A/N: Heres chapter two...enjoy! Please read and review! xAx

DISCLAIMER: STILL OWN NOTHING!

He never trusted the day; it was too pure, too safe, too comforting. He could understand how people came to enjoy the light of a breezy summer afternoon, basking in the glory of the sun; every bad thing you ever heard about tended to occur under the watch of the moon, whenever they had been on a dangerous adventure it was always at night. But the idea of day came with a thought that it was hiding something sinister, tricking people with the purity of the sun that all was well. It was a warped sense of logic, but that's how he thought; he hated thinking that there was something evil out there being protected by the safety of the light. He noticed it more during their time in the tent, he knew both Harry and Hermione had felt safer when they could see the strangely beautiful country side they had at that point been staying, but for Ron it was another reminder that they didn't know where Voldemort or his Horcruxes were hiding.

He felt her turning, snuggling up to him, it had become a part of their routine; with him contributing by pretending to wake from an apparent peaceful sleep; when the truth was, he hadn't slept a full nights sleep in nearly a year; he spent months trying to devise a plan in order the find the Horcruxes, his dreams filled with images of broken, random items, the locket appearing more than once. Then it came to the actual hunt- the little sleep he did get being interrupted by necessary watches of the tent. Now it seemed when ever he closed his eyes, the pictures that had been burned on his brain since the battle replayed themselves; the wall falling, the desperate shouts of Percy calling for his brother, the last look of humour on Fred's face….

Harry was awake of course. Ron had heard him move about the room before descending the stairs to help Ginny make breakfast. He saw it as allowing Ron and Hermione their own time whilst getting Ginny all alone. Ron had accepted the concept-he was even glad of it-it was a routine, something he needed, thrived with, but both he and Hermione knew the time was not fully enjoyed, especially since Ron hardly said a word anymore.

They shared a morning kiss-another morning routine-before Hermione headed to her supposed room to dress before meeting in the kitchen. The quiet was piercing; the only sound was that of bowls and plates being placed on the table. It was the same breakfast they had everyday; no words were spoken amongst the family, just the sniffs of their mother could be heard, there was too much food prepared, eating the last thing on their minds. Their meal times were the only hours they seemed to spend together these days. All going their separate ways once everyone has barely eaten. George would wonder off, no doubt heading to the old tire swing that sat between the two oak trees, Charlie would fly, Bill sometimes going with him, or taking long walks with Fleur, Percy would sit with George before retreating inside and sitting in the living room with his parents; all staring at the walls. On his bad days, Ron would retreat to his bedroom, locking out everybody, however on his good days he would join Harry, Ginny and Hermione in the tree house, where they would, for a few hours, act their proper age, playing chess and in Hermione's case, read.

Today, he knew was going to be on of those bad days. He could almost see the black cloud of depression swirling around the table and landing heavily on his shoulders. He therefore got up from his seat ignoring the looks given from Hermione and Harry and wondered up to his room.

He didn't want to be alone, yet he found it hard to be around people, it was always a concept he struggled with; he found it claustrophobic when he found him self in a room with all his family, one of the reasons why he tended to stay in the back ground and away from the attention, even though he secretly craved it. But he liked being on his own, he didn't need to hide away, he allowed himself to be him, to embrace the glory of his scares, there was no lying.

He knew trying to sleep was impossible, their was no point in attempting to tidy his room – the last time he had attempted it, his emotions got to him, resulting in the wrecking of his room… before he knew it, he found himself looking for the blade he had hidden under his floorboards. Instead he sat on his window sill and watched George walk to the swing alone. Ron hadn't attempted to try and feel what his brother was feeling; his own cold feeling of the loneliness, eclipsed everyone else's suffering but his own, he felt a physical pain in his heart over never seeing Fred again-the person he saw as indestructible; it hurt never to see his face, his smile, to hear his laugh or just his voice. He didn't want to understand how George was feeling, it wasn't his right and quite frankly he didn't care.

He found himself carefully fingering his scars, tracing his fingers in the rigid circles created by the brains, the pecks by Hermione's birds… the beautiful ones he himself had created. Each one represented him and how he failed; the brains due to his failure to be back up for Harry, the birds, due to his inability to be the man Hermione deserves, and then his self inflictions… his own failures-all starting from his fourth year. He didn't know why all his problems had begun during that said year. The depression he had been feeling started in the first few weeks in the summer holiday-he had presumed it was the affects of becoming an adolescent however the blackness of his thoughts never seemed to go away, they just got darker and deeper informing him how to correct his bad ways. He tried, he really did… to ignore what his head was saying…to attempt to laugh and make jokes, but the constant whispering was slowly and painfully ripping apart his soul. In his irrational mind he blamed Harry for his first cut; Harry the wonderful marvel who had all the potential to win the Triwizard Tournament, who had somehow managed to enter, despite his age. Ron truly knew, deep down, it was no ones fault. In fact he had no idea what made him place the blade to his arm and pull, all he knew was that it was easy, the pain was glorious, it was a relief, even it was only temporary and addictive.

He found it easier to resist the temptation of cutting when he was alone… not that he was ever free of it. He would wallow in his feelings, cave to them and sink into his black thought bubble. Ron often found that he managed to receive a few hours restless sleep once he had given in, it was one of the few ways he managed to prove to his family he was coping with the current situation, it was all about the strategy. However whenever he was surrounded by people the need for the release usually became too much; the overpowering urge to cause pain, to feel the blood pounding in his face, his ears, finding it's exit. He had managed to find ways to harm himself whilst in the company of his family without letting anyone know; a burn from the oven, a cut finger whilst chopping vegetables-an activity he always insisted doing the muggle way even since he became of age.

He awoke to the sound of his sister in law's voice ringing through the household; Fleur had taken on most of the house hold chores ever since they returned from Hogwarts. Ron always managed to miss lunch something he was grateful off; there was only so many times he could take in the mournful faces of his family, hear Percy's guilty apologies, and try to consume food he really didn't feel hungry for. Dinner, however, was not a meal he could miss; he detested supper the most, not because it meant he was forced to sit at a table with his family and appear to eat, it was the events that took place after, where, as his mother had exclaimed one meal time:

"Evenings will be a time for family; we will therefore spend them together"

They had all fallen into the routine of adjourning to the living room, to listen to the wireless and play countless games of Wizard Chess. All Ron wanted was to return to his bedroom in peace to lay and watch the beauty of the sunset before laying in the darkness. He had come up with all the excuses he could think off in order to get away from the absurd 'family time'- none of which have worked.

Hours had passed having already beaten everyone twice at a game of chess; he simply couldn't take anymore, with everyone else's attention otherwise occupied during Bill and Charlie game. Ron managed to sneak out, his easy escape came did not surprise him; he was too practised. He climbed up to his room and found one of his hidden blades.

He sighed, he had promised himself he wasn't going to do this today, but he was a failure, he should have known better…his promises didn't mean anything back in the Horcrux Hunt…why should it now?

He perfected his strokes, angling the blade carefully to get the result, the pain was beautiful, it filled him up with all the bliss he needed. He allowed the blood to run dry, enjoying the sensations, before cleaning it with his wand to reveal his art:

The engraving of the initials:

FGW.