Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter and his world are the creation of JK Rowling.

AN: This story is not a continuation of "Lost," nor does it make reference to anything that happened in that story. Sorry. I haven't written a sequel to it yet.

"The remarkable thing is that we really love our neighbor as ourselves: we do unto others as we do unto ourselves. We hate others when we hate ourselves. We are tolerant toward others when we tolerate ourselves. We forgive others when we forgive ourselves. We are prone to sacrifice others when we are ready to sacrifice ourselves."

-Eric Hoffer

Arthur and Molly Weasley were buried in a small cemetery just outside Catchpole- St. Ottery on a sunny Thursday afternoon. The gathering was large, for the couple had been well-known for their loyalty and kind hearts, if not admired for their by now well-known stance against Voldemort, despite their pureblood status. Among the attendees were several representatives of the Bones Administration in the Ministry and past students of Hogwarts, for many of their children's friends had looked on the Weasley's as their second family. The only noticeable absence was of their youngest son.

The morning of the funeral, Dumbledore announced in a subdued voice that Ron would not be attending the burial. This announcement caused a small uprising within the family, and the twins and Charlie instantly made for the Hospital Wing to drag their brother out of bed. Dumbledore, however, stopped them with an upraised hand.

"I've been speaking to Ron all morning, and he is not ready for this." Looking sadly to each angry face turned on him, he continued. "Do not forget: Ron was the last to see your parents alive. It had been his wish to stay and fight with them, but they sent him along against his will, and the guilt he feels for their deaths lies heavily in him. I fear forcing him to face this before he is ready would only push him deeper into despair."

Though with much grumbling, the brothers listened, hoping inside that Dumbledore was right in this decision. Perhaps Ron simply needed time to come to grips with what had happened.

The next day, Ron, Ginny, and Harry were moved to Grimmauld Place were Hermione joined them for the remaining days of the summer.

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Ron lay on the curtained bed that had been his since he and his sister were moved to Grimmauld Place three days before. He had hardly moved in that time, certainly never ventured past the door of his room, and certainly never when there was anyone else in the room. It was rare though, as there always seemed to be someone in the room trying to cheer him up or convince him to come downstairs. Harry had been smart enough to quit trying after the first day, but had seemed to redouble his effort since Hermione had turned up yesterday. Ron hadn't so much as looked at him since that morning in the Hospital Wing when he had heard the Boy Who Lived had watched his parents killed.

"Ron? Ron, it's me. Hermione," the voice came again, as if he couldn't guess after hearing it nearly every day for the past six years. Did they think he was thick? Why couldn't they just leave him alone? "Ron, please, I'm worried about you. We all are."

"Look, Ron, we know how you feel," Harry's voice drifted in, angering Ron even more. He didn't want to hear that Harry-Bloody-Potter knew how he felt. He didn't care that they were worried for him. He just wanted them to leave him alone! "You can't- OW! Bugger! RON!"

The red head pulled a pillow over his head to shut them out, a ghost of a smile of satisfaction playing about his lips that they had tried to pull his curtains open and finally figured out just how much he wanted to talk to them. Perhaps the Vexatius Charm he had placed on his curtains would convince them, and when he heard the door slam shut again, he knew he had succeeded.

Finally convinced they had gone, Ron threw the curtains aside on his bed and threw himself from the soft mattress. He was tired of being still. Anger radiated from him, and he never did well when that was so. He paced, hands fisted, attempting to dispel all emotion from his body. He wanted everyone to just leave him alone. He wanted people to stop talking to him like he was some fragile- well, like he was fragile! He wanted to stop hurting. And most of all, he wanted his parents.

Stalking past Harry's bed, Ron caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the bureau. He froze, staring hard at the image, trying to catch a glimpse of his parents in him, but his nose was too long, his face too angular- even his eyes were the wrong color. He had both of their trademark red hair, but he saw nothing that truly resembled them. There was nothing in him from his parents.

"I hate you," he said quietly, then with more conviction, screaming it as loud as he could as his hand curled once again into a fist and slammed itself hard into the mirror. It shrieked as the glass shattered and flew in all directions, landing on the floor and shattering further. The door flew open almost instantly and Hermione was across the room, her eyes wide as she stared at him.

"Ron, your hand!" She cried, staring at the still curled fist where blood had begun to seep slowly through the various cuts.

"Leave me alone, Hermione!"

"But-," she stammered helplessly. "I- I just wanted-."

"To do what? To make me feel better? To tell me again that you understand? How? Did you read it in a book somewhere?" He was screaming. He knew he was screaming despite her being fewer than a dozen feet from him, and he was finding it oddly satisfying to see the tears leaking from her eyes and streaming down her cheeks.

"Ron?" Harry was standing just inside the door, breathless, as if he had just run up the stairs. "What's going on?" His eyes darted back and forth between Ron and Hermione.

"Hermione here was just trying to fix me, that's all!"

"Look, mate, we all-."

"Shut up, Harry! Stop trying to tell me you know how I feel! You think that just because your parents are dead, that you know how I feel? You don't!" He was furious now. "You never knew your parents! I knew mine for seventeen years! I know what I'm missing! So stop trying to act like it's the same thing! It's not!" From the racket on the stairs, the members of the Order coming to discover who was screaming and destroying their headquarters. Ron's eyes were glued on his best friend, who's face was completely white at the words Ron had thrown at him. "You think you're special? There's nothing special about having dead parents!"

"Stop it, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing herself before him, but he grabbed her roughly by the arm and shoved her back away. This seemed to snap something in Harry as he jumped forward, pushing Ron away from Hermione.

"Leave her alone!" he screamed, but was silenced as Ron's fist came lashing out, catching Harry squarely in the face.

It seemed to take an eon for Harry to fall back, as the punch had caught him completely off guard. Ron seemed to snap back into himself as Harry hit the ground, coughing and choking. Hermione spun, dropping to his side and wrapping her arms around him protectively as blood flowed from his nose, over his mouth and chin. He was staring at Ron in complete shock. Ron's anger dissipated, and for a moment, he stuttered an apology, but it never made it out of his mouth as the twins burst into the room, taking a quick look around the room. George jumped instantly to Harry's side, but Harry's eyes were still locked on Ron's.

"What the HELL is going on in here?" Fred yelled. The same question seemed to be on the lips of the present Order members who had also burst into the room. The anger flared back. Ron grabbed his wand someone had left on the night stand with the various unopened letters he had received and pushed his way out of the room. Fred moved to follow him, his face flushed, but Dumbledore, who had just allowed Ron to stalk by him without a word, stopped him.

"Give him some time, Fred."

As Fred tried to argue, his voice joined by Bill and Charlie, Dumbledore cast a glance at Minerva McGonagall. She nodded once, then followed the angry young Weasley out the door.

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Minerva McGonagall found the boy exactly where she thought she might: standing in the living room of the empty Burrow. She crept into the room, her paws making no sound on the wood floors, and sat on her haunches watching the boy as he simply stood. Someone had cleaned up the glass that had littered the floor, and righted the furniture that had been strewn about. Glancing around the room, Minerva's eyes landed on the family clock, and she noticed that the two longest arms, Arthur and Molly's, were stuck pointing at "Mortal Peril." She sighed to herself, hoping the boy wouldn't glance up at it.

"I already saw it." Minerva's head spun around to where Ron was watching her, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his shoulders slumped. "I know it's you, Professor. You can change back."

Seeing no need to remain in her animagus form, she shifted back to her human form, but said nothing, merely waited patiently for Ron to say something more, if that was what he wanted.

"I expected it to look different," he said at last, though he wasn't looking at his professor. "Somehow, I expected it to look like my parents died here." He stepped forward, putting his hands on the back of a faded green chair. "I always hated this house. I hated that it was so clumsy and mismatched, that we had chickens in the yard- that none of our stuff was new. And now, I'd give anything to be here again with them." He said nothing more for a long time, simply stood with his hands on the shabby green couch, as if trying to take in every detail he could. "Did Dumbledore send you after me?"

"That was quite a scene you made at the headquarters, Mr. Weasley. I was simply sent to be sure you were alright. Are you?"

"You know, whenever any of you called me 'Mr. Weasley,' I just wanted to say back, 'Mr. Weasley is my father. Call me Ron.' Guess I won't get that chance now, huh?" He turned and looked at her, his sad eyes shining with tears. "I didn't mean it, Professor. I didn't mean any of that stuff I said. I just- I don't know why I said it."

"You wanted to push them away, to hurt them. You wanted them to feel as hurt as you do right now." A shocked expression crossed his face, then disappeared quickly as he felt the truth in her words. He sat quickly on the couch, burying his face in his hands. Minerva moved toward him for the first time since she had arrived and sat beside him on the couch, though he made no movement and made to sign that he realized she was beside him. "We build walls to keep out the hurt, the pain, Ronald, but they also keep out the happiness and the healing."

"That sounds like something Dumbledore would say," he said dropping his hands.

"It should. He said those words to me nearly forty years ago when my husband and our son was killed." She glanced over and saw Ron looking at her curiously. "Did you think I was always an old professor?"

"Well, actually, yeah."

"Well I wasn't, Mr. Weasley. I was married once. I had a family."

"What happened? But, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he added hurriedly.

"It's quite alright. It gets easier with time." She smiled sadly and sighed. "When I was very young, not much older than yourself, I fell in love with and married Nathan McGonagall. We had a son, Sean. Nathan was a very talented Auror, but because of that, he had many enemies, as I'm sure you can imagine. Nathan, however, never really believed himself important enough to be threatened, never wanted to be one of those wizards who were afraid to go outdoors or onto public places. He lived his life. When Sean was seven, they went to Diagon Alley. He was going to buy our son his first broom. I stayed home, though I can't remember why." Her voice tapered off for a moment, but a wave of her hand brought her back. "Anyway, the brother of a man Nathan had arrested was also in Diagon Alley, recognized him from the trial, and killed both him and my son in broad daylight."

"I'm sorry, Professor."

"So am I. I knew your parents for many years. They were wonderful people- and they loved their children very much."

"I know. I never thought about it until now, but Mom and Dad, they really loved us. I used to think that if they had fewer kids, they'd have more money, be happier."

"Money was never important to them."

"I know." Ron's eyes were welling up with tears, but he furiously wiped them away with the back of his hand, hoping his professor wouldn't notice. He took a deep, shuddering breath, but his throat closed up on his, forcing a sob to escape. The tears he had tried so hard to hold back were now rolling down his face, which he buried once again in his hands.

A comforting hand fell on his back.

"It's okay to cry, Ron. It's okay that it hurts. It only means that you loved them dearly."

"When does the hurting stop?" he asked, his voice tight.

"It doesn't," Minerva answered quietly. "It never really stops, but it gets easier to manage. Some days, you will wake up feeling like your world has been ripped from you, and others, the pain is numb and you can live again." She sighed heavily, wiping at her eyes with a white handkerchief. "But the thing to remember is that you must never give up living, no matter how much you want to lock yourself away." She smiled at her student. "I tried that, and Dumbledore was right. You can't heal if you push away everyone who is trying to help you."

They sat in silence for a long while afterward, Ron's shoulders shaking as he attempted to calm himself until his tears had fallen and his sobs escaped, both of their minds filled with those people they had lost, as they stared into the empty fireplace. The sun had long set, and the room was nearly dark when the clock rang out nine o'clock.

"Come, Mr. Weasley. We should return before anyone starts to worry." Ron rose from the couch, pulling his wand from his pocket.

"Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. This- you really helped."

"You're welcome, Mr. Weasley. And remember, my door is always open to you."

They disapparated from the silent house.

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Ginny Weasley sat cross-legged on her bed running her fingers through Crookshanks' ginger fur. The previous week had been rough on her, as the dark circles around her eyes made apparent, but as bad as things were, they seemed to be getting worse. Namely, because of Ron. Ron, her rock, had completely closed himself off from everyone including herself, leaving Ginny to pretty much fend for herself emotionally. Sure, she had other brothers, but Charlie and Bill were making arrangements and going through records, and the twins were, well, the twins, not really needing anyone but each other, and while they had tried briefly to talk to Ginny, she had only ended up crying so hard that Lupin had asked them both to leave the room. They weren't being rude or anything. It was just that seeing them be so serious and dour only reminded Ginny even more about the cataclysmic event that had crash landed in a fiery explosion in the middle of her family. There was Percy too, but he wasn't around much, and when he was, his idea of comfort was nowhere near meeting the standards of its title.

Harry and Hermione helped a great deal, talking to her and drawing her into games of chess and Exploding Snap, but Ginny still felt empty inside, though through no fault of her friends. It was knowing Ron was having such a tough time that seemed to keep her dwelling on the edge of depression. She thanked the gods a hundred times over that she had been sleeping when Ron had finally appeared out of his curtained bed in order to scream something horrible at Hermione and Harry and to lash out physically. She had woken near the end in time to see Professor McGonagall hurrying after her brother, then to see George leading Harry from their room, blood dripping down his face and staining the front of his shirt, with Hermione behind, silent with red-rimmed eyes. Somehow, without even having to ask, she knew it was Ron who had caused all of this.

A knock at the door brought Ginny from her absent petting. She shooed the cat from her lap and went to the door, surprised to find a very grim looking Ron at the door. She wanted to be angry at him for lashing out at his friends, for leaving her alone in her grief, but as soon as she saw him, tears sprang into her eyes.

"Hi, Gin," he whispered, pulling her into a bone crushing hug. She allowed herself to melt against him, burying her face in his robes, glad that he was okay. Suddenly, it seemed that maybe the hurt could go away now that her big brother seemed to be better. All too soon, his grip loosened, and she knew he wasn't really here to see her. "How are you?" he asked softly, holding her shoulders and looking closely at her.

"I'm okay," she answered, surprised that her voice shook as it did. She didn't realize how much she needed him to be okay. He smiled softly at her.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."

"It's okay. I understand. Really."

"Look, Gin, can I talk to Hermione for a few minutes?" He glanced toward the bed Hermione slept in as he asked, and Ginny could see the pain in his eyes.

"Yeah. Just-." She broke off, pulling him into another hug. "Make everything better?"

"I'll try."

Ginny smiled weakly at him, then slipped out the door, pulling it closed behind her. She didn't, however, go downstairs to give them privacy. She may have been mourning, but she was still a Weasley, dammit. She looked around surreptitiously, then leaned her ear against the door.

"I asked you to leave, Ron!" she heard Hermione tell him, but whatever Ron said, he mumbled too quietly to be heard. "Talk? You want to talk?" Hermione's voice shrieked. "Fine, Ron. Let's talk!" Her voice dropped very low, and Ginny knew her brother was in for it. When Hermione was angry enough that her voice dropped, everyone knew to run for the hills. Surprisingly, Ron did not appear suddenly on the other side of the door. In fact, the twins suddenly appeared, looking very interested in their little sister with her ear pressed against the door.

"Ron's in there with Hermione," she whispered, not moving away from the door.

"When'd he go in?" George asked, pressing his ear to the door.

"Just now." He joined her, pressing his ear against the door as well, but Fred was looking angrily at the door.

"I hope she hexes him."

"She won't," Ginny whispered. "But she won't let him off easily."

"How do you know?" George asked.

"Oh, honestly, you two. Don't you pay attention to anything?" Both twins looked at her blankly. Rolling her eyes, Ginny turned her attention back to the door.

"I DON'T CARE!" Hermione's voice came through as if the door weren't closed. "You hit Harry, Ron! I can't believe you did that! As sick as he's been-."

"What do you mean, sick?" Ron's voice came back, but it sounded more demanding than it should have. Ginny groaned inwardly.

"Well of course you haven't seen it! You haven't spoken to us since we got here!"

"Did it ever occur to you that I didn't want to talk to anyone?" he demanded. "Excuse me for being selfish-."

"Odds," George whispered, his voice drowning out the arguing on the other side, "on the outcome of this argument."

"-too busy to notice HARRY has a COLD!" Ron's voice finished.

"Not a chance," Fred answered. "She's going to hex him. Just give him a chance. She'll do it."

"You're on," George whispered back taking his brother's hand. "A galleon." They all leaned back toward the door as the voices had lowered again.

"What's going on?" Tonks asked, coming up the stairs, cerulean hair pointing in all directions.

"Ron and Hermione," Fred answered.

"Fighting or-.?"

"Fighting," Ginny cut her off.

"What else would those two be doing?" Fred asked. "They're going to kill each other before they're twenty." George smirked at his brother, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Fred groaned. "Like those two are ever going to figure it out."

"Well," Ron's voice cut through. "Don't let me stand in your way! Obviously, Harry's the one who needs any help! Why don't you go find him right now? I'm sure he could do with some COMFORTING!"

"Here it comes," Fred whispered. Everyone leaned toward the door, anticipating Ron's screams at whatever hex was thrown his way. When no sound came through, they silently questioned each other on what was happening, but each only answered with a shrug. Then, a loud THUD came through the door, causing the eavesdroppers to jump. "I was just kidding," Fred said. "I didn't really think she'd kill him." The four exchanged a combination of worried and amused looks as the door suddenly flew open and Ron's petrified body was pushed out onto the landing.

"Somebody take him back to his room," Hermione said, her face red with anger, tendrils of hair sticking up in every direction. The door then slammed shut with such force that the four jumped yet again. Silence fell before Fred finally spoke up.

"So, does that count as a hex?"

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When Hermione's Petrificus Totalis finally wore off, Ron collapsed unceremoniously to the floor of his room. His brothers had brought him in and leaned him against the wall, probably very much aware that he wouldn't be able to remain standing when the charm wore off. Still shaking with anger, Ron pushed himself up and walked to the mirror to see what other damage the vengeful comedians had caused. As he could easily have guessed, his hair stuck out in all directions, a lurid shade of pink. With a wave of his wand, he changed his hair color back to its original red, then dropped the wand onto his night stand among the pile of letters he had still not opened. A glance around his room told him what he already knew. Harry's belongings had been removed to another room while he was gone. His best friends were furious with him.

Ron had never been so glad that only two days remained until the start of school, but these two days, he knew, would be long ones.