Side by Side
My sickness was getting worse and I knew it. Harry kept asking me to let him take me to St. Mungo's but I knew that it wouldn't do any good because they never found anything wrong no matter how many times I went. In the year leading up to Harry and me, I had had my first real episode. I was 19, still living at home, and puking my brains out in the bathroom I shared with Ginny and her fiancé.
Needless to say, mum insisted I go to St. Mungo's and having no idea what was wrong with me, I let her. They found the disease right away. Being of age, my mother was not in the room with me, thank God, and I asked them not to tell her. With the war, and Bill and Fleur's pregnancy, and Ginny getting ready to marry Dean, I really didn't want to add to her stress level.
They kept me overnight for observation, sent me home the next morning, and told me to come back the following day. I did what I was told, and showed up the next morning, ready to hear what potion I needed to drink each day to help my sickness.
"We can't help you, Mr. Weasley. We have one other case of what you have in the States, but we can't find what exactly is wrong with your health. I can't even diagnose a name for it. You will have episodes of extreme vomiting, if you react the same way as Mr. Smith in the States. You must watch the stress level when you get these episodes, because you may faint. Your blood work is all off, I can't figure out /ihowi to balance it because I can't figure out what it is that isn't balanced. I could give you all the potions in the world and perform every healing spell there is, but I'm afraid nothing will work. Mr. Smith lived barely a year after he was diagnosed. I'm afraid to inform you that you, having the same symptoms, blood work, and structure as he did, will have roughly a year as well," the Healer told me.
I was in complete shock. I couldn't process it. What did he mean he couldn't cure it?
But I moved on. I kept it to myself because I couldn't let anyone else dwell on my upcoming death. I decided from then on I would live life to the fullest of my ability. Telling Harry I loved him wasn't in the plan because to die knowing that he didn't love me back would be the worst. But to know that he did love me back and to die leaving him to mourn for yet another death hurt me just as much.
I hope I'm explaining properly why I couldn't keep my relationship with Harry strong. I hope you understand why I had to do what I did.
(Change in POV)
"Harry I'm fine," Ron insisted as Harry fought with him about getting some rest.
"Ron, stop. Yesterday you were sicker than I've ever seen you and today you're just fine? At least get some rest if you won't let me take you to a Healer!" Harry persisted.
"Harry, I'm fine! It was just an episode; I probably have days until another-"Ron stopped himself from finishing that sentence. He had said too much.
Harry screwed up his face and stared at Ron's shocked expression. "An 'episode'?"
Ron gulped and licked his lips as he realized how dry his mouth was. He walked passed Harry and into the kitchen to get a glass of water. When he turned around from the sink to face the kitchen, Harry was standing across from him and the doorway. Ron's breath hitched a little. Harry always found a way to take his breath away; like now, standing in the doorway, a hand up on each wall, leaning into the kitchen, staring a hole into Ron's eyes.
"You better tell me what the fuck is going on, Ron Weasley before I beat you into next week," Harry said fiercely, making it more so by the way it was almost calm.
Ron stared straight into Harry's eyes and shook his head. "I'm moving, Harry. I've decided to go to the States for a while. I'm sick. I can't be here, fighting with you, because it's not good for my health," Ron lied through his teeth. He iwas/i going to the States, he'd decided it that morning, but it wasn't because he couldn't fight in the War. He'd made contact with some Muggle Healers (apparently called Doctors) and he was hoping some of them could take a look at his condition and help heal him. A single tear fell down Harry's cheek and he walked away. Ron waited a second before following Harry, up the stairs and into his own bedroom. He watched as Harry started to pack Ron's belongings. "Harry?"
"You keep fighting with me about us, Ron. Excuse after excuse. Lie after lie. There is no need to make up excuses or lie anymore, because I'm sick of fighting back. Leave. Go to the States for all I care. All I know is that I'm sick and tired of trying to keep us together when it is clear as day that you don't want it," Harry told him, strangely calm and together. Ron knew that this was it. This was his way of stopping his selfish ways and thinking of the one he loved, instead. Harry was giving him a way out and however much Ron wanted to fight and show Harry that it wasn't a lie or an excuse, he knew that Harry needed to believe whatever he needed to believe for it to hurt less when Ron left. And so he nodded his head, took the suitcase Harry was now holding out to him, and headed out toward the front room. Harry followed him but didn't stop in the front room and instead passed him into the kitchen. Ron stood for a moment, deep in thought. It wouldn't be right to walk into that kitchen and ask Harry for forgiveness. It was hard enough knowing that they had spent three amazing weeks together and had even gotten around to telling his family; however in an odd fashion. Hermione had taken it well, but he hadn't gotten to see much of the rest of the family's reaction because he and Harry had left that night late after everyone else had gone or was in bed. His mother had only once popped in, but Harry and Ron were asleep, and therefore didn't have any discussion with her.
Ron was in love with Harry Potter. There wasn't a single thing he could do about it. But Ron was also very sick. And he was trying to find something that he could do about that. So, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a tearful Harry into a passionate embrace, kissing the brunette to a speechless state, and walking back out of the kitchen and to the front room, Ron grabbed his bag and Disapparated away. Away from Harry, away from his life, away from the War and the fighting, away from his family, but most of all, away from his heart.
