Drabble #3 -- Everything He's Ever Believed

By Kay

Author's Notes: Harry/Ron, one-sided. This one's a lot more angsty, though still not nearly enough for my tastes. *laughs* Sorry if it's badly written, I haven't had the time or energy to check it over-- real life's been really harrassing me lately. Sorry if it's second-rate, I promise to make something nice next time. Anyone have any particular scenes they want to see?

Done in Ron's POV, in a new style. Please enjoy! *hugs* Thank you for all the kind reviews!

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You don't know why you're standing there.

There are a million other places you want to be, a thousand other things you want to be doing, but it doesn't change anything. Because you're still there; it's a given, an obvious, a taken-for-granted. Because you always promised him. Sometimes in the nights, when he woke gasping and screaming from nightmares and the horrible things of the world, when he didn't know you were awake, didn't realize you were listening in your bed and your heart was breaking in half for him. When you promised yourself. And later, sometimes, when in the heat of danger or when he was in very, very much trouble, you even said it aloud.

'I will never leave you.'

You used to hold onto other things in life. When you were younger and the house was full of people constantly doing things, too busy to give you something to hold onto, unable to provide that doctrine of faith. So you latched-- you held onto Charlie's love for Quidditch, and would stare in awe at the flying men in all of his books, watch him practice outside for hours until Mum called you indoors from the cold. You grasped onto the way Bill loved to laugh, growing a sense of humor through the jokes and his wide, easy-going grins. And then there was Percy; he was the one who taught you how to tie your shoes without magic, the brother who comforted you when the thunderstorms were too loud.

'There you are,' he would say, gently dropping a mug of apple cider in front of you. The kitchen was in black and white and gray, the silhouette of Percy's hand reaching to softly twine his fingers in your rumpled, messy hair. 'That's not so bad, is it?'

To this day, you've learned not to cringe at the sound of a storm.

The twins were harder to capture. You spent your youth following them curiously, hovering anxiously and ready to please, wanting to gather another bit of them for yourself. Something to add to your beliefs. But they were flitting creatures-- they darted around, laughing and evading you, and you never thought you glimpsed who they really were. Until the day that George took a horrible fall down the attic stairs when they were trying to see the ghouls, and Fred turned such a horrible white, and cried out so painfully as he ran towards his twin, and started crying in relief when he saw that his other self wasn't hurt, that you thought you finally understood.

You took Loyalty and Devotion from the twins.

Your Mother taught you the meaning of a temper, but also the best ways to bake cookies and biscuits. She was the reason you knew how to comfort an ill child, or the handiest gardening spells. (They were woven into your brain from all the times she's waved her wand and used them to make tiger lilies dance for you.) Your Dad taught you tolerance; it was a skill he grafted into you with his joy and love of Muggles and all things unknown, and perhaps the basis for your love of adventure. These were the beliefs, the soul principles, that you stole from your family. The things you cling to in your desperations, in your pains.

They've made you who you are.

Except… then there was Harry.

Harry was like a belief onto his own. He was just a boy with messy black hair, a jagged scar across his forehead and eyes so vividly green that you think they could have magic of their own. But you knew what he really was; under all the lopsided grins and human flaws, there was still that core of faith inside of him. Harry was good. Good in a way things weren't always for you, and you knew that instinctively. Knew that he was good, and right, and pure, and everything just in the world was in his name. That was why you sat with him on the train, why you kept him with you for years to come.

You believed in Harry. He taught you something that had no word. It was too strong, too beautiful to grasp in human and wizard languages.

And that was why you were there when he went after the stone that first year. Why you believed in him even after the Chamber of Secrets was opened, even after he spoke a language in hissing tones that made your neck tingle and heart pound in some ancient fear that only wizards know. It was why you were there when they faced Sirius Black, why you tried to desperately protect him from the madman you believed wanted to take him away.

'You'll have to kill all three of us!'

It was why you wanted to comfort him in his nightmares, why something inside of you ached when he had to go back to a home that didn't want him. Why you sat around listlessly all summer, waiting for the Quidditch Cup, and more importantly, Harry. Even all of your brothers around you hadn't been able to deter you from your subdued waiting-- they were no longer your belief system.

Harry was everything good in the world. That was all that mattered.

And then he was there, and there was light, and you knew you could never lose your faith.

Except you did. At one point in that fourth year, hearing his name echo across a hall you'd sat in many times, watching the shock on everyone's face. And part of you knew it wasn't his fault, Harry wouldn't ever put his name in the goblet, but there was a sudden drop in your stomach and sting in your eyes that had nothing to do with not being a winner, too. It had everything to do with the fact that Harry may have lied to you, may have realized you were nothing, not worth telling this simple fact to. Or did he put his name in, thinking you were too weak to help?

And under your breath, breathing hard at that table, 'I'm in doubt. I'm sorry.'

And then Harry was gone.

Of course, it was your fault, you knew that immediately after you stopped talking to him. Everything was always your fault. You knew better; you should have had faith in him, never doubted, never angered. But it was harder to take back now, those bitter words you'd echoed from a greatly dark part of your heart, and Harry left you to the vultures. The vultures of loneliness, the ones that ate at you and plagued you and made you stay up late at night to listen to the wind howling through the cracks and crannies of Hogwarts.

And then, after the first task, you atoned for your sins.

It had been horrible, watching that dragon whirl through the air after Harry. You wanted to cry out in fear-- and suspected you actually did-- because it wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to be in so much danger. It wasn't fair. Just because he was Harry Potter… no, you wanted so much to see him safe on the ground, and when he was, you were almost sick with worry. Hermione patted your back and soothed you for a while, and you knew she was feeling triumphant from the knowledge that she was right, you didn't hate him at all.

You may, in fact, love him.

And when he forgave you, even before you could apologize and offer your soul to him in return for mercy, everything became a paradise again. The rest of the tasks were horrible, but he was back with you, Harry and Ron, like it had always been.

When Cedric died, Harry became sad.

You could forget all the memories in the world and still not forget the night Harry came back from the third task. His crumpled body, huddled next to the blond Hufflepuff boy, laying on the field without a single movement. You can still recall with perfect clarity how hard your heart pounding, how breathless, how dead the world seemed to be when you thought,

'I've lost him.'

Except you didn't. And he was hurt, so badly that it was hard to fathom the idea of putting him back together again-- the pieces of his heart were so shattered from that horrible night. But Harry was good. The good was strong. You told yourself that throughout the night, clutching his hand in a hospital wing you've always hated, having been there to clutch his hand through the night so many times that you knew its every routine. You never wanted to see Harry in there again.

And then came the corruption.

The fifth year became your piece of Hell. You remembered his wrath, so painful and harsh and deserved, the way he screamed at you when he returned. It was horrible. It was okay. It was like he had broken you, and in a moment, rebuilt you. And when he forgave you yet again, you promised never to stand in his way for anything, as long as he would continue to keep you in his graces.

Nothing meant anything now. It was always Harry.

You remember the terrors of the fifth year even more than the good parts, perhaps because there was so little happiness to be found. Instead, you remember bitterness, and a little fear. You remember getting Harry and your brothers kicked off the team. You remember worrying to death before every Quidditch match, twisting your blankets in slender fingers, trying not to succumb to vicious tears of pure terror. They never wanted you out on the field; they wanted Harry. And you wanted him, as well, wanted him there to save you when you failed worse than ever.

Sometimes you thought dark thoughts. Things about lakes bottoms and dementors and what Harry left you alone? You were nothing, after all. Just another Weasley. Just completely worthless, totally useless. Not like Cho, who made Harry smile sometimes when he was so upset, though it wasn't so much a blindingly happy one as you expected.

You won the Quidditch Cup. You loved the pleased grin on Harry's face because it had been so long since you'd gazed upon it.

And when the time came, you were there to fight with him at the Department of Mysteries. You don't remember much of it-- only surprise, shock, and a deadly sort of pain that still haunts your nightmares sometimes, but later Hermione told you that you must have been very brave. Honestly, though, someone else you she was unconscious the entire time. And someone else told you that you were an idiot.

And Harry said nothing about it, because Harry was hurt.

You never discussed it. The pain of losing his godfather hurt him so intensely that you didn't know what to say. After Sirius, Harry's green eyes became a deeper shade of emerald, as though perpetually shadowed with the weight of his loss, the tragedy of his burdens he now had to bear. You had nothing to say to that. Nothing that would have made a difference, anyway, and fear kept you from speaking of any other matters. You still feared a loss of faith again.

No, you never spoke of it, but once you met Harry in the early hours of the morning out in the common's room. He was watching a dying fire, black hair twirling messily into his dull eyes, and you took a seat beside him. There was never a word said, but you treasure the memory for that very reason, for the look he gave you when he glanced over and smiled softly.

He took your hands, that very quiet morning, and looked at the scars covering your arms. Scars from the Department of Mysteries, from that horrible night, from a brain-like creature you barely remember that left gruesome white lines jagging across the soft skin of your forearms and collarbone.

'I'm sorry,' Harry had murmured, the only words said, and his fingers delicately traced the paths of ruined skin. The rising sun was in the windows and it haloed his hair, dusky and perfect and painful. His slight smile only for you.

Your breath caught, and you felt the heat rush to your face, through your wildly beating heart, and knew that you would never leave his side.

And you didn't. Not even after the fifth year, when the darkness grew and shadows could hide traitors at every corner, and Harry came back from his home looking like he didn't care about anything anymore, especially not the people who followed and loved him. Harry was no longer good, you knew. No longer pure and just and everything perfect in the world.

He was good and bad now.

You were surprised you still believed in him.

And through the rest of the school years, you watched. You watched him be bitter, be happy; you watched him cry and laugh and curse. You played Quidditch with him, but only because he caught you turning in your resignation to the Captain, and furiously demanded to know why you'd ever do something so stupid. So you ripped it up, flushing, and called it a moment of insanity. He wanted you there, after all. So you were.

You were there when he learned darker spells, when he woke in the night because his scar was splitting with pain. You bit your lip in bed, feeling the flesh start to rip under your teeth, but even the metallic taste didn't deter you from listening to his soft sounds of despair.

You were there when he almost failed potions, when he went into this phase where he wanted to drink coffee instead of pumpkin juice. He never put anything in it to soften the flavor, though he seemed to like honey roasted brands more than anything. You memorized the brand labels, never questioning why you bothered, and stocked the Weasley house full of each kind for the summers. You still remember the look on Harry's face, surprised and pleased, when he found them.

So through the sunlit summer days and the darker times when all hope seemed lost, you stayed with him. You stayed when he grew even taller than you, his bones still brittle, but slightly thickened from years of healthy food finally replacing the thinness of his youth. You stayed when his voice was deep, and his laughter was louder than before, though it was rarer. You stayed when he started dating Ginny, after giving you a guilty look one day and asking if you'd punch him for it.

You remember feeling like the world was ripped in half, but the words came out of your mouth like it was absolutely nothing.

'Anything you want, mate.'

And so you watched her leave with Harry, wondering if you looked the same with him from the back, the dark head of hair and fiery red leaning close and whispering. You smiled at them like you were proud. You stayed, and it hurt, but every night of this strange misery was worth it when you saw him laugh more. Because Harry's laughter was precious; it was everything.

And you became scared of thunderstorms again.

You were there to see people love him, to see the world adore him, to see him give up and give in-- only to grow in strength once more. Because Harry was good and bad, he had a heart of gold and sometimes forgot your birthday for a week, and that was perfect for you, because Harry was always perfect. No matter, no matter at all.

You thought once… that you were falling and would never come back.

You spiraled into oblivion, into an emerald world where you looked at Harry's worried face and knew you could say anything but what you meant. Knew it was okay to smile, to lie through your teeth, anything to keep your best mate happy, anything to let him see that you would give him everything.

'Of course I'll be careful. I'll just stay near the back of the force, huh?'

So there you are now. Standing there.

In the middle of Hogwarts, knowing that Hell itself lies beyond the doorway in front of you, standing in a crowded room of wizards and witches all tense and ready to fight. Your wand is drawn like the others; it isn't shaking, but you can't see straight. There's a rip in your side from the earlier battle. The thunderstorm outside booms, and part of you wishes Percy was here with a cup of apple cider. Harry is upstairs somewhere, fighting harder than anyone, facing a great evil on his own.

You don't worry about him, though. Because you believe in Harry.

He will live.

He'll live with Ginny and Hermione and your family, and he'll live to see sunlight and sunset, summers and winters, and everything will become good in the world once again, and Harry will smile.

Because you believe it. You believe so much it's killing you.

You believe it, and for that very reason, you're standing at the front of the line to face an army of Death Eaters with nothing but a wand and your love, your love for Harry and a future you think you'll never see, your memories of the past filling you until there's nothing but the knowledge that you'll always be there for him. That this is probably the last time.

You think about him, the way he's everything you've ever needed or wanted, and it seems so clear that you could start crying. Because you love him. You love him so much, so badly, that it's become everything Ronald Weasley could ever be. It's all you ever want to be. Ever. And maybe it's right, then, that you leave him alone. Leave him to a world that's far more deserving of a god.

No, not a god. Just Harry.

The Harry that was never yours to keep.

'Would it have been so hard to love me?'

So you clutch tightly to your wand, taking a deep breath, and the soldiers around you are either praying or crying or wishing or preparing, and you see flashes in your mind of a world where you could just love him rightly, love him truly, see him smile every morning just for you before he had his cup of coffee, and it hurts so bad that it makes your eyes sting with tears and you're sobbing for air, the wand wavering in your hand--

The Death Eaters come close enough that you can hear their footsteps. Everyone tenses. A witch to your left whimpers and presses against the wall. You take a breath.

You wipe tears away furiously with a sleeve. And believe. Believe so hard that something rips inside of you, and numbly, you watch as the door crashes to the floor and dark wizards swarm the school. It seems so much easier to step up and raise your wand against the mass of destruction--

The green light is so vivid that it looks exactly like Harry's eyes that first day of school. If you had time, you'd think that it was a fitting last sight.

'There you are. That's not so bad, is it?'

No.

No, it's not.

After all, you always knew you would die for him.

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Wow. Very OOC, I think, because Ron's not usually so sentimental, but I like to think he has that side to him somewhere. ^^;; So please don't kill me. Too short, too, but oh well... and yes, the style was new, the whole "you" perspective thing. It also rambled a lot and used too many commas-- that was all on purpose, though I don't know if I like the effect. It'll be back to usual soon. *giggles*