He Left Everything Behind
Don't think me weak, I beg of you. This was true love. True true love. And no, it wasn't happy. And no, it wasn't easy or smooth. And no, it did not follow the same boring outline as so many other relationships. But my Harry was lonely and hurt.
Dr. Wheeler had told me about my condition. My brain was tricking my body into thinking it had a disease. My brain was causing my own blood cells to attack each other. My organs, being tricked into thinking they were affected from the 'disease' were weak. I now knew what was wrong. The rarest disease in all of the world and I had it. The thing was, I only had a limited time to figure out how to get rid of it. Because before long, this fake 'disease' will have completely torn up my body and death will take me.
I knew that I shouldn't have gone back to Harry. It would only hurt him in the long run. But this was a choice that wasn't entirely up to me. It was written in the fates that I would return to him. Just as loving him was not a choice for me to make. It just happened. So when I found myself standing in Number 12 Grimmauld Place with Hermione by my side, pleading for Harry to just open the door, I didn't blame myself for being weak because I had known even then that it wasn't a choice. It may not be happy. But it is and was the most true love I've ever known.
(Change in POV)
"Harry."
Hermione had never seen a look of such love, such hurt, such worry, such pain, such nervousness, as she did in that moment, watching Ron at Harry's door.
"Harry, please open up."
Hermione was positive that Harry knew it was Ron by his voice. Which was why she was a little surprised to hear Ron say, "It's me, mate; It's Ron."
Two minutes before this statement, Hermione had dragged Ron up the stairs and knocked on Harry's door. For a full minute they listened to Harry yell at the top of his lungs about not coming out. But the silence was much louder than the yelling. The silence told them that Harry really did know who was there.
"Please let me in, love. I'm back. I'm back to be with you,"
The desperation in Ron's voice was enough to put Hermione into tears, yet she continued to hold them back. She had to see what would happen next. The door opened fast. Not slow as both Hermione and Ron had expected. It opened fast and Harry was waiting on the other side, a blazing look in his eyes that burned a hole in Ron's head.
"Don't call me love. I am not your love. I never was, never will be."
It was a growl. Harry had growled at Ron. And Ron deserved it. He'd left. Ron just stood and took in the sight of Harry. Not at all the man he remembered. Not at all the memory he'd been holding onto while he'd been away. He was a mess. Clearly he hadn't showered in a really long time. His hair was oily and going in sixteen different directions. His face looked splotchy. He was eerily skinny like he hadn't eaten in days. But what Ron noticed the most was the defeated look on his face. The disturbed, corrupted, cursed, damaged look on his face. That alone killed something inside of Ron and he had to take a second to catch his breath again.
Without thinking, Ron launched forward to capture Harry into his arms. But Harry pushed him off. It took Ron by somewhat of a surprise and he stumbled backward, loving that in this state Harry could still knock someone out. But it didn't keep him from trying again, so before Harry could react, Ron had grabbed him; wrapped him tight in his arms. And, although Harry faintly tried to push Ron away, Ron held on tight, pulling his head away to kiss Harry's forehead and cheek.
"I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry," Ron whispered.
Harry just sobbed and sobbed. He started to sink to the floor, so Ron took him to the bed and laid him down. Then he laid on his side, facing Harry, so that they were on the bed, laying down, looking into one another's eyes. And Ron wiped away a few of Harry's tears. And he kissed Harry's lips softly. And he swung a leg over Harry's so that Harry was stuck there with him. And when the sound of a door closing hit their ears, they became more relaxed; more comfortable; more them. More them than either of them had been in a really long time.
After a long, much needed, sleep, Harry woke up. Before he even opened his eyes, everything from the night before came rushing back into his head. The only reason he knew it was all true, it really had happened, was because he could smell it. The smell of Ron. The smell he'd been missing and needed and had been barely hanging onto by a memory.
He supposed that Ron was waiting for forgiveness since he'd had the courage to come back. But it wasn't that easy. He'd left. He had literally left. He'd left everything behind him. The war, the secrets, the magic world, Harry. Well, he couldn't just forgive Ron for all of that just because he came back. It didn't work that way. If he really cared about Harry, then he wouldn't have left. Harry was just an experiment. Nothing more. And then he'd decided he was sick of the experiment and he'd just up and left so he didn't have to break Harry's heart in person. Fucker. He didn't break any heart. Harry didn't love him anyways. He was just Harry's experiment, too.
Harry was torn from his thoughts when he heard a grunt. Ron's grunt. Ron's 'I'm waking up but I don't want to' sound. He had a sound for everything he did. But Harry never noticed that. He never noticed that, for example, whenever Ron was done with a conversation, he took in a deep breath, lifted his eyebrows and said, "So,". He also never noticed that when Ron was truly really tired, he had the loudest yawn. Or that when Ron was nervous about doing something or saying something, he cleared his throat. No. Harry had never noticed those things. Because he wasn't in love with Ron at all.
"Mornin' Harry," Ron grumbled, eyes still shut, as he started to move his body away from Harry's so he could stretch.
Harry got up and left. Fuck Ron. He was not going to pretend that nothing had happened. Shit HAD happened. Ron HAD left. Harry HAD killed someone. Ron HADN'T been there for him. Ron sat up fast, finally opening his eyes, rubbing them when he discovered he couldn't see anything with sleep in his eyes. What the fuck? Where did he go? Ron shook his head. He got out of bed, still fully clothed considering he didn't have time to change last night, and looked himself over in the mirror. Did he look that bad this morning that Harry would run from him after not seeing him for just over 2 months?
He left the room, following his nose, which led him to the kitchen, of course. On his way, he saw Harry sitting at the table outside the kitchen. He wasn't doing anything, he was just sitting there. Ron remembered the morning of their first kiss. He bit his lip and went to sit next to Harry, but before he could, Harry shot out of his seat to stand up and face Ron. Ron moved closer, but Harry punched him square in the face. Ron understood that Harry was angry. He was allowed. But now he was pissed off. He thought they were over with the whole punching thing. Harry was going to regret that. Ron, who had stumbled backward, lifted his head again to look at Harry. His green eyes were narrow, his eyebrows furrowed, his teeth biting his lower lip. And for a moment Ron almost just stood there to admire how gorgeous Harry was. But the moment Harry started at him again, he snapped back and took a very affective swing at Harry, who fell to the ground, his arms wrapped around his head. Ron went to help him up, but Harry pushed him away and punched him in the stomach. Ron fell against the back of the sofa and clutched his stomach tightly, his face contorted in pain.
Harry stood up and looked at Ron. He remembered the night he'd knocked Ron out. The night they'd both, almost drunkenly, admitted their feelings for each other. That was a long time ago. Harry walked past Ron and went up to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, peeled off his old, gross clothes that he'd been wearing for two weeks-since the night he became a murderer. He climbed into the shower and let the water pound down on him. Not able to stand any longer, he sat down, bringing his knees to his chin and wrapping his arms around his legs. Why did Ron leave? What could've possibly been the reason? That is the question he'd been asking himself for two weeks. That's the only thing he wanted to know.
Did Ron dare tell Harry why he really left? This is the question Ron had been asking himself for the last 30 minutes as he sat on Harry's bed, waiting for Harry to get out of the shower. If he was really honest though, he'd been asking that question a lot longer than 30 minutes.
His face was clean now, of the blood from Harry's first swing. He'd cleaned it up in the kitchen, taking notice of the little note next to the two plates of warm food.
'Thought I'd leave you two alone for a little while. I made you some breakfast and no worries about when you eat it, I've got a spell to keep it warm. I love you both.' Hermione
He sighed, walked upstairs, and sat on the bed, facing the door, waiting. But he was ok with waiting. It was his turn. After all, he'd made Harry wait for 2 months. His heart jumped when Harry finally walked through that door. Ron could tell that he was shocked. He figured Harry probably thought Ron was downstairs, not brave enough to wait in his bedroom.
"Harry, I'm sorry," Ron said, quickly before Harry could stop him.
"Shut up you bastard. Get the fuck out of my room," Harry growled, standing at the dresser now, not daring to face Ron.
"No." Ron said, standing from the bed. He cleared his throat. Harry shut his eyes tight. Ron had cleared his throat. That meant he was nervous. "Why not, Ron? You're good at leaving."
Ron shut his eyes tight and screwed up his face. Harry didn't know anything about the fucking situation. "Shut the fuck up, Harry. I know I left, but I had to. I shouldn't be here right now, I should still be away, in Colorado, in the Muggle world. But I'm not! I'm here to be with you! So don't you DARE criticize me when you do NOT know the situation."
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "So why don't you enlighten me, Ron. Tell me about your amazing number one, top of the list, excuse."
"I will, Harry. Just not right now. I can't tell you like this. I just can't."
"No. None of that shit. Was it because you got sick of me? Was it because you are a coward and didn't want to face the war? Was it because you are a coward and didn't want to face the Wizarding world next to my side, as a gay man? What was it, Ron! It had to be something big. You left EVERYTHING behind! You left the war and you left your family and you left me and you left Hermione…everything,"
By now, Harry was standing face to face with Ron, but Ron kept his eyes on the floor. Until this moment. He finally looked up. Into Harry's flawless green eyes. And he let Harry see the tears.
"I didn't leave because of any of that stuff. I could never in a million years get sick of you, Harry Potter. If I was afraid of the war, I wouldn't have gotten started in it, anyways. And fuck the world, if we can defeat Voldemort, we can defeat anyone who tries to fuck with us because we're together. I'm not gay, Harry. Neither are you. Unless you stare at blokes and get hard, I'm pretty sure you're not gay,"
"I defeated Voldemort. None of that 'we' talk. You left. I defeated him. And that haunts me every day. No, I don't look at other blokes and get a hardon, but I don't when I look at women, either." Harry told him as he stared back into Ron's eyes.
"I had sex with women while I was gone," Ron blurted out. He didn't know why he said it, he just did.
Harry screwed up his face and backed away again.
"I told you that you'd left everything behind. You even left behind your sexuality."
