It was never right for him, this life. Ron stared aimlessly out the window, thinking of the world that awaited him downstairs. Yes, Harry and Hermione were here, and everything was quite all right for the time it seemed. The house was basking in the happiness of Fleur and Bill's wedding, and yet he felt quite empty. The wedding was tomorrow, and afterwards he was to embark on a journey with Hermione, and Harry. He had made the ultimate sacrifice for Harry, had given up all his plans for the future in order to help him. But he felt as if this journey could only end in pain. He felt it within him, the sensation that everything he wanted in his life was merely being taken by the boy he thought to be his best friend. As if on cue, Harry entered the room, gazing at Ron sitting by the window, Harry had not ever seen Ron look so beautiful, nor so sad.

"Love is meant to brighten a place," Harry said, taking a seat near Ron, "so why do you look so unhappy?"

Ron could not bear to look over at him, why should he have to stare into the eyes of such a boy, one whom he loved and hated with all his heart. "I am worried," he replied, sighing at the sky.

"Well, you should be, I suppose."

These words did not comfort Ron in any way, which was usually Harry's way of replying to such statements as the one Ron had just made. Ron laughed at the tactlessness of the remark, a trait that merely seemed redeeming on his friend. Harry put his hand on the side of Ron's neck, stroking his hair in a way. Ron turned from him, recoiling at the teasing touch. Harry took it as rejection of his friendly affections, and blushed, standing.

"There is food downstairs, some leftovers from what they are not using for the wedding tomorrow," he coughed. "I could bring you up some." Ron could not help but smiling a sad smile.

"Thank you, I would like to eat later." Harry smiled warmly and left Ron to think; lost in the ocean that was his brain, full of worries about everything he could possibly think of.

Later that night, after Ron had eaten and had fallen asleep, he awoke once more to the stroking of his hair. He did not sit up, assuming it was Harry, though wondering what he could possibly be doing. Harry looked into his eyes sadly.

"Why is it you reject my friendship?" he asked, lying down next to Ron. Ron sighed and turned away.

"It is not that I reject your friendship, it is that I cannot accept it."

Harry smiled, "And why is it you cannot?"

"You don't need to understand," Ron said impatiently, for he had been this close to the topic before, and knew that it would never get anywhere, not with Harry acting as naively as he always did.

"Is it because of the journey?" Harry asked.

Ron wished he could say yes, but he knew in his heart that that was not really the truth. "No."

Harry sighed. "Then why?"

Ron gave in; he was so sick of everything now, sick of waiting for right moments, or for everything to pass. Sick of trying to convince himself that one day Harry would see, that one day everything with Lord Voldemort that had been plaguing them ever since they met would just wash away, and he would be able to have one moment where everything was ok. He was simply sick of everything.

"Because I love you." He had not meant to say it, had meant to turn away onto his other side and ignore Harry's questions once again, but he had snapped. Harry looked down at him.

"What do you mean?"

Ron sighed and sat up, as did Harry. "I mean that I love you, as more than a friend, as everything, and your friendship is torture. But I don't want our friendship to ever really end, as awful as it has become, because I love you and don't want to ever be away from you." Harry leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips, making Ron's whole body ache for the things in life he knew he could never have.

"Do not ever kiss me like that again," Ron said, feeling every word costing him everything that he held dear. Harry kissed him again, this time more deeply.

Harry laughed, "I will kiss you when I want."

When Ron woke the next day, it was to his mother screaming that the wedding was to start soon. He dressed quickly, not thinking of the terribly tempting dream he had had last night. He looked at his dress robes in the mirror, loving that they were so much nicer than the ones he had had during his fourth year. He thought of how Hermione had thought he liked her then, but he had only been tortured by the thought of their group being split in any way by love, by anyone. Victor had been threatening the life that he had become so accustomed to, one in which only he, Harry, and Hermione existed, one in which he could be with Harry all the time, and think no worse of himself for it.

When the wedding finally started, he was very much pleased that he was sitting up near the front, where as Harry was nearer the back, his love for Harry had grown to such a point where it was hard for him to look Harry in the eyes.

The wedding started. Music flowed from somewhere off in the distance, a cool effect he must say, and Fleur came down the isle, in a long white dress, that was sleeves and had about a thousand laces going up the back. She had a golden tiara placed upon her beautiful head, which went wonderfully with her hair. Ron was again reminded of a time when he was suspected of wanting a girl, but with Fleur, it had been a feeling even worse than the one that he had had with Hermione. When it was Hermione, he was only fearful that his world might change, but with Fleur, he had been forced to take a good look at himself. Fleur was beautiful, anyone could tell you that, and yet Ron felt nothing for her. And seeing her with Bill, him ogling at her day in and day out, he wondered why he could not simply want a girl like Fleur, wondered why his life had to be complicated like it was. He watched her walk down the isle, hating himself, for he could only appreciate her beauty in an aesthetic way, as some form of artwork, free of desires of the flesh. He looked away, to his sister Ginny walking flowingly behind her, her long read hair catching the sun as it flew behind her. He was saddened whenever he looked at Ginny, saddened at the thought of her love for Harry, at his assumed love for her. And yet, Ron could not help but think that Harry did not love her, for he had told Ron he did not, though it may have been a lie. But somehow, he had his doubts, urged by the unceremonious breakup at the end of last term. Though Harry said it was because he loved her and did not want her hurt, he somehow thought it strange that he would then leave himself and Hermione to die along with him. Although, they may have just shown that Harry love Ginny more than he could ever love Ron, and all Ron's hopes were once again dashed.