Ron's POV:
I don't remember much between the moment they started confronting me and the moment I stepped outside. All I remember was feeling that gust of cold air, taking a deep breath and feeling suddenly very calm. My heart was still beating hard against my chest, almost painfully so, but I didn't feel like hitting anyone anymore, and that's what mattered, really.
Once outside, I ran through the yard, jumped the hedge and ran across the field. I stopped next to a tree and leaned against it, taking deep breaths. Three words kept running through my head;
They know. Everything.
It was a terrible realization. The more I rationalized it, the worse it seemed. Everything was perfect, everything was fine, and they had to go and stick their noses where they didn't belong!
Well, I guess they don't know entirely everything, but they have an idea. This is Harry and Hermione, after all. They'll figure it out. They'll poke and prod and pry until I crack. But…but I won't. I won't crack. I haven't yet, have I? No…no, I haven't. And that's saying something, that's saying something…
I repeated that like a mantra.
But…it almost hurt just thinking about it. That feeling. . .the helplessness, the humiliation, the panic, the pain…but the worst of it all was the weakness…
I can't drag them into this! I can't! Neither of them would!
Ah, but you're not them, are you? You're not Harry Potter. You're not Hermione Granger. You're just Ron. Ronald Weasley. Who's that?
That voice. I hated it. But it seemed to be burned into my mind, somehow.
Maybe I should tell them…maybe they do deserve to know…
Oh, who am I kidding? I couldn't tell them if my life depended on it! I don't know why, I just can't! I'm just a fucking idiot. These are my best friends, I should be able to tell them anything, and yet…
Slowly, I pulled out the envelope from my pocket. I was sort of afraid to open it. I didn't want to see what I wrote. I didn't want to remember when I didn't have to. Carefully, fearfully, I glanced down and read it.
Dear Harry,
I don't care what you have to say, Harry, you're coming this summer if I have to bust into your house and drag you kicking and screaming.
Really, though, none of this, NONE of it, is your fault. At all. Trust me. I can't say I understand what your going through, or rather, if I said I did you wouldn't believe it, but I know that things will be ok. Things are always ok, in the end. Come to the Burrow. It'll get your mind, as well as mine, off of things.
Bill and Charlie are back for good. They decided to move back here, to be here in case something were to happen. Family support, you know? There are other reasons, I think, but that's a bit complicated to get into through a letter. Tell you when you get here, alright?
There's something else I thought maybe you should know. I don't think it's very much a big deal. Well, maybe it is. I don't know. But I still think I should tell you. See, I have these scars. Not sure how many. About a dozen in total, maybe. And I don't really know where they're coming from.
Ok, that's a bold faced lie. I do know, but I'm not too keen to tell you. It's too weird. I guess I've got no choice but to tell you though, do I? I'm just stalling here…ok, ok, the thing is, I've been, well, having these dreams. Strange dreams. And I've seen…Ugh, I sound crazy. This is also a bit complicated to explain over paper, so I'll just talk to you when you get here (curious? All the more reason to come, then!).
See you soon, I hope,
Ron
PS Sorry this has been a bit incomprehensible. You'll understand eventually.
Despite the seriousness of the entire situation, I had to laugh after reading that.
I remember when I wrote these letters. Writing Harry's, everything came so easy. I remember thinking "I'll send these, and they'll come over and the three of us will discuss it and figure this out". But when I started writing Hermione's, something happened. Something inside. I don't know what. But I found everything came out sounding…wrong. I can tell just comparing the two letters.
Sending them would be wrong. It was betrayal, somehow.
It was at this point that I sort of panicked. I ripped those letters up. I swore. I bit my lower lip, so much so it bled.
Betrayal…betrayal…what the hell? Who am I betraying? Not him. No. Not him because …because…because of what? Was I betraying him?
More panic. I ignored that sharp, stinging pain in my lip. I could taste the blood, I felt it trickle down my chin, but I didn't acknowledge it. Finally, after calming down, I forced myself to think rationally again.
No. Not him. Not him, because of Harry. Because of Hermione. Because of my family. Betrayal. What I'm doing now, this is betrayal. Secrets and lies, and for what?
Fuck.
I sat there for a long time after that. It was hard. It was hard because I couldn't tell anyone, and I couldn't explain why I couldn't tell anyone. I didn't understand it myself, and that made it so frustrating.
My memory of what happened for the next hour is very fuzzy. I might have cried. I might have swore some more. Maybe I just sat there. I don't know. My mind was either completely blank or completely over-loaded, I'm not sure which.
I know I fell asleep after the hour. I'm sure of that.
I know Hermione and Harry woke me up around 3 in the morning. I heard them, calling me. I had to force my eyes open, which is strange because I was very eager to wake. But once they were open, I found myself staring into a pair of green eyes. Harry was kneeling on my left, Hermione on my right.
"Ron…come on, get up."
No. No, I don't want to. Let me stay here.
I must have lost my voice, I don't know, but I didn't actually say anything. I tried. But my thoughts just wouldn't come out in words.
"You've got to get up Ron."
You know that feeling you get, like knives thrusting into you over and over? 'Cause I got that feeling now. No? Well, it hurts like a bitch.
"Ron, please, please get up! For me?" Hermione looked anxious.
No…well, maybe for you…no, never mind. I'd rather stay here. You can stay with me, if you like. But I'm not going anywhere.
Still, I didn't say anything. I was aching all over. It wasn't a new occurrence, but it never seemed to get easier.
"Are you hurt? Ron, answer me please!" It was Hermione again.
Hurt? Remember the knives thing? No, you don't, because I didn't tell you, because I'm not talking, because I'm a worthless fuck who doesn't deserve friends like you-
"You need help, don't you?" It was Harry's voice. I felt a little ashamed, at that moment, lying there, not saying anything, unable to get up on my own. Like a small child.
And there's the valiant Harry Potter, coming to save the day. To save you.
That damn voice was back. God, do I ever hate that damn voice.
"Ron, hey! Do you need help?" Harry again. I glanced at Hermione, who seemed close to tears. Ignoring that voice, swallowing whatever pride I had, I nodded. Harry and Hermione, never losing their understanding, if not confused and sad looks, each grabbed an arm, and helped me up.
Why are you here? Why are you helping me? I was horrible to you. You don't even understand what's wrong. You don't know why I was lying there. Why are you helping me?
Right then, I would have given anything to be able to talk. But I just couldn't. If I so much as opened my mouth, I would have…I don't even know.
But a second later, I was sort of happy about it, because we didn't need to talk right then. They didn't know what was happening to me. Hell, I didn't either, not everything anyways. But still, Harry gave me a half grin and clapped me on the shoulder. Hermione smiled tearfully, and wrapped her arm around my waist (for support, I'm sure), and we headed back to the house.
Somehow, through a haze of pain, I made it all the way up the stairs and into my room. I collapsed on my bed. I heard them whispering, undoubtedly about me. I heard Hermione say goodnight and slip out. I heard Harry shuffle around, probably fixing up his own bed and getting changed. I heard him call my name once. Twice. Three times, even. I felt a blanket drape onto me. Then it was very still and quiet, and I was alone with my thoughts.
Why are you helping me?
Why are you helping me?
Why aren't you helping me?
Why aren't you helping him?
Why aren't I helping him?
Aren't I helping him?
Oh God...
