I had never been loved, though I knew the emotion all too well. For me, it was the bittersweet feeling of knowing that the one person who could make your life perfect was unattainable, just out of reach. Even more so, when it was your best friend that she loved.
It took a while for the truth to penetrate my stubborn mind. For three years, I clung to the hope that maybe she had feelings for me. Although I knew the attraction between the two of them, as long as they never openly became attached, there was hope.
What a fool I was.
That fatal day in seventh year will stick in my mind forever. The day when they came out of the library hand in hand, smiling at each other. I could feel my own smile dimming, but I forced it into a false grin. Eyeing their clasped hands, I excused myself, fleeing their presence. I'm sure they thought I wished to leave them alone, but really, it was because I needed to be alone.
After that day, I lost my appetite. Where before I had been eating voraciously to keep up with my growth spurts, the thought of food now made me gag. I began frequenting the Quidditch Pitch, working incessantly on my flying skills. They got better, but my tangle of emotions got worse.
I couldn't sleep either. I would get into my four poster bed and draw the curtains, only to discover that sleep wouldn't come, no matter how tired I was. My grades began to soar, as I would do homework instead of sleeping. Not much else to do at two in the morning.
A month passed, then another. I was virtually a walking skeleton, all skin and bones. Dark bags sagged under my eyes, and still no one noticed. I had improved so much in Quidditch and academic skills that everyone assumed I was alright.
I thought I was alright, I truly did. After all, no one eats if they're not hungry. And these days, everyone had bags under their eyes. Voldemort's rise had still not been acknowledged, but not one wizard or witch besides Fudge doubted it.
So I wasted away, watching the love I could never have unfold.
* * *
I had fallen head over heels in love with her. The day we finally kissed was the best day of my life. Coming out of the library, holding her hand, feeling her presence in a different way all together, I hardly noticed Ron as he excused himself. She was all I knew, and I was all she knew. We were the center's of each other's universe, and nothing was going to change between us.
I feel guilty now that I look back at it. He had stopped eating, sleeping, and had I noticed? No. I almost completely ignored him as he degenerated into a zombie, paying only Hermione attention. He played Quidditch, did homework. With all the time he spent away from us, giving us time alone, I thought he had made other friends.
Apparently, he hadn't.
* * *
My grip on the Cleansweep trembled. I frowned. Usually it was as strong as iron. Why was it faltering now? Ah well, no matter. Kicking off into the air, I felt an emotion as close as I could get to love. Joy. There was nothing like gliding silently through the air, the wind bristling your hair, making your eyes water.
I guided the broom higher, up above the goals. The majestic vision cheered me for a moment. Then it began to swirl, the blues of the ocean running together with the grays of the castle. On the broom, my gaunt hand slipped. I scrambled for a hold, but my strength gave out, even as my sight blackened.
The last thing I remember before I passed out was plummeting to the ground, no longer a bird but a stone.
* * *
Ron wasn't in Divination that day. Odd. I had just seen him just the night before, heading out to the Quidditch Pitch. He hadn't been of breakfast, of course. He never was, spending all his meals in the library.
My mind was clear for the moment, since Hermione wasn't there. Able to focus on something besides her, I realized there was something wrong with that last thought.
...spending all his meals in the library.
You weren't allowed to eat in the library.
I paled.
Frantically, I began trying to recall the last time I had seen him eat anything. Nothing. For that matter, I hadn't even seen him in his bunk for over two months. I always he assumed he came in later and woke up earlier.
I now knew I was wrong.
Jumping from one of the assorted chairs in Trelawney's heavily incensed room, I ignored the odd looks I was getting from the professor and students. I had to find him.
First I headed to the library, hoping he was there and had just lost track of time. He wasn't. I even consulted with Madame Pince, who told me he hadn't been there this morning.
Crap.
He wasn't in the Common Room or boy's dormitory. That left one place. The Quidditch Pitch.
I began making my way down to the field. As luck would have it, who would I run into but Snape.
"What are you doing out of class, Potter? Think you're so smart, you can skip?"
"No, Professor Snape, it's not that, you have to believe me. Ron's been missing since last night an-"
He cut me off.
"Lying through your teeth to get out of detention, are we? We'll see what Dumbledore has to say about that. You'll be coming with me now Potter."
What possessed me to hit him, I have no idea, but I did. Slugging him in the stomach, I took advantage of his moment of incapacity to run past him, out onto the Quidditch Pitch. Once there, I ground to a stop, my eyes wide at the sight before me.
Ron lay in a pool of his own blood.
His hair was encrusted in a brown layer of dried fluid, though the underside was still wet. Blood still pumped sluggishly from a gash on his cranium and his skin was a deathly white.
I rushed forward, gathering his torso in my arms. The pale skin was freezing and he felt like nothing but bones beneath his robes, but a pulse still beat in his wrist, though a bit uncertainly.
I called for Snape, my voice cracking with urgency. I didn't care who the help was, as long as it was help.
He emerged from the buildings, looking around for my voice, no doubt to punish me. But when he finally rested his eyes on me and my pitiful bundle, he gaped for a moment, then strode quickly back inside.
I prayed that he was going for help. Maybe it was only those prayers that brought it, but help did come, in the form of Madame Pomfrey. She strapped the broken form onto a stretcher and bore him up to the hospital wing.
* * *
I woke slowly, faces swimming gently into focus. My head throbbed horribly and I felt cold, freezing even. But through the pain, through the discomfort, swam the face of Hermione, and I smiled, forgetting her relationship with Harry, remembering only my love for her.
Then I saw she was holding hands with Harry.
I closed my eyes again.
* * *
I remember the look in his eye when he woke up, and looked at Hermione. It was a look of pure love, pure adoration. A look that faltered and shattered the moment he saw our linked hands.
A part of him died that day.
His cracked skull healed and he began eating and sleeping again, hanging out with me and Hermione more. He was changed though, far more downcast and solemn. Defeated almost. And he never really laughed or smiled anymore. Any laugh he gave was half hearted at best, any smile wan or sad.
There something missing from him, some vital part of his personality. There was no spark in his eyes anymore, no flames in his spirt. But because of that, he began to fade into the background to other people. Not to me, though. I didn't want anything to happen because of me again.
The first time I saw him truly smile since that day was when I held his body once again in my arms, covered in blood like it had been before. It was a hideous smile, with gaps where teeth had once been, but the first genuine smile he had donned since seventh year.
It was his last as well.