Darkness
By Jules
Chapter One
Ron's eyes snapped open, only to be greeted by the angst he'd tucked away the night before. His pallid, freckled hand wiped the sleep from his eyes, the grogginess of his head eating away at the crumbling dreams that once romped playfully throughout his mind. He felt sick. The curtains of the maroon four poster bed shrouded him in darkness, not the usual comforting darkness but a boring, disgusting darkness that filled his soul with anguish. He lifted the corner of the curtain carefully to check the time, 3 'o clock...strange. An overwhelming sense of abhorrence surrounded him. He never thought it possible, but Hogwarts was getting to him.
He laid his head back onto his down pillow, the blankets covering him stifling hot. Ron let out a sigh as he shoved them off. A dull headache pounded annoyingly through his temples, increasing his roommate Neville's snores into an incessant roaring pain.
The fire within the room blazed. Any normal fire would reduce to embers as the night trudged on, but not at Hogwarts...nothing at Hogwarts was normal. Ron reached his stick-like arm out of the curtains of the four poster bed, not bothering to look as he felt around his night table for his wand. Knocking over several trinkets, quills, and bundles of Harry's junk, he finally found his tiny, willow wand out from under the clutter. Damn Harry and his crap, thought Ron, flicking off the ants that flocked to Harry's candy remnants that littered the floor and everywhere else. Seizing the seemingly simple wooden stick, he pointed it directly at the fire, instantaneously extinguishing it entirely.
The room no longer felt sickly warm, yet it was still unbearable for the red headed young man who tossed upon his bed. He couldn't help ignoring it, but the room stank. Harry had gotten back from Quidditch practice at nearly 11:30, covered in mud and too exhausted to shower. I'll do it later, I'm too goddamn tired and I've got to study six fucking chapters of Transfiguration, he'd said. That's fine for you, Ron thought, but I'd like to see you try and live with your bloody stench.
Ron turned over onto his side as he mused angrily about the events the night before. Finals week was at its height, Hermione was bitterly cross about her studies, Harry spent all his time at Quidditch practicing for the cup, and Ron was forced to simply sit by himself, pitifully trying to cram an entire year of learning into his head. He had had quite enough. It felt as if the more time he spent at Hogwarts the more unhappy he became.
Yet it wasn't only finals week that made him uncomfortable, his entire sixth year seemed to be completely horrible. Harry had been made captain of the Gryfffindor Quidditch team, as expected, and Hermione had taken an internship at the Daily Prophet in Hogsmeade. Ron was left very much alone with nothing to do. As Harry and Hermione went off to their respective engagements, Ron was forced to sit with the very dull Dean and Seamus, watching them play endless games of Exploding Snap. Ron had asked them a few times if they'd rather do anything else, yet he only got mutters of contempt in reply.
The few times that he was actually able to come in contact with his best friends, they had nothing better to do but talk of themselves. Ron heard their rather annoying anecdotes run through his head. Oh, good God, I had six hours of Quidditch practice last night and I'm bloody tired. I didn't necessarily have to be there, but I had to, you know, seeing as I'm the captain and all. Can't let my players slip. Can't just have them fall on their asses when the cup rolls around, can I? Ron only nodded in approval before, his witty comebacks waiting until the dead of night to come to him. Well no, Harry, you don't have to be there.but you're so bloody overbearing I'm sure your players are just wishing you'd fall on YOUR ass. Ron congratulated himself for thinking this. Telling Harry off in his mind seemed to lift his spirit just a bit.
There was a time when Ron could go to Hermione for refuge from Harry's sanctimonious chatter, seeing as how she used to be his girlfriend and all. She technically still was actually, yet it sure as hell didn't feel like it. Ron only saw Hermione once a day, after lunch where they routinely, boringly held hands, kissed each other promptly and plodded on to their respective classes. That was literally all the time Hermione had for what she thought of as her boyfriend in their sixth year.
A bitterness ached at the pit of Ron's stomach when he dwelt on thoughts of Hermione, as if she had left a large throbbing sore to eat away at his soul when she left his life. Yet what really got to him was that she didn't even seem to notice. She just plain didn't notice that they had drifted apart. For all she knew, their relationship was goddamn poetic. But it wasn't. The two barely knew each other anymore, and what was once supposed to be love was now absolutely nothing. Nothing at all, and Ron tried his best not to think about it.
Ron waited feverishly for the summer holidays to begin. He simply couldn't resist the sweet, guilty pleasure of knowing both Harry and Hermione would be miserable for three glorious months. Harry's holidays were to be spent, for the first time in a few years, with his scum-of-the- earth relatives the Dursleys. Known to lock poor Harry in closets and relish in his pain, Harry's kin were once a subject of scorn to Ron. There was a time when he was sympathetic; it even used to hurt him to watch Harry suffer. Yet it certainly wasn't so anymore. The way Harry lived his life at Hogwarts, he deserved the torture he felt as the holidays wore on. Ron relished in the thought of Harry longing for his company, thinking blissfully of the days when his supposed best friend would invite him for the summer. This summer was different, however. Things had changed. Harry had changed. Famous Harry Potter and his bloody scar, Ron thought for the thousandth time, yanking mindlessly at the sleeves of his tattered pajamas.
Hermione wouldn't be faring very well either as well. Forced (by her own damn extrinsic self-image) into helping the poor in the wilds of Cambodia, she was determined to place something absolutely magnificent on her application to the Ministry of Magic when her years at Hogwarts were over and done with. Spending most of his young adult life with this girl alone, Ron knew her better than himself, and he knew how unlike her own character a deed like this was. Ron, I need to do it, don't you understand? The Ministry expects a great deal of humanitarian work, now you know that. Hermione restated in Ron's mind. They need guidance, they need help. Their country's in ruins. Don't make us part on bad terms. Too late, Ron thought. Hermione, his supposed girlfriend, who was known to spend months at a time sitting among the stagnant air of the library, had probably never spent more than two hours in the open air, much less help a slew of half- starved natives in a humid, malaria ridden third world country.
Ron's musings were disrupted by the sudden squawk of Harry's snowy owl, who sat in a cage next to his bed. The sudden discord caused the subconscious rustling of blankets from the various boys who occupied the room, yet none but Ron was actually awake. That fucking owl, Ron thought, his gangly arm reaching for the closest textbook and heaving it at the flimsy cage. The cage clattered loudly as it fell to the floor, the large bird crying with rants of rage. A rustling of blankets ensued once more, yet no one rose from their beds, despite the noise. Seems right, Ron thought, nobody ever seems to notice what I do around here.
Ron noticed the room's temperature had gone down considerably as he lay back down upon his pillow, pulling the woolen blankets up to his chin. He closed his eyes slowly as he turned onto his side, descending into a reverie of revenge and redemption. They'll need me, Ron thought, they'll ache as I have. They'll feel the pain that I've felt.
Author's Note: So.how is it? Reviews are appreciated. Questions, comments, angry rants.please: quintessentialhappenstance@yahoo.com
By Jules
Chapter One
Ron's eyes snapped open, only to be greeted by the angst he'd tucked away the night before. His pallid, freckled hand wiped the sleep from his eyes, the grogginess of his head eating away at the crumbling dreams that once romped playfully throughout his mind. He felt sick. The curtains of the maroon four poster bed shrouded him in darkness, not the usual comforting darkness but a boring, disgusting darkness that filled his soul with anguish. He lifted the corner of the curtain carefully to check the time, 3 'o clock...strange. An overwhelming sense of abhorrence surrounded him. He never thought it possible, but Hogwarts was getting to him.
He laid his head back onto his down pillow, the blankets covering him stifling hot. Ron let out a sigh as he shoved them off. A dull headache pounded annoyingly through his temples, increasing his roommate Neville's snores into an incessant roaring pain.
The fire within the room blazed. Any normal fire would reduce to embers as the night trudged on, but not at Hogwarts...nothing at Hogwarts was normal. Ron reached his stick-like arm out of the curtains of the four poster bed, not bothering to look as he felt around his night table for his wand. Knocking over several trinkets, quills, and bundles of Harry's junk, he finally found his tiny, willow wand out from under the clutter. Damn Harry and his crap, thought Ron, flicking off the ants that flocked to Harry's candy remnants that littered the floor and everywhere else. Seizing the seemingly simple wooden stick, he pointed it directly at the fire, instantaneously extinguishing it entirely.
The room no longer felt sickly warm, yet it was still unbearable for the red headed young man who tossed upon his bed. He couldn't help ignoring it, but the room stank. Harry had gotten back from Quidditch practice at nearly 11:30, covered in mud and too exhausted to shower. I'll do it later, I'm too goddamn tired and I've got to study six fucking chapters of Transfiguration, he'd said. That's fine for you, Ron thought, but I'd like to see you try and live with your bloody stench.
Ron turned over onto his side as he mused angrily about the events the night before. Finals week was at its height, Hermione was bitterly cross about her studies, Harry spent all his time at Quidditch practicing for the cup, and Ron was forced to simply sit by himself, pitifully trying to cram an entire year of learning into his head. He had had quite enough. It felt as if the more time he spent at Hogwarts the more unhappy he became.
Yet it wasn't only finals week that made him uncomfortable, his entire sixth year seemed to be completely horrible. Harry had been made captain of the Gryfffindor Quidditch team, as expected, and Hermione had taken an internship at the Daily Prophet in Hogsmeade. Ron was left very much alone with nothing to do. As Harry and Hermione went off to their respective engagements, Ron was forced to sit with the very dull Dean and Seamus, watching them play endless games of Exploding Snap. Ron had asked them a few times if they'd rather do anything else, yet he only got mutters of contempt in reply.
The few times that he was actually able to come in contact with his best friends, they had nothing better to do but talk of themselves. Ron heard their rather annoying anecdotes run through his head. Oh, good God, I had six hours of Quidditch practice last night and I'm bloody tired. I didn't necessarily have to be there, but I had to, you know, seeing as I'm the captain and all. Can't let my players slip. Can't just have them fall on their asses when the cup rolls around, can I? Ron only nodded in approval before, his witty comebacks waiting until the dead of night to come to him. Well no, Harry, you don't have to be there.but you're so bloody overbearing I'm sure your players are just wishing you'd fall on YOUR ass. Ron congratulated himself for thinking this. Telling Harry off in his mind seemed to lift his spirit just a bit.
There was a time when Ron could go to Hermione for refuge from Harry's sanctimonious chatter, seeing as how she used to be his girlfriend and all. She technically still was actually, yet it sure as hell didn't feel like it. Ron only saw Hermione once a day, after lunch where they routinely, boringly held hands, kissed each other promptly and plodded on to their respective classes. That was literally all the time Hermione had for what she thought of as her boyfriend in their sixth year.
A bitterness ached at the pit of Ron's stomach when he dwelt on thoughts of Hermione, as if she had left a large throbbing sore to eat away at his soul when she left his life. Yet what really got to him was that she didn't even seem to notice. She just plain didn't notice that they had drifted apart. For all she knew, their relationship was goddamn poetic. But it wasn't. The two barely knew each other anymore, and what was once supposed to be love was now absolutely nothing. Nothing at all, and Ron tried his best not to think about it.
Ron waited feverishly for the summer holidays to begin. He simply couldn't resist the sweet, guilty pleasure of knowing both Harry and Hermione would be miserable for three glorious months. Harry's holidays were to be spent, for the first time in a few years, with his scum-of-the- earth relatives the Dursleys. Known to lock poor Harry in closets and relish in his pain, Harry's kin were once a subject of scorn to Ron. There was a time when he was sympathetic; it even used to hurt him to watch Harry suffer. Yet it certainly wasn't so anymore. The way Harry lived his life at Hogwarts, he deserved the torture he felt as the holidays wore on. Ron relished in the thought of Harry longing for his company, thinking blissfully of the days when his supposed best friend would invite him for the summer. This summer was different, however. Things had changed. Harry had changed. Famous Harry Potter and his bloody scar, Ron thought for the thousandth time, yanking mindlessly at the sleeves of his tattered pajamas.
Hermione wouldn't be faring very well either as well. Forced (by her own damn extrinsic self-image) into helping the poor in the wilds of Cambodia, she was determined to place something absolutely magnificent on her application to the Ministry of Magic when her years at Hogwarts were over and done with. Spending most of his young adult life with this girl alone, Ron knew her better than himself, and he knew how unlike her own character a deed like this was. Ron, I need to do it, don't you understand? The Ministry expects a great deal of humanitarian work, now you know that. Hermione restated in Ron's mind. They need guidance, they need help. Their country's in ruins. Don't make us part on bad terms. Too late, Ron thought. Hermione, his supposed girlfriend, who was known to spend months at a time sitting among the stagnant air of the library, had probably never spent more than two hours in the open air, much less help a slew of half- starved natives in a humid, malaria ridden third world country.
Ron's musings were disrupted by the sudden squawk of Harry's snowy owl, who sat in a cage next to his bed. The sudden discord caused the subconscious rustling of blankets from the various boys who occupied the room, yet none but Ron was actually awake. That fucking owl, Ron thought, his gangly arm reaching for the closest textbook and heaving it at the flimsy cage. The cage clattered loudly as it fell to the floor, the large bird crying with rants of rage. A rustling of blankets ensued once more, yet no one rose from their beds, despite the noise. Seems right, Ron thought, nobody ever seems to notice what I do around here.
Ron noticed the room's temperature had gone down considerably as he lay back down upon his pillow, pulling the woolen blankets up to his chin. He closed his eyes slowly as he turned onto his side, descending into a reverie of revenge and redemption. They'll need me, Ron thought, they'll ache as I have. They'll feel the pain that I've felt.
Author's Note: So.how is it? Reviews are appreciated. Questions, comments, angry rants.please: quintessentialhappenstance@yahoo.com