2008

He could hardly face the tears and tantrums tonight. Harry knew it would be hard to let sleeping dogs lie even now, the vicious anger; the finality of their last real encounter amazed him to this day-the half wars they had each fought alone divided them and yet brought them together as wars tend to do- setting muggles and wizards alike hugging, crying and singing, afraid that each moment will be their last. But now, in this tense lul in the action they all new it was time to unite and that meant Harry and Ron as well as everyone else.

On the Weasleys cool, dark porch, the stars in plain and beautiful view everyone knew that their minds had all turned to this same topic of war, of loss and regret and of things that should not remain unsaid. As always the people missing from the gathering spoke volumes and Harry remembered quite clearly Percy's last staggering moments; moments when he, Harry, alone new that Percy had redeemed him self indubitably-he half wanted to tell them all, half wanted to save at least one good thing for this train wrecked happy family, all grown up now and trying not to fall apart despite the patches and holes, the frayed edges. This family that had once been so extended. Love stretching across so much, encircling so many in its bubble of hope and protection that had now undeniably burst and burst for the most part, or in Harry's sector at least, from the inside; and so, as Harry looked around him self he couldn't help but half blame him self for the vague deadnes behind the smiling eyes.

2008

there was such malice in his green eyes. Ron could hardly breathe for it every time they washed over him, it didn't make him angry, it wasn't reciprocated, it simply made him want to disappear, to die and to stop making people feel such horrible things.

The two boys were alone in the common room, the sky outside was dark and the fire only a weak flicker but they were both attempting to concentrate on long overdue homeworks, Harry distracted by a bubbling anger in his stomach, a jealousy, crossed somehow with immense sadness, heavienes. Ron by a deep rooted despair, shame even, longing and sorry.

"stop looking at me"

Rons head snapped up, they were the first words Harry had spoken to him since their brief exchange over a week ago.

"I wasn't"

Harry looked in to his face

"you keep glancing at me"

"how do you know if you aren't looking at me?"

The dark haired boy looked absolutely scathing

"because you are burning two holes in the top of my head, weasley."

Harry was surprised at himself-he sounded dangerously like malfoy, through in a few cheap digs about money and parents and he'd be there.

Ron had obviously heard it to.

"fine".

He stood up, picking up his parchment and quills, brushing softly past Harry towards the dormitory stairs. Harry grabbed his robes.

"no"

"what do you mean 'no?' Ron looked down at the kneeling boy, he looked almost as if he were begging for a moment until his face hardened again and he stood up, his eyes only reaching Rons nose, but his stature intimidating non the less.

"why?"

Harrys whisper was poison, snaking through his friends mind until Ron was forced to visciously ejaculate his answer.

"Because I love her potter, not to spite you, not for a silly little game"

Harry scoffed, his eyes burning, invisibly close to tears.

"an infatuation Ron, that's what you said loving 'mione was"

"And it was, wasn't it?"

slowly, Harry nodded, "and how do you know that's not what" he gestured vaguely at Ron "this…is"

"because I do Harry, im sure you'll understand one day when you find someone"…

Harry was almost baring his teeth in rage

"don't you give me that weasley! I understand a hell of a lot more than you about a lot of things"

Ron nodded "no doubt you do…Harry…but love is not one of them"

OK, stopping there, I haven't updated for months! Heh! Urm…no reason really…but I just reread what I've written and its so amazingly atrocious (oo, look alliteration!) that if I had the motivation I would go back and rewrite it ALL-but I don't, so I wont….