I want to glare at them. I really do. But I just… can't. They don't know. No one does.

I want to hide from them. I want to hide from everything. But I can't, because someone has to know. But no one does.

Know what?

Seriously, I'm insane. My own mind is asking me a question.

It's not your own mind, Harry. It's mine, too. Didn't fat little Dudley teach you to share?

No… Oh, great. Now I'm talking to it.

I know, Harry.

Now I'm just confused.

I know how you feel.

Then why did you ask?

Because… Don't question me.

Hey, you're 'sharing my mind'. You'd better be nice to the schizophrenic freak.

…

No one understands my pain. No one has ever known the things I had to know. No one's had to do the things I had to do.

Especially them.

I look to the glass window and immediately four people begin screaming and punching at the glass. One has flowers. Another has a sign: 'We Love You, Harry', it reads. The other two are trying to talk to me.

I don't need this. I don't want this, and I never have. They wouldn't love me if they knew why I did the things I had to do. It wasn't because I wanted to 'save the wizarding world from the clutches of the dark Lord Voldemort'. It wasn't because I wanted to avenge my friends or save the few I had left. It wasn't even because I wanted all this bloody glory.

No.

It was because I had hoped to lose.

--

Never once had I let myself go a single day without flashing my teeth to the world, a promise I'd kept for seven years, and who better to share them with than my old friend as we strolled down the busy sidewalk towardsour looming destination? "So… Dublin, eh?"

Hermione gave me a warm smile. "Yeah…"

"Why so far away?"

"It's not that far…"

"For the rest of us, it is."

My friend thought quietly about my statement. "…You know exactly why, Ron. Don't make me bring this up again…" That hurt look returned to her face.

"Oh."

We continued in silence. The tip-top of St. Mungo'scould be seenin the distance.

A full five minutes passed. "And what… exactly… do you do, Ron?"

I brightened. I loved my job title. "Healer of the Mortally Wounded."

"Eegh… Really?"

"Yup. And you've gone and opened up a… what was it… a restaurant?"

Hermione nodded vigorously. "For the magical folk of Ireland… We're big with leprechauns."

I'd always hated the little buggers. "That's… great!"

"I know. I had no idea it'd become so successful…"

"Well, you would think."

"What do you mean?"

"There's such a lack of anything for the Irish wizarding population besides potatoes… I'm surprised no one's thought of it yet."

"Very true. And you know so much about this… why?"

I smirked. "You'd be surprised how protective the Irish are of their potatoes…"

We laughed and continued to chat, catching up on the past seven years. We talked about our new homes, our new friends,… Anything that didn't have to do with the day that drove us apart. I learned about Hermione's newest spell concoction ("It's the best orange juice I've ever tasted!"), and she discovered my latest and more interesting bad habit ("Ron… Why are you plucking at your belly button?"). But there was one thing we both knew all too well: Our lives had definitely changed.

"Oop… Here we are!" I said, realizing we had almost completely missed the entrance. I pulled Hermione by the arm, completely excited, towards the doors, when all of a sudden I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Ron?"

"What?" I answered shakily.

"Are… Are you going to go in?"

I thought about this. I wanted to go. I had to see my best friend. I'd passed up his corridor long enough in the days past. But something, a strange premonition, told me no. Don't go see him. Trouble. Danger. WARNING.

Go away...

I blinked. This was remarkably stupid. "Yeah. Yeah…"

--

So. This was kinda crappy, too. Oh, well, it's just something I slapped together.

MORE SOONISH. I hope. Maybe.

…We'll see.

-Starsies Melavowig