A/N: Hey guys! A BIG thank you to those who have put this story on their alerts...It means so much to me! So far chapter eight is in progress, so its getting there I'm going to keep you in check with the warnings just to be on the safe side; this story does contain self harm and is based on the illness of depression. It can get dark and gory. Please, please, please review!
Take care
Love A!
x x x
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN RON, HARRY, HERMIONE, GEORGE, GINNY, OR ANY OTHER CHARACTER, PLACE AND WORLD.
The next few weeks weren't getting any easier, that was in Ron's opinion anyway. There was a definite improvement within The Burrow; Mrs Weasley had returned to the daily chores, she conducted each carefully, quietly sniffing as she folded the laundry, and openly crying when preparing the meals; something she blamed on the onions, even if there was none. Bill and Fleur had returned to Shell Cottage, although they still frequently visited The Burrow for dinner. Mr Weasley, Bill and a reluctant Percy had all maintained jobs re-building what was left of the Ministry; Fleur remained behind to keep Molly company. Charlie was soon to go back to Romania once his required compassionate leave was finished. George and Harry were making regular trips to the shop in which to assess how and when it should be open, while Hermione had retrieved her parents from Australia and was currently living out her punishment in London for another couple of days.
Ron however had remained in his room since Harry and Hermione had embarked on their individual tasks. Both George and Harry had tried to coax him out of his sudden isolation without much luck. The task was then passed onto Ginny, who had to sit vigil at his door-knocking at every hour. Ron knew it was, soon, to be a give away there was more with him than just grieving for his brother, the questions would soon start and his privacy would be invaded, but right now he didn't care. He didn't plan on eating yet either, the hunger pangs were so intense, he was beginning to become obsessed with them.
His self proclaimed isolation was beginning to take its toll on the rest of the family; they all presumed it was because of Hermione's absence, and in truth, a part of it was, she seemed to be the only one who motivated him, brought the smallest bit of happiness to his miserable life. But Hermione's absence wasn't the only reason why he stayed in his room; it was due to Mrs Steed, the counsellor, issued by the Ministry to all its workers, it was an absurd system, and there was only meant to be one visit per family. However Mrs Steed saw it fit to return each week, due to the fact that three members of this family performed a crucial part in the war and the final fall of Voldemort. The annoying woman had arranged three separate meeting for Ron, Harry and Hermione, something they had all yet to face; they had agreed to attend a session altogether but Mrs Steed seemed intent on having separate meetings.
She turned up at the same time every single day. At around eleven in the morning and waited for at least two hours before leaving to visit other clients, or to conduct paperwork. Ron had point blank refused to talk to her-even in the company of his family; it was only with the encouragement of Hermione that he agreed to sit in the same room as the annoying woman. He loathed everything about her; from her childlike girly voice, to the grey tweed suits she wore. She was a tall, thin woman, who was probably beautiful in her youth, however, now her hair was grey-with a few streaks of her original colour. Her face had lost its plumpness, her skin had become saggy, her lips thin and her hazel eyes had lost their kindness. They would spend the hour scrutinizing Ron, daring him to talk with snide comments before he simply told her to "fuck off" and walked out the room.
From that day on he had avoided her and his family. He had not left the confinements of his bedroom, only allowing Hermione in during the morning she left for Australia, a part from her, no one-not even Harry was able to set foot through the door, who had taken to sleeping on the spare bed Hermione usually used in Ginny's room.
Ron appreciated the peace he was provided with at first, he was allowed to sink further into his black thoughts and not be interrupted. He didn't have to see the worried faces of his family, to see them exchange the not so subtle looks between them. He had been confronted by Bill, Charlie and Percy, all telling him it was going to be alright, that what he was feeling was normal and soon the memory of Fred wouldn't be so painful and that he would soon be able to think about him again. It was clear that they didn't truly know what he was feeling or thinking; he wasn't normal, it wasn't going to be alright, he already thought of Fred to give him the pain he needed. However, now the silence was filled with his manic voices running through his brain. His thoughts would turn momentarily into blissful white noise whenever he spilt his skin with the blade-they all vanished within his blood.
Ron found he was losing consciousness for unknown periods of times. He would wake up perched up on a wall, or on the floor when his body had simply decided it couldn't take the lack of food combined with losses of blood. He didn't mind, it made his day easier knowing that he was getting some kind of break from the world that was now his room, he considered a way of getting sleep-even if it was filled with images of war, his dead brother talking in poems, Hermione's face floating in midair and waterfalls of blood. He was very aware that his family probably could hear the thumbs of his collapsing through the thin walls, he also knew this had sparked even more worried conversations between his family and the gatherings outside his bedroom; he would often wake up in a confused stupor hearing the voices of his parents or brothers before blacking out again.