Well here it is the next chapter. I know its been ages, but I'm working on something else right now (which I'm not gonna publish until its finished).
The last chapter was crap and I'm trying to think how to change it. Writing it was a drunken accident where I went on a complete tangent to the story.
This chapter keeps annoying me. Every time I try to rewrite it, it ends up worse or just as bad. Any suggestions?? Please give me some feedback and review. Please!
Chapter 4: Numb
In the days since Harry had written to Dumbledore, his nightmares hadn't got worse, but they hadn't got better either. The replies Harry had received had reassured him a bit. Both had said that they would warn the Weasleys and that they would look after them. The Burrow had had powerful magic placed around it to protect the Weasleys and both Sirius and Dumbledore felt they were safe. Dumbledore also brought some other news. Since Voldemort's rise involved using Harry's blood, Dumbledore felt unsure of Harry's safety at the Dursleys' and felt Harry would be safer at the Burrow where everyone could keep an eye on him. This angered Harry as he felt he wasn't just a puppy, but then again he would get to spend time away from Dudley (who was avoiding him anyway since he could swear he saw fire coming from Harry's eyes last time he tried to hit him) as well as getting to spend some time with Ron. Charlie and Bill were home to help protect the family, as well as some special agents from the Ministry, so the Burrow would be absolutely safe. Sirius also said he would pop over from time to time, all be it in dog form, which cheered up Harry, a bit. He would be picked up in 2 days by some Ministry cars, and Harry knew these would be a long 2 days.
***
Meanwhile, over at the Burrow, Ron had become increasingly distant from everyone else. He hadn't joined in on the party when Bill and Charlie came home, he rarely ate with the rest of the family and spent most of his time in his room or the surrounding fields. While everyone tried to help him, they're attempts were fruitless mainly because they didn't know what was wrong. They all thought that Ron got a shock when Harry could have died, they had no idea that Ron was in love with Harry.
Ron spent his days staring into the countryside, ignoring the world spinning around him. All he could think of was Harry. He couldn't explain it, but the loneliness he felt inside was killing him. It was like there was no point in him going on each day, only to realise Harry wouldn't hold him in his arms. He knew it sounded way too teen-angsty, but Ron couldn't stop thinking about what the meaning of his life was, what the point of it all was. Part of Ron was thinking that he should just get over it and that he was a bit of a loser for wallowing in self pity, but a bigger part of him thought if the rest of his life would be like this then there really wasn't much point in living the next hundred and fifty odd years only to end up dead anyway. It seems like such a small thing that wouldn't really take much time to think about, but Harry dominated Ron's thoughts and not a minute would go by were Ron didn't want to hold Harry in his arms. The loneliness was all Ron had to comfort him, and he felt as if it was drawing him closer. He no longer had happiness, just sadness. He felt numb, emotions seemed blind to him and it wasn't long before he couldn't feel the sadness. He felt nothing. Devoid of emotion.
Ron still wrote to Harry, deep down he knew Harry needed his support and he couldn't let his problems get in the way of Harry's recovery. His messages became shorter though, and never mentioned what he had been doing. Harry wrote back promptly and was beginning to open his emotions up to Ron. Harry's notes were often long and even sometimes made Ron cry for the pain Harry was feeling. All Ron wanted to do was kiss away the pain. He felt useless just reading the notes, but to Harry Ron listening was more than he ever had (or could wish for). Thanks to Ron listening, Harry began to feel better, so much so that he felt he could face the return of the school in September. Throughout their writing, Harry never mentioned his nightmares and made sure Ron wouldn't find out by writing to Mr Weasley. Harry feared that Ron might freak out and in some way blame him for creating danger around his family (which of course he wouldn't). Ron had noticed the increased security around the Burrow, but thought it was mainly to protect his father. He'd even noticed the Ministry officer who tried to subtly follow him on his walks into the countryside.
Harry also made sure that Ron wouldn't know he was coming. Harry wanted to surprise him and just turn up, so neither Mr nor Mrs Weasley told any of the children, just in case one of them let it sip.
***
The day before Harry was due, Ron was in his worse state yet. Everything had got to him and he really didn't know why he'd keep going on every day. Thoughts of inadequacy plagued his mind as he sat up in his bed;
'I'm nothing special like the rest of my family, and no one ever wanted me as anything special, I'm never a someone just a nobody. But Harry, wow, no there was someone extraordinary. He was so beautiful, the way he could smile and make anyone feel unique, even me' thought Ron. 'The way Harry was willing to die for love and what was right. I mean it's enough to make anyone fall in love with him. If only he could love me' mused Ron.
Ron couldn't stand this; he had to get out in the open air, alone. He slipped out the backdoor and made his way to the fields. The officer assigned to protect him noticed and followed. Ron managed to give him the slip by one of the oil seed rape fields, because the plants were tall enough to hide behind. Careful not to give his position away, he slowly made his way to one of his favourite spots, the one he had founded on the day he arrived back from Hogwarts. It was a tree, about 10 metres tall, that sat at the top of a small hill over looking the fields. This spot was perfect for seeing the sunset, but that was a few hours away still. The large branches of the tree gave Ron shelter from the midday sun. Here he could sit forever, letting the world pass him by as he always did.
He was numb, even the pain he was feeling seemed to disappear. He got this feeling all the time, well lack of feeling. He hated it, indifference, not feeling anything. He pulled the penknife he had been given for his birthday out of his pocket. He'd heard that some depressed people cut themselves, and never understood why. He thought that seeing as he couldn't feel anything else, he might as well try it. Feeling pain would be better than feeling nothing. At least he could tell if he was still alive. He pulled up the sleeve of is long-sleeved T-shirt, revealing his arm. Thoughts were racing through his mind. 'Why do people actually do this? I suppose I know why I want to, because I hate my body. I hate everything about it. The way I look, the way I'm so stupid and a nobody. I hate myself. Maybe this way I can punish my body for all the hate it's given me.' He stared at the blade for a few minutes, admiring its power. 'This small blade could tear through my flesh, ending all my pain.' He'd thought this a lot, and couldn't really understand why he stayed in this existence, a place where he'd never amount to anything. Somewhere he'd always be a disappointment. He slowly dragged the knife over his arm and yelped lightly. 'That fucking hurt' he thought. But he really felt it, the pain. He watched the blood slowly pooling on his arm in awe, 'This liquid is the source of my life.' It felt as if finally he had some power in his life. Like someone who had just had his or her first drag of a cigarette, and coughed, hating the smell and taste, but who was for some reason compelled to take another drag, Ron was drawn to cutting himself again. This time the pain was different. Not like when he'd cut himself by accident, no, it was good. It was as if it would give him a buzz that would spread from his arm to his chest, then out to his legs. He liked this mixture of anger at himself, and pain from the cuts. It seemed to drown the emptiness he felt inside. But it didn't last. Each cut would make him feel happy for only minute, then it would be over and he would be back in this world. Alone.
Hours passed and Ron cut himself a few more times, savouring each moment as long as possible. Most of the time he sat there he played with the blood on his arm and watched it dry. The sun was setting now, and the sky was a brilliant red that shaded into blue. 'It's beautiful, but worthless without someone to share it with' he thought.
Ron wiped his arm with a tissue, to make sure no blood was still wet, and rolled down his sleeve. The last thing he wanted was anyone to know. He'd heard that the people who cut themselves do it for attention, he though differently, 'I'm definitely not one of them. I'm doing this 'cause I like the way it feels. I don't need sympathy and I don't want attention.' Slowly he made his way back to the Burrow in the last of the day's sunlight.
A/N: sorry if it's really Ron based, but I can relate to Ron but not Harry, so I kinda lean more to saying how he feels.