When Ron woke up the first time, he was incredibly disoriented. He looked around groggily in an attempt to gain his bearings and groaned as he shifted his sore muscles.

There. There was someone next to him, a man with a familiar face and orange hair. His mouth was moving frantically, but Ron couldn't make out what he was saying.

Everything was so bright.

Everything hurt.

Ron went back to sleep.

The second time he woke, Ron was cognizant enough to notice more of his surroundings. Instead of the familiar burnt orange walls of his little attic bedroom, he was greeted by stark white curtains and the faint smell of murtlap essence.

There was someone next to him again. Mum, a little voice toward the back of his head supplied helpfully.

She was saying something, but somehow his brain couldn't translate those sounds into words. "Mmmm," He attempted, "Mummm."

"Yes Ronnie, it's me, it's Mum," Molly Weasley tearfully supplied, clutching her youngest son's hand.

He looked up at her with a faint, loopy smile. His mum was so nice, "Mmuummm!"

Ron went back to sleep.

The cycle continued. Every time Ron woke up, he became a little more lucid. His bouts of wakefulness increased in frequency and duration, as well, and by his 8th day in St. Mungo's he was alert enough to be informed of what had happened to him.

Compulsion charms.

He felt numb, and not just because of the elevated dose of pain meds the healers had him on.

Compulsion charms.

They were the reason he'd felt like complete shite for months. He wanted to say they were also the reason he'd been acting like complete shite, but he knew better.

Compulsions needed a point of entry, something to hold onto. If what they were asking you to do went completely against your nature, completely against who you were at your core, they wouldn't take.

And on Ron, they had taken. They had taken well and completely.

He'd been an ass, he'd betrayed his best friend in the world, he'd behaved like a prick for months and it was his own damn fault. He'd been childish and jealous and the compulsions had taken to it like water.

He hadn't been loyal enough to prevent the compulsions from taking.

He hadn't been strong enough to fight them off.

He hadn't even had enough common sense to go to the hospital wing and get actual help instead of just asking for sleeping potions.

Ron hadn't been enough. He had never been enough.

"Ron."

Ron jerked up, his whole body tensing at the sound of the familiar voice. It was his tenth day in St. Mungo's, the last day of break before the train would leave for Hogwarts without him, and apparently the day that Harry Potter had decided to pay him a visit.

Ron said nothing, just stared at his former best friend.

"Ron." Harry said again, "Ron, I'm so sor—" and then his voice broke.

Ron looked at Harry, really looked at him, and was astonished. Harry's face held the same expression Ron had seen on his own face the last two days, a combination of anguish and guilt so powerful he looked like he was physically in pain.

"No." Ron said, surprising even himself with how icy his voice had gotten. "No. Harry, don't do this. It's not your fault." He took a shaky breath, "None of this is your fault."

"But I-"

"NO, HARRY!" Ron saw red, "It's not your fault, it's MINE!" He roared, and the last shred of restraint left him. "Do you know how compulsions work? Do you? They need something to dig into, Harry, something dark and awful and disgusting. They don't work if there's not something to attach to, if there's not something in you that secretly wants to do whatever messed up shite they're suggesting." He was nearly sobbing, "Don't you get it?"

Harry was staring at Ron like he'd never seen him before. "No, Ron, that's not—"

"Of course you don't get it." Ron interrupted, bitter. "But the compulsions, whoever cast them, they got it. They knew. They knew I was a weak, selfish prat. They knew that I was jealous of you, of your trust fund, of your fame, of the way people listen to you and heads turn when you walk into a room. Merlin," He laughed, a bitter, humorless sound, "You don't even know the effect you have on people! You don't notice, and it's so effortless, and the worst part is that you don't want any of it, and I'm still bloody jealous."

Ron looked down suddenly, ashamed, "I know that you hate it." His said in a small voice, "I know that. I see how you look at families on the platform, how you look at my family and our crappy house, and I know that that's all you really want. To be normal, to not be noticed, to be just like everyone else, and that makes it worse." He whispered. "I know it's not your fault and that you don't want any of it, and I… a part of me resents you for it anyway. And I went and abandoned you, I turned my back on you when you needed me most, and Merlin, Harry, I don't deserve your forgiveness, let alone your apologies."

"Shut up."

Ron looked up, "What?"

"I said, shut up." Harry said fiercely, "You've said your piece, now it's my turn, so shut the fuck up and listen."

Ron gulped; Harry wasn't usually one to curse.

"I bloody well know how compulsions work, Ron, but here's one thing you conveniently forgot in your little self-hatred rant: you fought back. Do you know how hard that is? Do you know how rare it is for people to be able to stop compulsions and how mental you sound when you say you should have been able to do it?"

"I-"

"NO! No, Ron, I said shut up and listen. Do you know how rare it is for people to fight compulsions after they're cast? Do you?" He stared at him until Ron reluctantly shook his head no, "Well, Hermione and I looked it up. It happens less than 2% of the time. Less than 2%! And that's adult wizards under short term compulsions. Do you know how many fucking compulsions you were under, Ron? Eleven. Eleven. You're 14 years old and you were under eleven compulsion charms for months, and you still fought them. Grown wizards can't do that, so don't you dare look me in the eyes and say that you're weak, you self-pitying asshat."

Ron hunched into himself. "I still abandoned you. I left you alone when practically the whole school was against you."

"We fought a troll together."

"…what?" Ron was startled at the seemingly random turn the conversation had taken.

"Then you sacrificed yourself for me."

"What?"

"In first year, you sacrificed yourself in McGonagall's chess game so that Hermione and I could keep going."

"Harry, no, that doesn't-"

"You stole a car to rescue me from the Dursleys."

"That was-"

"You stood by my side when I was outed as a Parseltongue and the school thought I was the heir of Slytherin."

"I didn't-"

"You're petrified of spiders, but you went into the Forbidden Forest and confronted a colony of acromantulas with me anyway." Harry continued, ignoring Ron's attempts to interrupt him. "Then you went into the Chamber of Secrets with me and risked your life."

"That doesn't count, Ginny was-"

"You stood on a broken leg with no wand between me and a mass-murderer, then proceeded to jump him in order to protect me."

"But Sirius wasn't actually a-"

"ENOUGH, RON!" Harry yelled at him. "Enough, just… enough." He rubbed his temple, suddenly more tired than he had been in months. "You are my best friend."

Ron's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to interrupt, but Harry silenced him by raising his hand.

"You are my best friend. That is a fact, whether you like it or not, and I intend to pound that fact back into your thick skull over the next few months. But first," Harry gave a small smile, the first since entering the room, "Hermione is waiting outside, and she's been crying a lot so we're not gonna make her wait any longer. Also, Luna brought a butterbeer cork necklace to help you recover, and you're gonna wear it while Hermione yells at you for being an idiot."

"I- huh?"

Ron's long and emotional day was apparently only just beginning.

The next day, Harry, Hermione, and Luna's compartment on the Hogwarts Express was strangely quiet.

Ron was still in St. Mungo's, and the healers weren't certain when he would be released. Harry had been especially quiet since they'd left the hospital the previous day, and about two hours into the ride he abruptly got up and left the compartment, murmuring something about needing to move and clear his head.

Hermione stared at the door after he left, debating going after him.

"He needs space." Luna's gently lilted voice pierced the silence. Hermione was no longer surprised at the blonde's ability to know what she was thinking at any given point.

"I know," The older witch sighed, still looking at the door. "But that doesn't make it any easier."

A soft hand made its way into hers, and Hermione turned away from the door to look at it. Luna's other hand promptly joined the first, and the younger witch started rubbing gentle circles on Hermione's palm. "He needs time and quiet." She continued, "That's just how he processes. You're the opposite, though. You need to talk things out." The blonde looked up and Hermione's breath caught as those clear blue eyes seemed to pierce through her.

"It's alright," Luna soothed, and Hermione sighed, leaning into her side. She began speaking, stilted at first but easing as time passed, confiding her worries and her guilt over the situation. Luna continued her tender ministrations, humming and ahhing in all the right places. Slowly, the tension sapped out of Hermione's body, and she knew it would be alright… eventually.

The welcome feast that evening was just as grand as usual, though the Gryffindor table was uncharacteristically subdued. Harry and Hermione hadn't been the only ones who had been summoned to testify in the compulsion charms case, and Ron's absence allowed even the densest of students to put two and two together.

Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly, the Weasley twins were just as upbeat as usual (possibly even more so). They staunchly refused to discuss the state of their youngest brother, and instead disappeared midway through the feast, dragging a long-suffering but resigned Viktor Krum out of the hall with them.

Not long after Krum was kidnapped, the headmaster approached the Gryffindor table.

"Harry," The elderly man greeted with a congenial smile, "If you're finished eating, I'd like to see you in my office."

Harry was so tired, "I'm afraid I'm not quite done yet, sir." The elderly man opened his mouth, but Harry continued before he had a chance to say anything, "Is this matter directly regarding my schoolwork?"

"Pardon, Harry?"

"Are you calling me to your office to discuss something directly related to my schoolwork, sir?" Harry repeated a bit more slowly, as though he thought Dumbledore couldn't hear him. "If so, I'd like to request my head of house be present."

"No, my boy, nothing like that. I'd like to discuss the recent events around the tournament."

"Then respectfully, sir, I will decline your request for a meeting." Harry said simply.

"Pardon?" The headmaster was obviously surprised, "Harry, you're not in trouble, I merely wanted to discuss your participation in the tournament."

"Oh, has there been a development in the investigation of whoever placed my name in the Goblet in an attempt to kill me?" Harry said loudly, turning a few more heads their direction. He made a mental note to thank Ignis later.

"That's not quite what I intended to discuss, my boy." Dumbledore said with a kind smile, circumventing the question.

"Sir, if this is not a meeting about schoolwork or the investigation, then I will be declining. It's not really appropriate for me to meet with you regarding anything else, especially about the tournament. I don't want people to accuse you of trying to help me cheat, Headmaster, especially when this tournament is about international unity." He tried to sound as earnest as he could, especially on that last bit.

Several sets of eyes were watching them at this point, and Harry had increased his volume until he was speaking loudly enough to be heard all the way over at the Hufflepuff table. Dumbledore seemed to realize that they were drawing too much attention, and conceded. "Very well, Harry. I admire your desire to maintain integrity and keep everything above board." Smiling, he gently squeezed Harry's shoulder in a gesture that was obviously meant to be paternal. "I look forward to seeing that attitude continue through the rest of the tournament. I shall remove myself, then, so you all might enjoy the rest of your dinner without the burden of this old geezer looming over you." He finished with a wink before making his way to one of the Great Hall's side doors.

Harry watched the headmaster exit, not quite sure what to think of the exchange. He had mixed feelings regarding the headmaster.

On the one hand, Professor Dumbledore had always been someone Harry looked up to. He associated the grand old wizard with Hogwarts and magic and freedom from the Dursleys, and knew that he was a key player in protecting the school.

On the other hand, Harry was frustrated with him. There were so many things that Dumbledore had failed to do, so many instances where he could have helped or intervened or done something but just… didn't.

Dumbledore had repeatedly let Harry down and brushed him aside, but still expected him to come when called. Well, the young wizard had had rather enough of that kind of treatment. It might be childish, sure, but he was going to avoid the headmaster for the time being.

Harry had enough on his plate as it was, he didn't need to be worrying about whatever riddle Dumbledore was trying to send him an obscure message through this time.

A/N: This is a bit more serious than usual, but we're building momentum. I looked back and realized that the first task was November 24th, so we've only made it about 6 weeks in 20 chapters... yikes. The pacing of the story will pick up pretty quickly now, and I'm hoping to be at the second task within a couple chapters. Stuff is boutta go down :)

As always, thanks for reading, and let me know what you think in the reviews!

Cheers,

PW