Alrighty then, this is going to be a LONG one; there's a lot to explain here. This is all called Harry and Ron Drabbles TWO because I had 25 chapters in another story called Harry and Ron drabbles ONE. Some of you followed the originals here and some of you are newcomers. The ones that have followed are familiar with my "Ounce of Prevention" series; those that are new, are not. The series deals with heavy angst and the rather squeamish topic of self-harm, and even one attempted (but aborted) suicide. My "Prevention" drabbles haven't been posted in Harry and Ron 2, and seeing as how I've written a new one, I figured I should bring everybody up to speed. The new one is actually a poem, and comes first in the timeline (I play around in the timeline as inspiration and the prompts hit me). The mods from the drabble comm included a full poem to help us with inspiration, and since MY new drabble is based heavily on that poem's style, I've included it here. It's called "If" by e.e. cummings. After the cummings' poem, my own "Prevention" drabbles are all posted in chronological order. BE WARNED: THEY ALL ARE ANGST HEAVY AND DEAL WITH THEMES OF SELF-HARM; there is hope in the end, however.
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IF
e.e. cummings
If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were
nice and a lie warn't a lie,
Life would be delight,--
But
things couldn't go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn't be
I.
If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was
present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I'd
be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn't be you.
If
fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and
tears were glee
Things would seem fair,--
Yet they'd all
despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn't be
we.
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Red Could Be Rhymed
If freckles were lovely, Red could be rhymed,
Scars
would be pretty, if blood wasn't mine.
Life would be grand!
But
that isn't so,
Enemies became friends,
Friends shouldn't be
foes.
I've no spots -- look at my stripes!
Colors clash
-- red, purple, and white.
Can't see who I am,
Visions's
gone thin.
Don't know who you are.
What's a lion,
again?
You're not You, and I'm not I, We're not We,
Red
can be rhymed, but the sun's in the sea .
Stars fell down,
Scars
cross the sky.
Friends are now enemies.
Who is it that cries?
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Sweetest Sorrow
"Miss him? I Don't miss him!"
Ron hadn't heard Harry say that, but Colin had, and Colin gladly told him everything.
If he wasn't missed, then he wasn't needed, loved, or probably even liked to begin with. He'd been nothing but a bumbling sidekick.
He'd come into this world unnoticed; he could depart it unnoticed.
Ron pressed the blade against his wrist and closed his eyes.
"Ron, hurry up!" Fred suddenly called into the loo. "Charlie's here. He can't wait to see ya!"
Ron was sure his brother's words couldn't be
true, but he withdrew his blade. "Be right
out."
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Right Before the Dawn
'Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times…'
Ron remembered Dumbledore saying those words, but he didn't believe them.
No one even knew about his darkness. No one knew about his pain and his wretchedness, and so he sat in the dark alone, with only his blade, and his blood and his tears.
"Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, my arse!" Ron muttered mournfully, bitterly.
"If one only remembers to turn on the light," a voice behind him replied.
"What?" Ron raised his head, startled. "Harry, is that you?"
"It's me," Harry answered. "Lumos!"
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An Ounce of Prevention (this was the first drabble I wrote in the series, tho it didn't remain first in the timeline, but it's how the series got it's name)
Ron has scars on his arms.
Not just from The Department of Mysteries, but from Fourth Year. He put them there himself. No one else knows about those scars, though, because the other scars conceal them now.
He said when he made those cuts he wanted the pain, wanted to bleed, because he thought he deserved it.
I look at his bare arms now as I hold him while he sleeps. I see his scars, even those that are concealed. Ron may have drawn the blade, but I'm really the one that cut him.
I'll never let him bleed again.
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Folie a Deux (the title is French, and means "a madness shared by two")
Harry shrieked and sat straight up in bed.
Ron immediately sat up as well. "What is it? Are you okay? Talk to me, Harry!"
Harry lunged at Ron and grabbed him in a fierce hug. He couldn't speak, not quite yet; the memories of blood and flashing steel, and freckled, split flesh were still far too fresh in his mind.
For a few minutes, Ron just held him tightly as he regained his breath.
Finally, Ron pulled back to look Harry in the eyes. "Another dream?" he asked. "Does your scar hurt?"
"No," Harry answered, and he shivered, "Do yours?"