Disclaimer: No, don't own anything Harry Potter related. None of it.
A/N: This is a point of view that needed to be done next. I'm going to try to make it sort of a pattern...one outside perspective, one inside. I have an idea of who I'm going to do the POV from next, but we'll see how it works out. This entire thing struck me as a bolt of inspiration sometime yesterday, and I wrote it between classes today. It's not the best, but I kinda think it fits.
Ron's Interlude
I hate Harry. I hate him so much. I hate everything about him and everything he does to me. I hate Harry. Hate him, hate him, hate...
Because he's the only thing that can make me afraid, that can make my heart burn with worry and fear. Only Harry.
I never used to be afraid.
Okay, I admit that I was panicked over the huge acromantulas, and I was scared to death when we were in the department of mysteries...but the fear was for myself. Was I going to get eaten alive? Was I going to be killed by a death eater? What if I ran away? What if I got someone hurt?
Stupid, childish fears that you can 'face down' and all that.
But this cannot be overcome. It cannot be escaped.
I watch Harry sleep and know that one of these days I will never see him again. Someday soon, probably.
His is so frail in the moonlight, his thin shoulders peaking just above his duvet. There are scars on those shoulders, terrible white and red lines that criss-cross his body like a terrible tattoo.
He is ashamed of them, although he never says a word about them or even acknowledges their existence. I can see it in the way he blushes when someone stares at the scars on his face, and I know it because he never changes in front of anyone but Snape.
Because Snape gave him some of those scars. I suppose Harry could tell you just which ones Snape cut into him, could point them out, could tell you just when and how much each hurt...but he never would. He would say he didn't remember, or that those healed. That they did not leave scars on his thin, weak body.
He would do it to save Snape the guilt. I feel as if I should hate Snape for that...but I cannot. I just cannot get up the willpower to hate Snape for it.
I cannot seem to even get up the urge to hate Snape in classes anymore. Sixth-year, NEWT-level potions that Harry will never have use for. But every time Snape says something cruel, Harry gets this look...and I cannot find my sour retort. The words leave me.
I think in those moments Harry remembers whatever Snape did to him. Oh, I know Snape had no choice, not really...everyone knows Voldemort doesn't want Harry dead, not now, but he sure as hell wants him suffering, breaking, crumbling...and Snape is too important to risk.
But Harry does not crumble. He just relives each and every torture at Snape's hands when he hears the man's voice. At the first insult, Harry will tremble, the second he will blink rapidly a few times...on and on until it is no longer Harry seated next to me but a vacant shell of a teen, watching something happening a few feet and a few weeks before.
I know Snape has to do it. He has to insult and deride Harry, or people would get suspicious. I probably will always hate him for it...even if I cannot seem to show it anymore.
I know Snape suffers under it. Every morning and evening he appears and discretely escorts Harry to the bathrooms to change. Usually, Harry's with Remus or one of his other favored professors, but for this one thing, he only lets Snape be with him.
And Snape comes back paler than even his ghastly shade, his hands shaking sometimes. He sees the scars and, like Harry, knows which ones he caused. Probably sees them every time...he probably wants to apologize just as badly as Harry wants, needs, to tell the man that he is forgiven, that all is forgiven in the end.
Harry is like that. That's how I explain it, how Hermione and I explain it. Harry is like that. Like that.
Forgiving, kind, intelligent, wise, loving, a little clumsy, sometimes snappish, apologetic, dangerous, every so often short of temper, somber...he is Harry. I wish I could have his resilience sometimes, but my fear is that his strength comes from his knowledge that he doesn't have to be strong for much longer.
I don't have that luxury, if you can call it that. I have to be strong for a long time. For my family, for Hermione...but not for the entire wizarding world, like Harry. So I don't know what I want. I just wish that everything did not wear at me, like it does not seem to wear at Harry.
Harry is my best friend. He is always there for me, and I always feel guilty when, even now, I go to him with my troubles. As if he doesn't have his own. But that's how he makes it seem...as if his life is simple, easy, fun...short. Very short with a painful ending.
He shudders in his sleep while I watch. I always watch...it is the least I can do. There is a permanent twitch in his left shoulder now, from some rather creative spell that damaged the nerves so badly that Pomfrey cannot repair them. I long to be able to fix it, to make it normal again, but I cannot.
Harry sleeps on, enjoying a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.
***************
I watch Harry return from dressing. Snape glares around and then leaves. The greasy potions master looks worn out...tired...but I don't care about that.
I am already monitoring Harry. He seems fine this morning, better than some mornings. He is walking steadily, no limp or twitch obvious, and he even smiles when I stand up. "Got a few hours of sleep," he says. He yawns, betraying how tired he still is.
I bite my cheek a moment to suppress my own yawn and smile back. "Good," I say. "You can probably catch another hour in Binn's class," I tell him. He laughs, but looks away as he does so.
He doesn't want me to look him in the eyes and see that he is lying. He is not happy, he is not amused. He is tired.
And yet he still tries so hard. I don't get it. I couldn't do it. Not knowing what Harry seems to know...
He sees something and his smile falters. "Ron? Are you all right?" he asks. Worried. About me. When he is the one that will be dead.
I smile, but I'm sure he knows that it is false. "Fine, just fine," I assure him. He watches me silently, and I feel myself wanting to hide from his somber green gaze. "I'm fine, Harry," I tell him.
"It's going to be all right in the end, Ron," he says, voice so quiet that I almost miss his words.
It's going to be all right in the end. In the end... What he's saying finally pushes through my brain.
"No it won't," I say back. "It won't be all right, Harry. How can you say that?"
Harry smiles. He thinks Hermione and I can't see how much he suffers, alone despite how much we are there for him...but his eyes betray him. When they are not dead empty green pools, they show his pain, betray his hurt. He knows nothing will be right...but he will not admit that. "Someday it will be all right, Ron. Ten, twenty years from now when you have kids and they're all growing up and going to Hogwarts and getting into trouble and making you proud, it will be all right."
"No," I say. It can't ever be right again. No. Never.
"It's not your fault if you're happy, Ron," Harry says levelly. "I'd hate it if you weren't happy."
"You talk like you're already dead," I say brutally. I regret it in an instant, but the hurt flashes across Harry's face so fast I cannot undo it.
And then there is something else on his face. And I fear.
Because he is not going to argue against what I said. Because...because he is already dead... "I don't want to leave, Ron," he says finally. "I want to be there."
"Then be there!" I almost shout. My emotions are running unchecked now, all that I have kept pent up struggling to become known. "We can leave! Run away, go somewhere, hide..."
"You know I can't do that," Harry says in that oh-so knowing voice. Like it does not matter to him. Like it is easy to choose to stay.
"Why not?" I ask. "Why?"
"Because I love you, Ron. Because I love Hermione, and Remus, and Dumbledore, and everyone else that has ever shown me an ounce of compassion. How could I just leave?" he asks me. I try to think of an answer, all of my mental arguments falling flat on their noses.
He nods, seeing that I cannot argue with him. "I would not have made it this far without you, Ron. You know that. Hermione and you are what I look forward to each and every day. I don't give that up lightly."
"You shouldn't have to give anything up!" I protest. Harry sighs, looking away again.
"It's too late to make that choice, Ron. That was taken away from me. But I can stop it from happening to anyone else." He sighs again, sounding so much like Albus.
"What am I supposed to do?" I ask. It's what I always ask myself.
"Everything and nothing, Ron, everything and nothing," he tells me with a sudden grin.
****************
I look up to Harry's courage and strength. Someday, I want to have that.
But for now I have him, my best friend, my closest confidant.
He makes me stronger. He forces me to rise to the occasion, to face my fears and push past them. The only thing that is left is my fear for him. I don't want to lose him.
Sometimes, I find myself doing things I would never have done before...helping Slytherin first years that are lost, taking care of anyone who needs it in some of the situations that tend to arise in Hogwarts, doing homework...my mother, over the summer, told me I had grown up.
She knows why...my whole family does. They treat me a little differently than they used to. I am not little Ron anymore. I am Ronald Weasley, my own person.
Harry did that to me...and his reward is that he will never see the full results of his influence. He will not get to see the results of any of his efforts. He will never be able to see how something he has done has changed things...because the things he will do, the things he has done, will ultimately lead to his death...
I love Harry. I love him so much. I love everything about him and everything he does to me. I love Harry. Love him, love him, love...
A/N: Well, that's how it goes. I wanted it to be a little more of Ron getting support from Harry, even though Harry's the one who's 'doomed,' but this is where Ron's thoughts led me. Maybe Hermione will manage something constructive...who knows. Just have to see where this meanders off to. –Miss Laine
A/N: This is a point of view that needed to be done next. I'm going to try to make it sort of a pattern...one outside perspective, one inside. I have an idea of who I'm going to do the POV from next, but we'll see how it works out. This entire thing struck me as a bolt of inspiration sometime yesterday, and I wrote it between classes today. It's not the best, but I kinda think it fits.
Ron's Interlude
I hate Harry. I hate him so much. I hate everything about him and everything he does to me. I hate Harry. Hate him, hate him, hate...
Because he's the only thing that can make me afraid, that can make my heart burn with worry and fear. Only Harry.
I never used to be afraid.
Okay, I admit that I was panicked over the huge acromantulas, and I was scared to death when we were in the department of mysteries...but the fear was for myself. Was I going to get eaten alive? Was I going to be killed by a death eater? What if I ran away? What if I got someone hurt?
Stupid, childish fears that you can 'face down' and all that.
But this cannot be overcome. It cannot be escaped.
I watch Harry sleep and know that one of these days I will never see him again. Someday soon, probably.
His is so frail in the moonlight, his thin shoulders peaking just above his duvet. There are scars on those shoulders, terrible white and red lines that criss-cross his body like a terrible tattoo.
He is ashamed of them, although he never says a word about them or even acknowledges their existence. I can see it in the way he blushes when someone stares at the scars on his face, and I know it because he never changes in front of anyone but Snape.
Because Snape gave him some of those scars. I suppose Harry could tell you just which ones Snape cut into him, could point them out, could tell you just when and how much each hurt...but he never would. He would say he didn't remember, or that those healed. That they did not leave scars on his thin, weak body.
He would do it to save Snape the guilt. I feel as if I should hate Snape for that...but I cannot. I just cannot get up the willpower to hate Snape for it.
I cannot seem to even get up the urge to hate Snape in classes anymore. Sixth-year, NEWT-level potions that Harry will never have use for. But every time Snape says something cruel, Harry gets this look...and I cannot find my sour retort. The words leave me.
I think in those moments Harry remembers whatever Snape did to him. Oh, I know Snape had no choice, not really...everyone knows Voldemort doesn't want Harry dead, not now, but he sure as hell wants him suffering, breaking, crumbling...and Snape is too important to risk.
But Harry does not crumble. He just relives each and every torture at Snape's hands when he hears the man's voice. At the first insult, Harry will tremble, the second he will blink rapidly a few times...on and on until it is no longer Harry seated next to me but a vacant shell of a teen, watching something happening a few feet and a few weeks before.
I know Snape has to do it. He has to insult and deride Harry, or people would get suspicious. I probably will always hate him for it...even if I cannot seem to show it anymore.
I know Snape suffers under it. Every morning and evening he appears and discretely escorts Harry to the bathrooms to change. Usually, Harry's with Remus or one of his other favored professors, but for this one thing, he only lets Snape be with him.
And Snape comes back paler than even his ghastly shade, his hands shaking sometimes. He sees the scars and, like Harry, knows which ones he caused. Probably sees them every time...he probably wants to apologize just as badly as Harry wants, needs, to tell the man that he is forgiven, that all is forgiven in the end.
Harry is like that. That's how I explain it, how Hermione and I explain it. Harry is like that. Like that.
Forgiving, kind, intelligent, wise, loving, a little clumsy, sometimes snappish, apologetic, dangerous, every so often short of temper, somber...he is Harry. I wish I could have his resilience sometimes, but my fear is that his strength comes from his knowledge that he doesn't have to be strong for much longer.
I don't have that luxury, if you can call it that. I have to be strong for a long time. For my family, for Hermione...but not for the entire wizarding world, like Harry. So I don't know what I want. I just wish that everything did not wear at me, like it does not seem to wear at Harry.
Harry is my best friend. He is always there for me, and I always feel guilty when, even now, I go to him with my troubles. As if he doesn't have his own. But that's how he makes it seem...as if his life is simple, easy, fun...short. Very short with a painful ending.
He shudders in his sleep while I watch. I always watch...it is the least I can do. There is a permanent twitch in his left shoulder now, from some rather creative spell that damaged the nerves so badly that Pomfrey cannot repair them. I long to be able to fix it, to make it normal again, but I cannot.
Harry sleeps on, enjoying a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.
***************
I watch Harry return from dressing. Snape glares around and then leaves. The greasy potions master looks worn out...tired...but I don't care about that.
I am already monitoring Harry. He seems fine this morning, better than some mornings. He is walking steadily, no limp or twitch obvious, and he even smiles when I stand up. "Got a few hours of sleep," he says. He yawns, betraying how tired he still is.
I bite my cheek a moment to suppress my own yawn and smile back. "Good," I say. "You can probably catch another hour in Binn's class," I tell him. He laughs, but looks away as he does so.
He doesn't want me to look him in the eyes and see that he is lying. He is not happy, he is not amused. He is tired.
And yet he still tries so hard. I don't get it. I couldn't do it. Not knowing what Harry seems to know...
He sees something and his smile falters. "Ron? Are you all right?" he asks. Worried. About me. When he is the one that will be dead.
I smile, but I'm sure he knows that it is false. "Fine, just fine," I assure him. He watches me silently, and I feel myself wanting to hide from his somber green gaze. "I'm fine, Harry," I tell him.
"It's going to be all right in the end, Ron," he says, voice so quiet that I almost miss his words.
It's going to be all right in the end. In the end... What he's saying finally pushes through my brain.
"No it won't," I say back. "It won't be all right, Harry. How can you say that?"
Harry smiles. He thinks Hermione and I can't see how much he suffers, alone despite how much we are there for him...but his eyes betray him. When they are not dead empty green pools, they show his pain, betray his hurt. He knows nothing will be right...but he will not admit that. "Someday it will be all right, Ron. Ten, twenty years from now when you have kids and they're all growing up and going to Hogwarts and getting into trouble and making you proud, it will be all right."
"No," I say. It can't ever be right again. No. Never.
"It's not your fault if you're happy, Ron," Harry says levelly. "I'd hate it if you weren't happy."
"You talk like you're already dead," I say brutally. I regret it in an instant, but the hurt flashes across Harry's face so fast I cannot undo it.
And then there is something else on his face. And I fear.
Because he is not going to argue against what I said. Because...because he is already dead... "I don't want to leave, Ron," he says finally. "I want to be there."
"Then be there!" I almost shout. My emotions are running unchecked now, all that I have kept pent up struggling to become known. "We can leave! Run away, go somewhere, hide..."
"You know I can't do that," Harry says in that oh-so knowing voice. Like it does not matter to him. Like it is easy to choose to stay.
"Why not?" I ask. "Why?"
"Because I love you, Ron. Because I love Hermione, and Remus, and Dumbledore, and everyone else that has ever shown me an ounce of compassion. How could I just leave?" he asks me. I try to think of an answer, all of my mental arguments falling flat on their noses.
He nods, seeing that I cannot argue with him. "I would not have made it this far without you, Ron. You know that. Hermione and you are what I look forward to each and every day. I don't give that up lightly."
"You shouldn't have to give anything up!" I protest. Harry sighs, looking away again.
"It's too late to make that choice, Ron. That was taken away from me. But I can stop it from happening to anyone else." He sighs again, sounding so much like Albus.
"What am I supposed to do?" I ask. It's what I always ask myself.
"Everything and nothing, Ron, everything and nothing," he tells me with a sudden grin.
****************
I look up to Harry's courage and strength. Someday, I want to have that.
But for now I have him, my best friend, my closest confidant.
He makes me stronger. He forces me to rise to the occasion, to face my fears and push past them. The only thing that is left is my fear for him. I don't want to lose him.
Sometimes, I find myself doing things I would never have done before...helping Slytherin first years that are lost, taking care of anyone who needs it in some of the situations that tend to arise in Hogwarts, doing homework...my mother, over the summer, told me I had grown up.
She knows why...my whole family does. They treat me a little differently than they used to. I am not little Ron anymore. I am Ronald Weasley, my own person.
Harry did that to me...and his reward is that he will never see the full results of his influence. He will not get to see the results of any of his efforts. He will never be able to see how something he has done has changed things...because the things he will do, the things he has done, will ultimately lead to his death...
I love Harry. I love him so much. I love everything about him and everything he does to me. I love Harry. Love him, love him, love...
A/N: Well, that's how it goes. I wanted it to be a little more of Ron getting support from Harry, even though Harry's the one who's 'doomed,' but this is where Ron's thoughts led me. Maybe Hermione will manage something constructive...who knows. Just have to see where this meanders off to. –Miss Laine