Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all of its characters, spells, and locations belong to J.K. Rowling. I only create stories based off of her incredible books.

AN: I want to thank Avanell for commenting on all of the chapters so far. I really appreciate it. Also, to everybody else who has read this story, please please leave comments. I love them and they are the only way I can tell if my story is good or not. You can praise my writing, critique it, or recommend something to be put in a future chapter. It would mean so much to me to hear from you all.

Shattered

(Ron's POV)

Ron closed his eyes and listened to the steady rush of water. He felt its cool touch on his palms, as he tried to clear his head. Cupping his hands under the faucet, he caught some of the chilly liquid and splashed it up into his face. He stared at his reflection in the shiny mirror. His eyes had the darkest circles he had ever seen under them and his now damp, flaming red hair was messy as usual. His expression was what drew his attention though. He looked terrible and lost. He could not recall a time when he looked less like himself. This was the new Ron though. He had been held together by his friends, and now that they were gone, he was utterly alone. Harry had been so busy since the defeat of Voldemort with interviews and speeches that he was rarely at The Burrow. Harry was in a different squad at Auror training, so the friends didn't see each other there either. Hermione was the only one that had stayed with him and helped him cope with the death of his brother. But now she was the one who needed help. How could he help to fix her when he needed to be mended too?

He had run out of her hospital room only moments ago. He knew he should've stayed to introduce her to his enormous family and keep an eye on her, but he couldn't. It was all too much. He thought having his family there would make things better, help her to remember. Now he knew he was wrong. The blank and confused look she had when she saw them was the same look that strangers gave the family when they saw the huge mass of redheads on the street. It was not the way his girlfriend was supposed to look at his family. What was he expecting though? Was he such a twit that he thought she would run up and hug them when they came in? Yes. That was exactly what he had expected. Whenever Hermione looked at his family before, she always did it with a smile and a tight embrace. Never once had she just stared at them.

Ron slowly reached out and turned the water off, not wanting to waste any more. He looked around the spotless bathroom in Saint Mungo's and tried to forget the scene from moments ago. His family had acted so natural and normal. It was as if they didn't realize his world was collapsing around him. How could they bicker and talk when Hermione had been taken from him? Why were they acting as if all was well in the world when it was surely ending by now?

Anger swept over Ron and wouldn't let go of him. It was anger at his family for not breaking down and mourning with him. He even felt angry at Hermione. How could she do this to him? Why couldn't she have defended herself like she always did? She could help Harry defeat bloody Voldemort but a simple death eater was out of her ability! Most of all though, he was angry at himself.

He hadn't been home when the death eaters attacked. He could've saved her from this. If he hadn't been so busy with Auror training, Ron wouldn't be here right now and neither would Hermione. Ron picked up the nearest object- a glass soap dish- and threw it into the wall, getting a small sense of satisfaction when its jagged remains hit the tile floor.

He was never of any use to Harry, Hermione, or his family and he never would be. No matter what people said, he did nothing to thwart Voldemort and rarely was able to protect his loved ones. Ron was always in last place. Never as brave as Harry, as smart as Hermione or Percy, as handsome as Charlie, as popular as Bill, as funny as the twins, or as athletic as Ginny. That was him, never the winner, never the best. His only purpose seemed to be making others look good.

The next thing he took his anger out on was the bathroom stall door. He kicked it with such force that it bent inward. Destruction seemed to be one of the few things he was good at. Destruction and running away. He had run away from his friends before, just as he had now. He had left them when the hunt for horcruxes was getting too difficult. He had always been so weak. He wasn't able to handle it all then and he couldn't handle it now either. So that's why he ran out on Hermione ten minutes ago. Things had gotten a little hard again and Ron Weasley just couldn't take it as usual. He grimaced at how pathetic he was compared to everybody else.

His eyes went from the broken remains of the soap dish to his reflection, now contorted with hate of himself. He now knew how to describe the face that was looking back at him. Shattered. That's what he had become- broken remains of a person.

Now that he had a strange connection with the soap dish, he felt terrible for smashing it. He quickly drew out his wand, muttered a repairing spell, and placed the brand new looking dish gently on the counter next to the sink. Since he already had his wand out, he fixed the bent door as well.

Now everything else was fixed except him. He felt out of place in the perfectly clean bathroom. Once he glanced at himself in the mirror once more to check if he was at least a little presentable and then decided he would look like a git no matter what, he walked out of the bathroom. He headed toward a floor-length window in the hospital hallway.

Ron stood there and gazed out the window at the sea of green grass two stories below. He wondered if he could be fixed as easily as the soap dish. He was certainly broken as easily as it had been. Ron had never realized before that his existence meant nothing without Hermione. How much he wished he could have protected her. Another sad thought occurred to him. He was not protecting her now. He should be in that hospital room, comforting her and telling her who all those people are.

Ron ran down the corridor to his beloved's room and before he turned the gold knob and entered the room, he vowed to at least hold his shattered self together for Hermione. As he was engulfed by the bright white of the room, an honest grin spread across his freckled face. Things might seem unbearable now, but that just meant that they couldn't get any worse. It was the first comforting thought Ron had had in a while and it made him feel as if maybe he wasn't as useless as he felt.