(Disclaimer: I am not Rowling. All characters and material surrounding the Harry Potter series mentioned are hers, not mine. This is not for profit, only entertainment. Enjoy, review, share, etc…but especially review. Thanks for lending a voice, Rowling. )

Enjoy.

The following chapter is written in first person view, as told by Harry Potter.

I lay on my four poster bed, staring silently at the ceiling.

Well, I could only assume that it's the ceiling. I'm as blind as a bat without my glasses. This is the third night this week that I haven't been able to sleep without some vivid fantasy of Ron and me. I can't keep doing this. My head is pounding from lack of sleep.

I sit up and fondle my bedside table for my glasses. I find them and slip them on. I look across the room. Of course Ron isn't in bed, I observe bitterly. I get up and walk to the door, barefoot. Usually a long while in front of the common room fireplace lulls me to sleep.

I make my way downstairs.

In the common room, I sit down on the plush couch directly in front of the fireplace. I grab the maroon and gold throw cover and wrap it around me. It's always at this time of night that it gets drafty and cold.

I get comfortable and close my eyes.

Somewhere far away, I hear the creak of the portrait as it swings open to allow someone into the common room. I crack an eye open. I know who it is before I see his red hair cross the threshold.

He looks in my direction, squinting in the firelight, trying to see if I'm awake or not, I presume.

"Harry," he calls. "You up, mate?"

His voice is cracking. He is sniffling. I can only assume that Hermione has finally told him what I've been dying to tell him for the longest time.

He makes his way across the area, and plops down next to me on the couch. His face is turned away from me. He's trying (and failing) to hide his tears. I hear the tell-tale sniffles.

I sit up. "What happened, Ron?"

He sniffles again. "Nothing, mate. Did I wake you?"

"You didn't wake me, Ron. I promise."

He still won't look at me. I'm dying inside a little.

"Sorry, mate. I have something in my eye."

"Let me see. Where's your wand? Nothing a little spell can't fix."

He sniffles again. "I don't have my wand. I left it upstairs somewhere."

I smile at his lack of responsibility.

"You can still let me see your eye," I say. "I can just blow the eye lashes out or whatever."

He sniffles, wipes his nose with the sleeve of his robes. I can see the dust on them. He hasn't washed nor had his clothes washed in days.

"It's fine, Harry," he replies.

"Suit yourself, Ron," I shrug. "So are you going to tell me why you're returning to the commons, hours and hours after curfew?"

He glances at me. "No, I don't want to talk about it."

There is a small moment of silence. I move just a little bit closer to him. I can almost smell the grass and leather scent that we all share on the Quidditch pitch.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" I whisper.

He shies away from me. "Yeah?

There is another moment of silence.

"It's just that…" He starts. He sighs. "Never mind. You wouldn't understand."

I try to look as scandalized as possible. I move a little away from him. I can feel a draft on my back, from where my blue t-shirt has ridden up. Ron glances at me again.

"I wouldn't understand, Ron? Really? I'm the Boy Who Lived, and you're telling me that I won't understand whatever problem it is that you have?"

Ron looks at me, his blue eyes piercing my soul. They are sad—sadder than I have ever seen them before. The dirt smudge on his nose gives me the wild urge to laugh and cry all at once; I'm reminded of the day we met on the Hogwarts Express.

"Why does this hurt, Harry?"

I move closer to him again.

"Why does what hurt?"

He bites his lip and winces. It's raw from having chewed on it so much. I suspect he's been crying a lot more than just tonight.

"What? Talk to me, Ron." I'm whispering now.

He reaches for me. I move even closer. There's barely any space between us. He grabs my hand and places it on his chest.

"Why does this hurt?" He asks.

"What happened as to why it hurts?" I fight to keep my voice steady.

I can't let him know that I've wanted to touch him like this for years.

"Hermione happened."

I feign ignorance, despite the surge of happiness I feel. "What did she do, mate?"

"She hurt me, Harry." Tears start to fall. I fight to keep my hands from wiping them away.

"What did she do, Ron?" I repeat, whispering.

"She told me she's in love with Ginny. Why would she say that?"

His pain rips right through me. It's time I told him.

"Because it's true, Ron. She is in love with Ginny. I'm sorry."

He looks at me. He takes a good look at me.

"You knew?"

"Ron. It wasn't my place to tell you."

"Piss off, Harry."

He moves my hand off of him, gets up, and sulks toward the stairs.

Damn it.

(A/N: Did you like this one? Tell me! :) Review, please. I like reviews. Reviews keep me writing. :) I'll update soon! Thanks again to all those who have reviewed so far. You guys are great. You make my day, honestly. Thanks.)