Disclaimer: The characters used in this fanfic are not my own, but property of J.K Rowling

Ron awoke suddenly in a cold sweat again. Insomnia seemed to have been plaguing him recently, well, ever since Harry had been with Draco. He looked around to see whether Harry had returned yet; finding that he hadn't, he slumped back into his bed and tossed and turned for several minutes, trying to get back to sleep. This, he found, was impossible so reluctantly he threw on some clothes that were lying around and went down into the common room. Ten past midnight.

The ashes in the fire still glowed amber, illuminating the room and throwing dancing shadows up onto all of the walls. Ron moved slowly, dragging himself across to his usual chair in the far corner of the room. There was no one still awake at this time, apart from Harry, or at least he assumed. Maybe he was going to pull another all-nighter and come back early in the morning with no one the wiser; apart from Ron himself. It was tearing him apart to see his best friend with Draco, Ron's greatest enemy. Draco had always treated Ron badly, ever since they had entered Hogwarts a few years ago, always because Ron had come from a relatively poor background. He couldn't help it, and it made it all the worse that both Harry and Draco himself were very well off compared to most in the school. Despite this, Ron hated receiving the expensive presents Harry gave him, or at least did until recently. It made him feel all the more worthless.

Recently things had taken a turn for the worst for Ron's relationships, with both Hermione and Harry. He felt as if he was falling into a never-ending pit, spiralling out of control; he was becoming a recluse and was neurotic and cynical to the bone. But he hadn't always been like this, he knew it. There was a time when he could remember being happy and sharing healthy relationship with both Hermione and Harry. Ron's jealousy was doing this to him, he knew it, and yet he couldn't prevent the anger building up inside him every time he thought of Draco leading Harry on. Harry seemed to be the only one who couldn't see that Draco had no wish to be with Harry but was using him. Ron wanted more than anything to save Harry, and if he could crush Draco, either mentally or preferably physically it would be all the more sweet. But Harry was infatuated and wouldn't listen to the warnings that Ron and Hermione, his two best friends, issued.

Tears welled up behind Ron's green eyes and poured like a waterfall, cascading down his cheeks, showering on the floor in big, bright drops. Furiously, Ron rubbed at his face, brushing the tears off onto the sleeve of his shirt. He hated emotionally outbursts, they made him feel weak, and now he had no-one around to console him like Harry had before they were coming all the more. He was unstable; his temperament was like that on a pedestal, one small knock and he would fall. Just recently this change in temperament had caused his alienation from his other friends, brothers, and now the rest of his family. He felt alone in this chaos, and was slipping further from all that he used to know.

He walked over to the mirror and examined himself. His face was blotched; with red streaks from the trails of the tears and bloodshot eyes. His hair was bedraggled and he looked gaunt, closer to death than alive. His health was deteriorating due to lack and sleep and more often than not he was missing classes or falling asleep in lessons. His marks were tumbling downhill, but he didn't care. He took pleasure in this destruction of self. Moving his eyes further down he focused on his torso. First, abdomen; he was still fairly thin but now, as he gradually mature into a teenager his relatively straggly body was becoming more full as muscles began to take form. He wasn't think anymore, he was better built and he took pride in this, but he still wasn't as good at sport as either Harry or Draco. If he was honest with himself he would have said that he was afraid of hurting himself or embarrassing himself playing Quiditch, but he said that he just hadn't had the time to practise like Harry had. But still, looking at himself, beneath the haggard features he saw a young man staring back, he knew that some people would find him attractive.

Tears began to fall again, like little drops of rain. Ron sat down again, head in hands and this time the tears came in an unstoppable flow. He felt so weak. Why did Harry choose Draco over him? He would never know, he didn't want to anymore. He didn't care, all he wanted was Harry back. The Harry who used to care about Ron. Not the Harry that Ron saw now, the Harry that was Draco's lap dog, the one who had begun putting Ron down. Ron didn't think that Harry cared anymore.

Finally, when the tears had stopped and Ron began to breathe normally again, no longer sobbing, he decided that now was the time to put his idea into action. Over the past few weeks Ron had been scheming and plotting. He wanted Harry to hurt like Ron was, to know what it feels like to lose one of your friends. Hell, Harry didn't even notice that Ron was looking so pale, he barely said anything to him anymore, ever chance he had spare time he was off with Draco. To have some 'private time'. The bastard, for that's what Ron deemed him to be now; no true friend would let him down on such a regular basis, should feel what it's like to despair, what it's like to be alone. Ron's smiled slightly, a little colour coming to his face, and then gradually began to laugh, a low rumble at first, but as it progressed the laugh become something far more maniacal. Listening to himself laughing, Ron realised finally how twisted he had become. The thing was, he liked it.

He checked the clock, just gone one, and, pondering over the decision for a few seconds longer, exited the common room in the direction of escape; from Hogwarts. He was going out into the night and he didn't care what was to become of him, the adrenaline rush quelled his fear.

Panting heavily Ron looked around, and realising there was no one around watching him inhaled deeply, steeling himself. He had ran all the way from the common room, but it felt so damn good. Finally, having caught his breath, Ron turned to the door and tried the lock. Just as he thought, it was unlocked. He grimaced slightly as the door squeaked, echoing around the great corridor, but remembering he was alone, his heart quickly resumed to it's previous pace, still slightly quicker than normal. He looked out into the night. This was it, his chance to make Harry hurt.

As he stepped out beneath the canopy of the stars the night closed around him like a cloak. A cold breeze hit Ron's face, stinging slightly and causing his eyes to water, but he didn't care anymore.

'Come on sweet catastrophe,' he whispered as he stepped further into the black, his footsteps echoing for a while until there was nothing left.