A heavy snow had fallen over the last few days, making all classes and outdoor tasks a burden. Harry was still feeling his insides cramped from the news Dumbledore had given him yesterday, and on top of that he'd gotten a letter that morning at breakfast: Hedwig carried it to him; it was from his aunt Petunia.

Just seeing her writing lit his life up, but the words were what brought him back down. He hadn't been back for more than a month, but these two events trumped all else.

I hope you are well…haven't heard from you…checking in…know you are safe…

Harry felt like the worse person in the world. His family had re-adopted him and allowed him to heal under their wing, and he'd gone and flown off with his own broken wings and forgotten to ever tell them how he was. It wasn't like he could act like they or he didn't exist while he was at this school now; not after all they'd gone through. Petunia especially…she'd kept him company during two months of weekends, talking to him, reminding him that life included things like gardens and organizing and feeding the people you loved.

He always felt safe there, but here he just felt burdened; he wasn't quite up to feeling much else. He couldn't move on from hearing what Dumbledore had told him; it was like someone had grabbed him and was pulling him to the floor – the pressure was heavy. That day, classes were rough on him, and what progress he'd made to better himself slipped away. McGonagall especially got on his case about it; she gave him extra homework and threatened remedial lessons.

That evening during the time most were at dinner, Harry was sitting in a windowsill in an obscure part of the castle used for the teacher's sleeping quarters. Students just didn't venture into these parts, so it was clear it was the perfect hiding place for him. Not perfect enough, apparently, for Ron and the Marauder's Map.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, relatively sure who it was without his glasses; that red hair was unique to this school.

"I don't know what to do," Harry said.

"About what Dumbledore said?" Ron asked, moving to sit across from him on the sill; their knees bumped. Harry had told him and Hermione everything by lunch that day – before then he just wasn't ready to.

"I can't do this myself. Track him down and kill him…" It was a scary thought.

Ron reached forward and rubbed his knee. Harry put his glasses back on and admired how large Ron's hands were. In this light – the light just after the sun was down and there was only a faint glow, and most illumination came from enchanted lamps – Ron's expressions were heightened by the contrast of his red hair, pale skin, and freckles. His eyes looked like they went in deep for miles; all focus on Harry.

This lighting was just a bit brighter than that the night of the hospital ward. Harry had looked up into this face with the same feeling of adore as he was doing now.

Ron said, "You're not alone. You won't do any of that alone."

Dumbledore wanted him to, though. Harry felt weak.

"I can't even find the answer to who –"

"What if you just…" Ron interrupted with a begging sort of voice. "…didn't find out who did that? After all, what exactly do you have to lose if you never find out?"

"I won't trust again!" Harry swore, and Ron cringed. "It's twisted – I know, I know…"

The whole point of his and Marty's meetings at Smeltings were to figure out a way for him to forgive his friend and come to terms with his enemy. What would he lose if he didn't do this? Maybe even more of his self-respect; at this rate, maybe even his life. All his teachers, his family, Ron, Hermione, Aurors, and Kenny at Smeltings knew the lie that he was slept with without consent; only he and the person in his bed knew he just freaked out.

Harry took a deep breath, and he tried to keep his tears down as he said, "Ron…I don't know how to say this…but you have no – idea – how much I…hated you…and myself. I feel like it's all my fault!"

Ron swooped in on him then and gave him a tight hug.

In his arms, Harry felt protected for a moment. He bowed his head and let the comfort take over and his tears spill out. Harry was also reminded of the last time he was wrapped in Ron's arms. It came rushing back and his body stiffened with a mixture of misery and repulsion. He gripped Ron's shirt tightly.

He kept speaking, though now quietly, "And…that – trusting people – isn't real anymore; that I'm always in danger; that there's nothing to live for anymore; that I'm not worth living –"

"Don't feel that way, Harry," his best friend said urgently.

Harry sniffed loudly; the effort to keep it all hidden deeply within was taxing to his nerves.

He'd let me sob all over him if I wanted, Harry thought. He's not repulsed at all…

"Did I make this happen?" Harry asked. Ron pulled away and looked him right in the eyes. Harry continued, "Am I…responsible? Did I let this happen?"

Is Snape and the Slytherins right? Am I just pathetic and deserving of whatever comes my way?

"It's not your fault," Ron corrected him.

"But I can't get over it!"

He really couldn't.

"You will!"

Harry shook his head and let Ron's shirt go so he could lean back to his sitting position. Ron's hand went back to Harry's knee. Large hand. Comforting. Callused from Quidditch.

Harry looked out the foggy window at the snow and his face that reflected off the glass. Ron looked at his friend and wished he could help more than this.

"I wish Dumbledore hadn't put you under any pressure. Hermione says that's the last thing you ever needed; you're stressed enough."

Harry nodded.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ron offered gently. "Tell me…someone…what it was like?"

Harry looked at him.

"I mean…do you want to tell me what it was like for you…the night it happened?"

The figure of an older boy held him safely in his arms and they fell back onto a bed together.

"I haven't done this before…" Harry whispered.

"Hey," a voice whispered back, "it's okay…" and a hand wrapped around him and the pleasure began to build.

"Slow down!" he said against lips.

"I can't. I want you!"

"I don't know how," Harry said tiredly.

Ron took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was thinking hard about something – trying to form his words right. Harry felt glad Ron wanted to talk, it made him forget a little more about Petunia's letter, which had him down.

Ron said, "I've been trying to think about what it was like for you. I imagine myself where you were. I think…the reason it hurt you like this for so long…is because it was me. Me – like – Polyjuice-me."

Harry met his sad blue eyes.

"You didn't hurt me, Ron. I know that."

Ron shook his head.

"If it was anyone else – even someone who you didn't know – I think it would have been different. You would…" he hesitated, "…be angrier than this. Maybe even stronger. You know what I mean, I hope. Maybe…you might have…fought harder…"

That last comment struck Harry a little deep. His eyes lowered and he brushed Ron's hand off of his body, and then he pulled his legs in tighter. Ron pulled his own legs in slowly, and he looked apologetic.

Harry wished he didn't carry the secret that he did. He wanted to tell Ron that he fought as hard as he could – that he left pseudo-Ron with bruises and broken teeth and everything! But after he noticed the clothes that person had been wearing, he had lost all strength in his body and collapsed to the floor. He had been stabbed in the heart with the image of a Slytherin Prefect badge; left to rot in his own lie about the incident being that of dissent.

But maybe Ron had a point, and so instead of fighting, Harry gave him grounds.

"Maybe you're right," he said softly. "Maybe it would have been easier."

Ron looked miserable. "I don't know if it would, really. Maybe it wouldn't be. I'm sorry this happened to you. I'm sorry I said anything. I just want you to be okay."

Harry laid his chin on his knees and focused out the window. Snow started falling again.