Bonds of Fate Chapter 1

It started off as something small. Like something had gone off track. And yet, it all felt so right despite the unusual turn of fate.

A deep-seated feeling of guilt rolled around in the pit of Ron Weasley's stomach.

It nagged at him. It wouldn't leave him alone.

For most of the summer, Ron was ignored unless he was called down for meals and so forth. It was mostly like this for all of his summers now ever since Hogwarts.

He paid it little mind. But this time…this time he really wanted to talk to someone. But he was too ashamed to.

Everything that had happened the previous school year with Harry and the tournament had been…well, traumatic to say the least. Cedric had died and all of a sudden, he'd realized how horrible he'd been to Harry who hadn't deserved any of that to begin with.

He'd betrayed his best mate. He'd said things that couldn't be taken back.

But Harry had forgiven him.

Ron wasn't really sure he would have done the same if he had been in Harry's shoes. He would like to think he could have a heart like that, but he knew he didn't.

Dumbledore had told him and the rest of his family not to contact Harry at all during the summer. He saw his parents throw away his letters without looking at them.

Ron himself had just gotten a letter from him.

He'd managed to throw it away the first time with a quick apology, explaining his reasons. But he'd been feeling worse and worse since then.

It was eating him up.

Finally, he gave in and opened up the letter.

Certainly, reading it couldn't do any harm, right?

Ron,

Hey, it's Harry. Listen, I get it, I can't talk about Voldemort in our letters. But I need to talk to someone. This whole thing with Cedric, it's eating me up. Whenever I sleep I have nightmares. I hardly want to sleep at all anymore, I hardly can. Apparently, I scream in my sleep and that wakes up the Dursleys and…well, you get it. My relatives already hate me so, well, they don't react all that well.

I'm not sure if you'll ever read this. I guess you won't. No one will.

With that in mind, maybe I should just write down everything and play pretend that someone out there is listening and will care. That sounds silly, doesn't it?

It didn't sound that silly, Ron thought, feeling the guilt come back ten-fold. He continued reading.

I keep dreaming about what happened at the graveyard. I dream about him dying. It's like he was there and then he was gone. I didn't really understand it. I still don't really understand it.

Thinking on it, I guess I did see other people die before. I saw mum die and I heard my dad die. I don't think I ever told you about the whole conversation. My mum told me to remember that I am so loved. That she loves me and dad loves me. Then, Voldemort came in. He told her to stand aside. I always wondered why.

Voldemort doesn't really value lives, right? So why would he ask her to move? And three times no less.

I remember the killing curse hitting her. I still dream about the green light, I dreamed about it before I even knew its significance.

I wonder if I'll always dream about people that die?

Is it selfish to hope that I don't have to see anymore?

Why would that be selfish? Ron wondered, a little horrified by the contents of Harry's letter. He hadn't been expecting it. He hadn't expected to read a long and horrifying rant and plea of loneliness and fear and, well, this.

Say what you might about Ron, including that he had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. He did care.

Especially for his friends.

More and more, Ron felt that his guilt was justified. He wondered if Harry had sent letters like these to other people.

Or was it just him?

I killed someone.

Ron froze when he read that next line. He must have been mistaken, right? Harry? Commit an act of murder? No. Impossible.

But there it was on the page of muggle parchment as plain as day. So, he read on, wondering what it could possibly mean.

I killed someone. Once. When I was eleven. When you think about it, I technically killed Quirrell, didn't I? He died when I touched him. Why was I given a pat on the head for that? I didn't want that. I wanted, well, I don't really know what I wanted. A scolding maybe? Did I want to be punished?

I can hear him screaming sometimes when I close my eyes, and other times when I least expect it.

I honestly don't know how long I can take this, Ron. It feels like there's a tight feeling inside of my chest. Like I'm suffocating. I feel like I'm trapped.

I want to run, but at the same time, I'm frozen. I'm stuck in place.

Some hero, right?

You know, I always wanted someone else to take on the responsibility. Certainly, I'm just as qualified as you to take on a dark lord. Or any other student. Well, Hermione might be the exception there, let's face it, she's brilliant enough that she'd outsmart them all.

I've theorised that the only reason she hasn't graduated yet is because she hadn't finished reading all the books in the Hogwarts library.

Ron's lips twitched and he actually laughed a little, the feeling in his heart lessening only slightly.

The truth about me is that I'm actually really weak.

The letter continued. Ron had to pause on that sentence. Of all things, he couldn't see Harry as ever being weak. He started the line over, hoping for a bit of context yet again.

The truth about me is that I'm actually really weak. I've always been that way, ever since I can remember. When I was little, I got bullied a lot. My aunt liked to spread rumors about me to the adults and teachers. The kids would pick up on it and, well, I got hurt a lot. I covered up some of the bruises my uncle gave me.

Ron stiffened. He'd always thought something was wrong there, but his relatives hurt him? He drew a sharp breath before continuing.

I hate how weak I am. I've felt so helpless so many times before that I guess I just grew used to it. Maybe that's why I've been able to survive for so long at Hogwarts. I know how to deal with bullies. All of my clothes are hand-me-downs from Dudley. I've never owned anything of my own. I had to buy my own underwear after I discovered the money my parents left me. Pathetic, right?

I know you've got your own problems with your own family. Maybe it's not as bad as the Dursleys, but I know you don't get as much attention as you deserve. I'm sorry that I sometimes put you down. I don't mean to. I never meant to. It hurts to know that I even once made you feel that way. If I could, I'd take all those times I said something stupid to you back and every time I did something that made you feel bad about yourself back too. I get the feeling that the whole thing has been building up for a while. I never really knew how to approach it though. If I had, then maybe none of this would have happened.

I know you felt guilty before when you apologised. I felt guilty too.

I kind of hope you never read this letter, to be honest. I sort of hope that you rip it up as soon as you get it, like all the others. Merlin, I think you've become my diary. That's embarrassing.

I'm pretty certain you won't even start it though. If the warning not to read it from Dumbledore didn't put you off it, then certainly the long and wordy dialogue will.

Anyways, bye for now, I guess.

Harry

What was he supposed to do with this? Discard it? Somehow, that didn't feel right.

Harry didn't really think he'd ever read this, so should he ignore it and pretend he never saw it to begin with?

But what about the Dursleys?

The thought of them made his stomach clench.

"Ron!" Ginny's voice called out from outside his room, "Dinner!"
Ron set the letter down on his bed. He'd get back to this later.

"Alright! Coming!" He said, then got up to go downstairs and eat.

If anything, he felt more conflicted than he had before.

Ron had spent most of the next day doing chores and flying around outside on a broom before retiring to his room and taking a break.

Surely enough, another letter arrived from Harry. Ron practically tore the letter away from Hedwig who watched him curiously as he opened up the new letter.

Dear Diary Ron,

Hey, it's Harry again. Judging by the lack of response the other day, I'm guessing you didn't read anything. That's a relief.

Too bad for you, I've told Hedwig to peck everyone she's delivering to today.

Ron looked up at Hedwig,

"You're, uh, not going to peck me, are you?"

Hedwig gave him an amused look in response. But it seemed the answer was a 'no.'

Ron tilted his head to the side.

"Come to think of it…I think I heard mum say something about a 'bloody owl' this morning. I don't suppose you had something to do with that, did you?"
Hedwig looked smug and Ron assumed that was a 'yes.'

Still…why wasn't she pecking him?

Well, might as well continue, I guess. I woke up my uncle again and this time he proceeded to beat the shit out of me.

"Oh man…" Ron winced. He was stating it outright now?

It really sucked. Imagine waking up to an overgrown, raging hippo towering over you. It's not nearly as fun as it sounds.

I've never been hurt this bad by him before. It's not exactly a regular occurrence. Then again, I've never really gone out of my way to piss them off either (not that I'm going out of my way). I guess, a better way to put it is that I've never done anything that was actually bad before. Aside from scoring higher than my cousin in classes, that is.

I like going to Hogwarts for that reason alone. What do my aunt and uncle care that I got an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts? I doubt they even know what an O means. The rankings in muggle schools are different, see. A is the top score, B is the next best, C is barely passing, D is a fail and then there's a zero, or an F as some people call it.

In muggle school I was actually really good at mathematics. Like, prodigiously good. I probably would have brought Hermione to tears. That being said, she probably would have me beat in everything else. I'm not good at studying like she is, I'm just good at math. I still like to work on some old textbooks the public library was getting rid of in my spare time.

I know, I'm such a nerd. Scratch that, I'm king of the nerds.

Not a bookworm, a numbers nerd.

That was something Ron had never known about Harry. He was good at math? Why wasn't he in Arythmancy?

Thankfully, the next part of his letter seemed to explain this.

When I heard about magic numbers, I thought my world would explode with cotton candy and treacle tarts. Magical math? That was a thing?

I mathed so hard that night…

If Hermione ever knew I used 'math' as a verb she'd have an aneurism…

Ron snorted and covered his mouth.

Merlin, Harry really was a bit of a nerd…How could he have not noticed that?
Bet you're wondering why I hid this? The answer is…drum roll please…I wanted an escape. I know, it's the silliest reason that was ever reasoned.

Sometimes, I'd go off and just do a bunch of math textbooks for fun. I didn't really want anyone to know about that because, well, it was my thing. The Dursleys tried to take it away from me growing up, and you know what? I'm afraid that people might try to take that all away from me in the magical world as well. I grew up in a world where I knew my parents had died and were no longer around. At eleven, I discovered magic and that everything my relatives had told me about my parents had been a lie. Voldemort's being dead had been a lie.

At some point, I guess I started hating lies. But numbers never lied to me. Math was a world that made sense when the rest of the world made no sense at all. It's irrational, and I know that, but I guess I worried that maybe if the rest of the world, both magic and non-magic knew about this world of numbers that it might become tainted somehow. Or that maybe, they'd use numbers to tell me lies as well.

I don't know why I'm explaining all this. Actually, I'm not really sure I even knew all of this myself until I wrote it all down. It's all really simple when it comes down to it, isn't it?

The thing I hate most are lies.

I guess that's all I'll be writing today.

Write to you later,

Harry

Ron stared at the letter a long while before reaching under his bed and pulling out a bag. It was a leather knapsack and inside, Ron had opted to store Harry's previous letter. Just in case.

He decided he'd store this one away too.