me stretched out on the sofa, she usually isn't wearing-"
"Don't make me vomit, Potter."
Laughing, Harry dropped into a chair, giving Ron an assessing look from under his fringe. "So, What's up? I wasn't expecting to see you after you left."
The springs of the sofa squeaked as he sat up, running his hands through his hair nervously. Now that he was here, he didn't know what to say, or where to start. "Ah. Yeah. Hermione say anything?"
Harry shook his head. "Not...really. Just one of those polite things she's able to do, where you don't realize she hasn't actually said much of anything till later. Is something wrong?"
Okay, and least she hadn't told everyone. That was good. He shifted on the cushion.
"No, not really. Actually, it's pretty brilliant. Hermione...we're sort of back together."
His friend's mouth flopped open, his eyes bulging. He looked as if he'd been Stunned, then Ennervated as he bolted up in his seat.
"I-wow, really? That's great, Ron! Fantastic!"
Ron eyed him suspiciously. For some reason, Harry's enthusiasm rang a tad false. "Something tells me there's a 'but' there somewhere."
"No, of course not!" Harry protested, hands raised protestingly. "I just didn't think she was going to...erm, quite yet, you know..."
"So you think I'm loony, too," he said with resignation.
"What the hell are you on about?" Harry asked, looking genuinely puzzled.
"She didn't tell you? It's just that...there's sort of a condition. Hermione thinks-she thinks I need some kind of help."
"Ah. That was it." Harry said softly, sitting back in his seat with a thoughtful look at the floor.
"See! You think I'm ready for a ward in St. Mungo's too!"
"No one thinks you're mental, Ron!" Harry snapped, his eyes flashing behind his glasses. "But truthfully, yeah, everyone's noticed that things haven't been right with you for a long time. The thing is, I don't think iyou've/i ever noticed."
"Am I the same person I was back in, say, sixth year? No. Who the hell is? What is it I should be noticing?"
Harry took his glasses off, furiously rubbing the lenses before replacing them. "Okay, you want examples?" He pointed to the magazine Ron had glanced through earlier. "Open that to the Player of the Month page."
Rolling his eyes, Ron flipped to the back. "Here. Happy?"
"Look again."
Looking down, Ron found himself staring at Bungled Bludgers, the humor section detailing Quidditch mishaps. "So the layout is cocked up. So what?"
"They changed the layout over a year ago," Harry pointed out gently. "You just haven't taken enough of an interest to notice."
Ron tossed it down on the table, avoiding Harry's eyes. "So what? I'm not a kid anymore. You don't pay as much attention when you grow up."
"Not sure where that leaves me and Ginny."
"That's different-"
"Oh, come on, Ron! You love Quidditch as much as we do! But you hardly even play with us anymore when we get a game going at the Burrow. You never joined the department team. You don't do anything for fun!"
"That's not true! And even if it was, I'm busy when I'm not working. I do a lot with the family-"
"It iis/i true, and you know it! As for doing things with the family...Ron, most of the time it feels like...like it's work to you. I mean, yeah, everyone knows you love 'em, but it feels like you're ticking off things on a chore list. And you get so mad...you'll be laughing over something one day, and biting someone's head off over it the next."
"If I'm as bad as you make me out to be, it's a wonder you have me around at all!" Ron shot back tightly.
"It's not about you being bad, or mental, or any of those words you keep using to describe yourself!" Harry said, sitting forward with his hands partially outstretched, trying to get Ron to understand. "Sometimes, it's even like all of that goes away, and you're iyou/i again! But then...it's like you get pulled back under again, and drowned out by...whatever is hurting you."
"I was hoping it was just Hermione," he said quietly. "But if it's you, too..."
"If you need someone else to tell you, why don't you go talk to George? You've worked pretty closely with him, and he's been in a bad place before too, so he might know how to put it better."
"I believe you, Harry. It's just...hard to take in. I told Hermione I'd see someone about it, and I reckon I better, at least once. Guess it might be good to hear what George has to say, though."
"Ron, you do know that whatever it is, we support you, right? We just...we just want you to be happy. Really happy. And we're behind you, whatever that takes."
Feeling emotional, Ron bit his lip, nodding. "Yeah. I know. And-and it means a lot."
Harry stood, coming over to clap his hand on Ron's shoulder. "It's gonna be alright, mate. We'll help you through this. You'll get things sorted and start feeling more like yourself, work things out with Hermione...things'll get better."
"I guess Hermione wouldn't invest her time if she thought I was a hopeless case," he said, smiling thinly.
"Hermione's never thought you were hopeless. She'd drop you and not look back if you were a deliberate arse, but everyone knows this isn't a way you made a choice to be. Hermione's been worried sick, you know? She wanted to help sooner, but...you haven't really been letting anyone in."
With a deep breath, Ron stood up. "I didn't shut her out on purpose. Or anyone else, for that matter. It just...sometimes it feels like everyone's far away."
"But we're not. We really aren't, Ron. Maybe you just, I dunno, have to learn how to get back to us-or to feel like you're already with us."
Ron nodded, feeling tired. "I think I'll go see George. Maybe you're right, and he knows more about it."
"And you're still going to try to work things out with Hermione?"
"I...yeah. I love her, Harry. I don't know what the hell's wrong with me that I stopped showing her right, but what we had was good, and i'm not gonna lose it by sittin' around a doing nothing about it. And even if we weren't going to...it's affecting more than just my relationship with her, isn't it? I don't think I can keep on like that and end up anywhere good."
"Just let us know if you need anything, alright? You don't have to do it alone."
"Someone's come a long way from fifth year," Ron snorted.
Harry socked him on the arm. "Go on then, you git! Don't say I never shared any of my great wisdom!"
Ron laughed, shaking his head as he went to the Floo. Grabbing some powder, he turned. "Hey, where's Ginny? She's free this weekend, so isn't she staying with you?"
"Yeah, but she went out with Fleur for a few hours; Fleur needed some adult time, since Victoire is having problems fully coming off the bottle."
"Guess that explains the matching circles under her and Bill's eyes. Later, Harry!"
Calling out the name of the shop, Ron was yanked away, dumped unceremoniously in the dark. Lighting his wand, he bumped around in the spare office, stepping out into the hall. He went up the narrow set of stairs to the small flat that George usually shared with Angelina, hoping his brother was home. The light filtered under the door, and at Ron's knock, he heard footsteps growing closer. Instead of George, it was Angelina that met him, her eyes widening in surprise before she smiled.
"Ron! Come on in; maybe you can distract George from creating something that ensures the place will smell of sulphur and bogies for weeks on end."
"I told you how iyou/i could distract me, so you've no one to blame but yourself since you turned me down!" George called, from his position in a thick recliner, both legs draped over one arm.
"Don't tell me he's in one of his creative moods," Ron groaned.
"We have to stay ahead of competition, Ron. Our customer base is fickle, and they'll go with whoever can make the biggest stink."
"I think I'll leave you boys to discuss these weighty, important matters," Angelina said with a smirk, bundling up to go out, a small duffel bag at her feet.
"You don't have to leave because of me, I wasn't planning on staying long!" Ron said, feeling bad. He knew George and Ange were slowly starting to move in together, and he didn't want to get in the way.
But Angelina waved him off, giving his shoulder a slap as she passed. "No worries, Ron. I was just leaving anyway. Mum's not feeling well, and it's my night to sit with her."
"Give my best to your mum," George said to her, leaning his head up as she bent to kiss him before heading for the door.
"Will do; see you tomorrow!"
As the door shut behind her, George dropped the tattered little notebook he used to scribble down ideas to the floor, shifting his attention to Ron.
"So, was there something I could do for you? Unless you felt the overwhelming urge to drop by to volunteer for product testing."
Ron dropped onto the striped sofa, his hands dangling between his splayed legs as he sat forward. "I need to talk to you. About something important."
George frowned, eyeing him carefully. "Alright, sure. But I thought the time for looking that grim over anything was safely behind us. What's up?"
"I...I talked to Hermione today. About why we broke up. Or why she decided we should...take a break, I guess."
"She came back inside with her head still firmly on her shoulders, so I guess it went alright?"
"She thinks something's wrong with me. Harry does too. I-I came to ask what you thought."
With a sigh, George sat back. "You know, normally I'd take any opening you gave me to tell you something is wrong with you and run with it, but today I'm going to ignore that urge."
"That means there's something wrong," Ron said, his tone dull.
"Ron, you know I'm not so great with stuff like this, so I'm just going to say this blunt and fast. Yeah, I think they're right. I've noticed it for a long time, but I also know from personal experience," he smiled bitterly, "That being pushed before you're ready to admit it doesn't do a damn bit of good. I'm guessing Hermione had something to do with that?"
"She said she still loves me, and want things to work, but that I need to get help."
They were silent for a few moments, both of them digesting that.
"Angelina was the same way," George confessed, breaking the silence. "Told me she loved me, but wasn't going to sit around and hold my hand while I destroyed myself. She made an appointment for me one day, and told me I could either go and she'd do whatever she could to help me with it, or she was gone, because she wasn't coming to watch them plant me beside Fred."
Ron winced at that, and George laughed. "Brutal, isn't she? I think I only went the first few times out of a combination of fear she'd leave me, and to prove to her that nothing was going to help me."
"Are you still going?" Ron asked, slightly uncomfortable at prying, but wanting any usable information he could get.
"Not nearly as often, but yeah. Once I stopped fighting it so much, it helped. You'll notice you haven't had to drag my carcass out of a pub in a long time."
"Well, yeah, but I just thought you'd finally got it under control. I know you still drink."
George shook his head. "Don't tell anyone, but...I actually had to quit for awhile. It was during that really bad patch last spring, remember?"
Ron did; George had been in fine form then, and hardly even able to work he was so likely to take someone's head off.
"They taught me a trick to disguise butterbeer. I'm sort of having to learn how to drink again. Now, if I do, only the first one is actually firewhiskey, and I don't do it when I'm alone, or upset at all."
"And Angelina helps?"
"Damn right she does!" George nodded emphatically. "She knows how to cut me off without embarrassing me, knows how to get me out of a situation without drawing attention to it. And now that I'm not pissed out of my mind most of the time, she's there to talk me through it when things start getting dark in my head."
"So you're fine with it, then? Being stuck seeing someone for it forever?"
"Who said it was forever? Believe it or not, I'm actually making pretty good progress. Soon I'll probably only have to go in around holidays, or what they call 'major life moments.' Eventually, they're pretty sure I won't have to at all. Besides, I think it's worth it. I'd already lost enough with Fred. How could I choose to lose everything else if there was something I could do about it?"
"You still had us," Ron pointed out. "Even though you could be a right bastard at times, we'd never have turned you away."
With an impatient shake of his head, George said, "That's not the point! I mean, sure, I'm grateful for that, it's like...it's like with Ange. She and her family had a hard time during the war, and then her favorite cousin died, and her mum's health has been shite. And I've been helping her get through that. Before...I wasn't. I didn't even know she was having problems, because I was too busy drowning in mine to notice, and she couldn't count on me enough to even mention it. I couldn't help her until I'd helped myself. Same as with Mum; I was too busy tearing myself apart to even think about her, and how hard it was on her to watch me going the same way as Fred. But now, even though both of us are still fucked up over it, I can be there for her, and let her be there for me. I'll Hex you if you tell anyone, but I feel closer to her than I ever have."
"But it's different with me!" Ron said, unsure why he was so upset. "I didn't try to lick the bottom of every Firewhiskey bottle I came across. I've always been there for the rest of the family. So how is it that everyone's thinking something's wrong with me?"
"Of course it's different with you," George said, giving him a look as if he were thick. iWe're/i different! And I don't think yours is just about Fred, either. Since you never went off the deep end like I did, it's harder to know how to step in. It's like-like you're straddling this line, and every once and awhile you lean on one side more than the other. It's easy to think that you'll be alright with just a little more time, but it stays at that point and never actually gets better."
"Harry and Hermione said I'm angry a lot, and that I don't like Quidditch anymore. The first I'm willing to admit I might have a problem with, but I don't know what the hell's the matter with not being mad about Quidditch."
"They're right. No one can ever tell when something is gonna set you off, or what it'll be. And it's not just Quidditch, Ron. You don't really like...anything. Hell, even when you were babysitting me in pubs, you never took a bird home with you."
"I was with Hermione-"
"I meant after that, you git! Even when you were single, you weren't even tempted. You've been randy ever since you hit puberty, so don't tell me that's normal for you not to even be interested."
Well. No. It wasn't. He'd always had a rich fantasy life, so to speak, but he'd just figured that he'd grown up. But that wasn't true, was it? Surely thoughts like that didn't just cut off before you were even twenty-five. With mounting horror, he found he couldn't even recall the last time he'd had a wank, and that used to be a daily occurrence!
"You don't take an interest in anything, Ron. You do whatever you think the family needs you to, but you do it with a wall put up. You haven't made any friends at work. And speaking of work, that's the only thing you put a lot of emotion into, and even that...is usually kind of negative. You don't even enjoy closing a case. As soon as one's over, you're ready to tear into the next one. It's like you don't even let yourself feel."
"That's not true," he muttered, his eyes fixed on the fleur-de-lis pattern of the rug that he couldn't recall seeing here before-it must be one of Angelina's additions.
"Oh yeah? When was the last time you were really happy? What was the last thing you really enjoyed doing? The last time you felt comfortable?" George challenged.
"I don't know, alright!" He roared, unable to stand the questions. "I just-everything's all-it's too loud in my head and I don't remember."
"I know that feeling," George said quietly.
"Yeah, well, and least you have Angelina to help get you through it. Didn't up and leave you, did she?" Ron said bitterly, the sting of Hermione's abandonment coming back full force.
"Ron, do you honestly think the rest of us would be perfectly fine with her always being with the family when we get together if that was true?" George asked, frown lines creasing his forehead.
"Well, yeah, since that's what-"
"Do you know how often she's over asking about you? At the Burrow. At the shop. With Harry, and even Bill. She's constantly worrying, trying to make sure you're alright."
He was pulled up short at that information. Somehow, he'd just assumed that...Hermione had gotten on with her life, and just popped in at the Burrow on special occasions. "She could've saved the time and just asked me."
George gave a grim laugh. "That was the problem, Ron. She couldn't. You were shutting her out, same as you did with everyone else when you weren't focused on helping us. Sometimes, you'd just look through her like she wasn't even there. And there near the end, no matter what she said, you managed to turn it into a fight."
"So it was my fault, is that what you're saying? Of course. It always is. It's always me that-"
"No one thinks it's your fault," George cut in, with a heavy sigh of exasperation. "Seriously, Ron. Even Hermione. No one thinks you're doing it on purpose."
"If she had just told me in the first place..." Ron said, circling back.
George leaned forward, his eyes intent. "Would you have listened, Ron? Honestly, would you have listened?"
He opened his mouth to say that of course he would have, but no words came. His tongue darted out nervously to lick his chapped lips, the flakes of skin smoothing momentarily with the moisture. He wanted to say yes, but that one stubborn corner of his mind wouldn't let him be anything other than honest. If Hermione had mentioned this years ago, he would've been mad. Probably would've thought she was using it as an excuse. It was only now, after things had gone so badly for so long, that he was forced to see it.
"I don't know what to do, George," he admitted haltingly. "I...I don't know how to fix any of this, or even where to start."
"And you think I did?" George asked, heaving himself out of his chair and plunking down beside Ron, a heavy arm coming down across his shoulders. "Trust me, I didn't-which you should know, since you were one of the ones dragging me back from the brink, no matter how hard I fought it. If it'd been left to me, I wouldn't have come this far. But that's what getting help is for; they'll help you make sense of the messed up shite in your head, and where you need to start to fix it."
"Yeah. I guess so."
"Look, it's probably all starting to hit you. Back when I first started to come to terms that I had to do something, I was so knackered I felt like I could sleep for a week. Why don't you go home, get some rest, and see how things look tomorrow?"
Ron nodded, grateful for the chance to escape. It was all becoming too much, and he needed to be alone before it came exploding out. He stood up, his limbs feeling heavy and numb.
"You're right. Thanks, George. I guess I just needed to...I dunno." He said with a shrug, moving towards the door.
"Ron?" George called to him, before he could make it into the hallway.
"Yeah?"
"Do you want things to change?"
With a pang, sharp memories of the weeks after the war returned. He'd thought that aside from Fred, his life was finally on the track he had wanted. He'd had such plans; a steady relationship with Hermione, a good career, being close with his family...time for fun. He was so far from all of that, wasn't he? Things with Hermione were broken and in need of fixing, instead of being engaged at this point, as he'd hoped. He was good at his job, but he knew he didn't fit well with the team, which would only hurt them all in the long run. He did everything he could for his family...except let them in as close as he knew they wanted to be, as ihe/i wanted them to be. As for fun, that was practically a foreign word.
"Yeah. Yeah, I really do."
George's mouth lifted in a half smile. "Then it will. You've got enough of the Weasley stubbornness to do it, Ronnie."
It was enough to bring a fleeting, yet genuine smile to his face as he shut the door, retracing his path back down to the Floo, not feeling like Apparating home. Once back in the quiet of his own home, he checked his wards for the night, and walked slowly into his room, stripping down to his boxers and tossing his clothes on a chair. His mattress sagged as he sat down, his toes curling into the thick loops of the bedside rug. Something deep within him had cracked today, allowing emotions that rarely surfaced to rise within him, an internal whirlpool. He looked down at his hands, which were shaking, and they didn't stop even though he gripped his knees hard enough to leave marks. Everything he had ever wanted seemed so far out of reach. Somehow, without realizing it, he had walled off sections of himself that he didn't even know how to access anymore. Nothing felt quite right, and everything he used to enjoy now hardly touched him, as if they'd never meant a thing. He didn't know himself, and he was, quite frankly, terrified. Slowly, he fell to his side, his body drawing up in the fetal position.
For the first time in a very, very long time, Ron cried; harsh, wracking sobs shaking his body, rocking him in a sort of macabre lullaby until, exhausted and spent, he slid into the blackness of unconsciousness.