Chapter Text
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Chapter 1
Grief. Pain. It was all around him, daily. Death, loss, sorrow.
An endless cycle.
When will this end? Will it end at all?
Those are the first thoughts that come to Ron’s mind as he wakes up. Unfortunately, along with those thoughts comes the overwhelming shame of thinking them.
‘Maybe it’s the countryside, maybe it’s me. Honestly, I don’t care what the root issue is. I’ve felt inadequate for a long time. Probably my whole life. I don’t remember a time I felt good about myself.
Lately, my feelings slip away from me. Like water when I try to scoop it up with my hands. It slides through my fingers.
During the war, there was a period of time when I would beg not to feel- Merlin, I would’ve done anything to stop the homesickness and terror. My wish eventually came true. In place of being homesick and the longing to see my family again, I was gifted an all-consuming emptiness.
I don’t want to be around my family or friends anymore. I don’t enjoy the taste of food. I don’t feel pain- I barely feel anything at all.
The scariest part is that I’m unsure I even want to change it.. or if losing my capability to feel has actually made my life better- I don’t have to face the bad- the horrible tasty thing that has followed me home. It’s better for everyone if I stay like this.
It’s better for me.
The only downside is the all-consuming emptiness also pushes out the pleasant feelings of love and warmth. It was a sacrifice I’m willing to make. Maybe I’m being dramatic, I tend to get that way on nights I don’t sleep much.
I don’t have anything to complain about. Most people would probably say, after the war, I got away unscathed, intact, and victorious.
If that were true... then why is my heart stagnant?’
Tick. Tok. Tick. Tok.
A sigh of frustration.
Ron glares over at the obnoxious grandfather clock in the corner of his current room, which was the attic. Glancing away quickly before he could see the time, not wanting to know.
Afraid, if he saw the time, he’d be unable to look away- stuck counting down the minutes till he had to get up and face the day.
It was going to be one of the most difficult days of his life. The sky was still dark and he couldn’t hear anyone rumbling around downstairs in the burrow, there was no reason to look at the time yet.
The clock kept ticking, the same nonstop way it has since Ron became it’s hapless roommate. But right now, it almost sounded like it was getting louder. As if it were angry with Ron’s refusal to acknowledge it. Ron rolled on his side, facing away from it.
When he moved, the bed’s springs made a abrupt squeaking sound. Ron could feel them digging into his side.
Definitely not the most uncomfortable place he’s stayed, but not cozy either. He was using a few of his sweaters as extra blankets because the room was freezing- due to the large window taking up a majority of the ceiling/roof.
Turning to look up at the glass- he decided the best way to avoid the clock’s insistent call for attention was to watch the stars. They were glittering dimly in the sky. There weren’t many, only a few specks of light against the darkness.
Tick. Tok. Tick. Tok.
The reason he’s in the attic and not his own bedroom is because all the Weasley’s were home for the unforeseeable future- trying to get things together, be there for mum, rebuild, and all that bullshit.
Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, they all have their own dedicated spaces and so did Ron, but the Lovegoods were currently homeless.
Which if you ask Ron, was completely Xenophilius Lovegoods own fault. The bloody coward. It’s also the coward’s fault that no one else will take them in. After the stunt he pulled, no one wants him around their house or kids.
Trust is like a glass vase, once broken it can never be pieced together the same again. And Xenophilius took the vase and smashed it to unrecognizable fragments before rubbing the remaining shards into their skin.
Okay, yes Ron was still a little bitter from Luna’s dad’s betrayal of giving them away. His anger was completely valid, in his opinion. They could've been killed or taken to Voldemort!
Ron did feel bad for Luna though. So after his mum gave him a (literal) nudge, the two Lovegoods standing pitiful in front of him, Ron had selflessly and regrettably given up his own room for Luna.. and her git of a father.
The attic was cramped and uncomfortable- full of old junk and dust. The ceiling was slanted and short in some areas; to short for someone his height. If he sat up to fast in bed or didn’t duck on the back side of the room, he’d hit his head.
When he first walked in, the cobwebs hanging from corners gave him a slight panic attack. Thankfully, Ginny came to the rescue before the anxiety took him over, and helped him get rid of them. Of course, she couldn’t leave without laughing and telling him he should be over that fear by now.
And.. It’s not like he could be the one to deny Luna and her father a place to stay. Throwing a fit over a bedroom? That’s something a Slytherin would do. Plus, he didn’t want to upset his mum or be a brat with the state she was in.
She was an emotional wreck; either sobbing in her room or hovering over them all. Paranoid something would happen to them, that she wouldn’t be there to save them. She also started constantly cleaning and excessively cooking. She made 20 pies the other day, for crying out loud.
No, he couldn’t dismiss any of her requests right now- mum wouldn't have made him if there was another “safer” choice.
“you’re such a sweet boy and it was sort of, in a way, your fault. You, Harry, and Hermione’s fault their house got destroyed and is currently under construction. Besides two extra wands around for protection wouldn’t hurt! No one else will swap rooms- it’s just until Bill and Fleur go back to Shell Cottage. Percy needs room for work, I’m so glad he made up with us- and George... well you don’t mind do you? It’s not like Harry will be staying over as often anymore, now that he’s got Grimmauld… I know you wanted to stay there. You’d prefer that over the attic, I know. I just want my babies home where it’s safe…only a little longer. you’re such a good boy. I’ll go make your favorite muffins. Lemon right?” Ron can still hear her side of the conversation in his head, her voice was loving but it left him strangely hollow.
Ron actually hated lemon muffins. He ate them anyways, to please her, while he threw some of his essential items in a bag and cleared out space for Luna’s books and trinkets.
He’s beginning to question if mum blames him for everything that happened to the family, just as she did about the Lovegood’s house. Was he to blame? It was his undying loyalty to Harry that got the family involved in the war. Being a ‘pure blood’ turned into him a blood traitor when he ran off, which put a bigger target on the Weasley’s. Percy’s abandonment and betrayal.. And then Fred… Was his mum subconsciously punishing Ron for it all?
‘Did the punishment fit the crime?’
Besides it doesn’t matter that he was made to give up his room while he was still unwell. Especially since he realized a while ago that he’s never been exactly well anyways; so what was the difference now?
Except everything was different now- things were much worse. He felt like he was still trapped in the woods, in survivor mode. The bruises on his body are still tender, he doesn’t feel like himself anymore. Barely feels anything anymore. Hasn’t been able to cry since before he found Harry and Hermione by that lake… and Fred.. It’s been almost two weeks and Fred hasn’t been bur-
‘NO. No, I’m not going there, not going to think about that…not right now.’
The point is- it doesn’t matter that it’s unfair. Ron can handle it and it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a stupid room, for Merlin’s sake.
It’s just that Ron misses the way his orange walls would block out the darkness dwelling in him. And he misses the bed Harry and him read about muggle superheroes on, the comics stuffed under the mattress. Misses how Harry’s smell permanently attached itself in the seams of worn pillows- the same permanence the scorch marks left behind on Ron’s headboard had- charred wood from a playful duel between the two of them. He also misses the way Hermione charmed the floors to be cool on hot days and warm in the winter.. misses the comfort and familiarity.. the attic was grim and cold- to much like a tent or the forrest.
It doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t matter. It’s not that deep. It’s not like the orange walls would be able to save him and perceiving Harry’s presence through inanimate objects would not make him love himself.
Besides Ron was Ron- he didn’t need things like comfort or familiarity to be okay. He lived on the run for months and didn’t think about those things once.
‘I wish Harry were here.’ The thought comes to him suddenly, it makes his stomach clench painfully. He curls into himself. ‘Maybe it isn’t really about the room, maybe Harry is my sanctuary. Harry had been on the run with me.. that’s probably why I didn’t miss those things until now.’
Harry, who without knowing, left traces amongst four orange walls. Made Ron’s childhood bedroom equally his own by marking the furniture with clammy handprints- handprints that matched the ones that lay on the outer layer of Ron’s skin, where it was safest to touch.
Harry who felt like nostalgia. A bittersweet sadness. A Christmas sweater with a snag, a scraped knee patched up by the twins, laughter in the common room, the smell of apple pie in the distance.
That Harry, the one who shared Ron’s bedroom, was lost in a time he could never return to, not because he was gone, but because they were irreversibly altered.
Present day Harry is a cloud fogging his mind that makes everything incomprehensible.
“Ah, Get a fucking grip.” Ron spit out, before slapping a hand over his mouth, chuckling quietly at himself.
No way, he was not going to be the kind of crazy that talks out loud to himself.
If Fred and George heard him from down the hall, he’d never hear the end of it!
‘No…no, that’s not right..fuck. Fred is..’
It’s just George, twinless, from now on and he’s not down the hallway anymore. From the attic, George was two floors below him. George wouldn’t be able to hear him, not with only one ear and half a soul left.
Ron, who has both ears and a penchant for pain, wonders if he tries hard enough.. would he be able to hear his inconsolable brother’s choking sobs through the floorboards?
Ron’s heard him before. Has listened to the wailing as it drifted around the burrow, sometimes it sounded distant, as if in the kitchen or outside in the yard, and other times it was right outside Ron’s door.
Many times Ron has imagined the sobs taking form at night. How they would exit George’s lungs and mesh together into something tangible. A forlorn entity haunting the halls, searching for someone it will never meet again.
Ron doesn’t sleep through the night much anymore- swears sometimes he can hear stairs creak and furniture being moved around. Ghostly groans and nails scratching the wall.
How long does grief linger, has it made a home here?
‘What’s Harry doing right now? Is he listening for ghosts?’ Ron whispers it in his head. Still embarrassed to talk to himself out loud.
His mind tends to jump from subject to subject- always spiraling or looping around. It was tiring, never being able to stay focused. The one constant subject is Harry.
Harry running through his brain was at least an hourly occurrence, has been since his first year at Hogwarts. Starting the moment he stumbled into a nearly empty train compartment and sat across from a kind boy with a scar.
The boy ended being the Harry Potter. The very famous Harry Potter who looked at Ron like he was the wonder.
Even though it nearly ten hours, in a tiny box, the train ride had felt short. Harry was lively, quick-witted, and told funny jokes that weren’t at Ron’s expense. Ron blushed every time his new friend smiled, to young to understand what the fluttering feelings meant. Assumed it was the consequence of to much candy and excitement.
Hermione had appeared out of no where; fixed Harry’s glasses and watched as Ron embarrassingly tried the spell his brothers gave him. She was arrogant and bossy. Ron didn’t like the way she stole Harry’s attention. Despite that, he never told her but she was actually bloody impressive to him when they first met.
It’s strangely amazing how one train ride changed his whole life.
If kids didn’t turn their noses up at him as he tried to find somewhere to sit, he may have never walked to the end and entered Harry’s compartment. Meeting Harry made him something more than he ever thought he’d be. Gave him the best friends anyone could have, the golden trio.
Even at that young age, Ron felt undeserving of them. They were both so good and Ron knew they would do remarkable things, he was grateful they let him tag along.
By the time the train arrived at its destination, the Harry Potter was just Harry and Ron was devout. Harry was the first person to make Ron feel like himself, and in return Ron made Harry his whole world.
Ron has spent the last eight years circling Harry.
‘Is Harry asleep like he’s supposed to be? Is he awake staring at walls.. or is he thinking about me?’
‘No one ever thinks of me.’
Hermione was living at Grimmauld. Harry was helping her find a way to restore her parents memory, she had no where else to go since the burrow was packed full.
It was common for Hermione to stay awake all night doing research. So it was possible Harry awake as well; discussing and preparing for the upcoming trials, Hermione parents, and the death eater stragglers.
The night before, Ron was supposed to visit them. Ron ended up not able to go. He told them over fire-call that his mother asked him to stay home to move the Lovegood’s belongings into his room, which was partially true.
Ron didn’t have to tell them that his mother’s paranoia was the real cause.
Molly was extremely worried something would happen to him, she was to late- said until all the left over death eaters were captured she wanted her children in sight.
It was starting to get to Ron, he gives it another week before he goes completely mental. Being cooped up with all the Weasleys and some of their partners, with the new addition of the Lovegoods, would drive anyone to a padded room.
Yes, his best friends were probably awake at whatever unknown time it is, being useful and productive. Instead of wallowing in self-pity and complaining about being supervised by their mum, like Ron was.
Neither of them currently had a mum.. he had no right to be frustrated with the situation.
It bothers him- that whatever they were doing, they were doing without him.
They were always a good team.
The two of them could’ve stopped the war without any help. He couldn’t keep up or compete with them. They were smart, brave, loyal, practical, reasonable, and strong.
Ron is none of those things, he brought nothing to the group except a loud bark and the ability to digest unpleasant things.
‘What if they’re lying together on the couch- or in bed? Touching one another.. holding hands while writing down trial speeches? Content he wasn’t there to burden them or block them from being together..’
The thought makes him sick, nauseous enough to press a hand over his stomach and rub in a steady repeating motion, trying to alleviate the feeling of discomfort.
Hermione said she didn’t want to be with Ron, she never said anything about Harry…
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Tent assembled high on a cliff side and small animal traps set with bait, Hermione and Ron started to gather firewood.
Ron had put down his wood stack when he got a splinter stuck in his thumb, he was currently sucking on the intrusion trying to get the piece out.
Hermione sighed tiredly and put her stack on top of his. Silently demanded his hand and pulled a small army knife from her pocket, Ron watched as she dug the splinter out. Little drops of blood forming at the surface.
Harry was asleep, back in the tent, wearing the locket. Being away from it’s evil influence left them temporarily clear headed, but exhausted. Once Hermione got the wood out, she wiped away the blood with her sleeve, but didn’t release his hand.
She had pulled him farther away from the tent. He was apprehensive and a tad alarmed.
“We need to talk.” She had said.
Ron replied dumbly, “We are talking.”
He remembers her surprised laugh, at how she tried to remain serious, which made her cackle more. It was after she settled, both finally voiced what they were feeling.
Agreeing they were better off as friends.
People had been pushing them to be together since they were eleven years old, before they even knew what they liked or who they were. Over time they fell into the roles given to them- the will they wont they- give and take. Both not saying anything, afraid to hurt the others feelings.
The only positive of War and the threat of death is how they put things into perspective.
Hermione had smiled through tears while telling Ron that she is not what he really wants, his jealously was not about her. It was about Harry- it has always been for Harry.
Ron was still in slight denial then and tried to tell her that he wasn’t jealous of Harry’s fame and life anymore. She laughed wetly and said he had to figure it out himself, but she’d always be there for him. Ron remembers how free they both felt as he started crying with her..
It was one of the last times he cried.. apart from when he ran into..
…no
Truthfully, saying goodbye to a easy pre-planned life with Hermione was harder than he thought it’d be. So he freely allowed the tears to fall; confused about his real feelings, intense fear that she may have found him out, and relief that she didn’t hate him.
She deserved better than him anyways.
As she would see in the coming days, when he threw out harsh words- burning his friends worse than the room of requirement fire could have.
His feelings.. towards her as a friend.. towards Harry as something more. Plus the continuous static on the radio matching the static nestled under his skin- and the grit of his teeth. The overwhelming confusion and self hatred, magnified by dark magic, might’ve been the undercover catalyst for the tent fight.
Reflecting on it, Ron knows she meant he was jealous because he wanted to be with Harry, not because he wanted to be him. Even now it was hard to acknowledge. He tried really hard to shove it down and had to admit things were a lot better when he did.
Years previous, he locked away his perverse feelings and anything else pertaining to Harry in a mental chest- deeply buried, carefully concealed beneath flesh, muscle, and bone.
Securely shut, only opened for his view on nights the shame didn’t weigh so heavy. The chest has been growing, he estimated since fourth year. The petty jealousy and anger at Harry towards the beginning of the tournament, really being fear and disgust for himself.
After the war, Ron figured what’s the worst that could happen, he unlocked the chest and threw away the key. He thought Hermione’s subtle acceptance and confronting the Harry truth would bring solace.
It just brought pain.
The fear and disgust returned as soon as it was open- and then came the memories… memories that told him how unnatural and warped he had always been.
All the times Malfoy and his goons would call him Harry’s boyfriend or girlfriend, his dog, or his bitch. The humiliation as they laughed while he turned red at the names. The vulgar hand motion Goyle would do across the dining hall. The time Harry caught him doing it, had tried to get up and go over to the Slytherin table. Ron being mortified, afraid it would cause a scene and the whole school would talk about him. Ron pleading, eyes wet, for Harry to sit down and not do anything. Harry reluctantly doing so, glaring at Goyle when he motioned at Ron again. Ron slumping down his seat, deeply self conscious.
His mother reassuring him that he’ll find a nice girl.
Dean and Seamus cornering him with a Gryffindor girl in tow, she was a year below them and apparently very interested in Ron. He knew Dean meant well, Seamus helped just for a laugh. Ron took one look at the girl’s over polished lips, the hand twirling in her hair, and the swell of her chest before he took off running, scared for reasons unknown.
The Yule ball, watching Harry dance with Parvati and wishing it was him- bitterly drinking spiked punch, his date having left him, thinking that harry was strong. He'd be able to lift and twirl Ron, even with Ron’s awkward height and gangly limbs. Immediate shock, shame, and anger at the thought, lashing out at Hermione the rest of the evening. Hurting her, watching her cry in her pretty periwinkle gown.
The way he forced himself to date Lavender, how he used her, so the other boys in their year would stop teasing him- stop trying to set him up.
The way she climbed off his lap one night after trying to have sex for the first time, suddenly serious as she held his face kindly and asked if he was sure he wanted this.. He had refused to look at her, face scarlet and angry tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. Lavender told him it was okay if he didn’t like girls, that there was nothing wrong with him. She helped him get dressed, swore she wouldn’t tell anyone and could still be his beard, then kissed his cheek goodnight.
Unable to perform like all the normal boys made him feel broken and unrepairable. Ron repaid Lavender’s kindness and understanding by ignoring her. Telling Harry and Hermione she was annoying and clingy. Made people think she was a crazy and controlling girlfriend.
She was dead now. He never got to apologize.
Harry and Ginny getting closer- envy making a place in his heart. What did she have that he didn't? Right..she was a girl. If Ron was born a girl maybe he would’ve looked like Ginny- he would’ve been beautiful and wanted by the Chosen One.
Hatred for Umbridge for hurting Harry. Sneaking in her office, using a Decoy Detonator, and stealing several of her pink trinkets and a tea set. Bringing the stolen goods and Harry up to the astronomy tower. The two of them taking turns hitting the items with spells. A small revenge, but Harry was having fun.. his shoulders flexing as he aimed and casted, making Ron’s mouth dry.
Burying Hedwig, with Harry, late in the night. Ron was the one shoveling, and became quickly covered in mud, it stained the knees of his jeans, streaked across his forehead when he wiped away sweat, and completely ruined one of his flannels. Ron didn’t care. Harry, not a speck of dirt on him, was despondent. Ron would do anything to bring life back into his friend.
After Hedwig was in the ground, Ron sat next to Harry, who leaned on Ron’s shoulder and began crying. Harry kept apologizing for George’s injury. Ron had reassured him that George had Fred- he’d be fine.
When he managed to stop Harry from abandoning them- to wait till after the wedding.. How Harry didn’t want anyone else to be hurt. No one else is going to die- not for him is what he said before hugging Ron tightly- ‘especially not you’ he had mumbled into Ron’s hair.
Ron somehow convinced him to stay.
And then..that night before the wedding, house filled to the brim with family and fear. Sharing his bed with Harry, surrounded by orange walls. A few candles lit, making the room look like a sunset. The summer heat was brutal. They were both stripped down to boxers and t-shirts. Only a thin white sheet covering them and a portable fan on full blast, window open. Ron was awake, one leg sticking out to feel the breeze. Listened as Harry’s snores and mumbled parseltongue blocked out the fan’s hum.
He felt content and unafraid, no worries about the impending doom or having to leave soon to start hunting horcruxes because Harry was next to him. If he stretched- he’d be able to feel Harry there. So close. It kept him awake.
He debated if it would be worth the risk- to graze his toes against Harry’s leg, feel the hair there- wanted to know if it was soft like the hair on his head..Or coarse?
Suddenly he felt Harry tense next to him and shudder awake. The white noise from the fan was present again. Ron mentally freaked out, terrified Harry somehow used legilimency and was angry with him. When minutes went by in silence and Ron wasn’t shoved off the bed, he had asked if Harry was okay- ‘bad dreams?’
Without a word Harry threw an arm around Ron’s waist. It made the red head flinch hard, but Harry just pulled Ron flush against his sweaty body- he could feel Harry’s breath against his collar bone. A thigh slipped between Ron’s legs, entangling them- coarse black hair tickled him. Harry’s hand, the one holding onto Ron’s waist, started rubbing up his side and the movement caused Ron’s shirt to hike up- exposing his stomach. Ron felt his dick jump, fire poured into his gut. He gasped shy and unexpectedly, face flushing and eyes expanding wide in panic- he tried to pull away thinking Harry wasn’t awake after all.
Harry’s grip on his waist tightened, stilling him and making Ron’s dick twitch again, he nearly whined at the feeling. Embarrassed and unsure what was happening, Ron opened his mouth to say something- Harry shushed him.
Nothing else happened. Harry’s hold remained, firmly keeping Ron against him. Astonishingly fast, his mate started snoring again already fallen back asleep. Ron didn’t sleep at all that night. Only laid there harder than he’s ever been in his life and mortified by that fact.
Then worst of all the memories.. the memory of the unspeakable thing that happened in woods.. and how he deserved it because he said vicious spiteful things to the people he was closest to- threw Harry’s dead parents in his face- ignored Hermione’s calls out to him, her begging him to stop and ‘take off the locket’ but he was weak and he left them… then while trying desperately to get back to them.. he stumbled into a nightmare… and now because of it he could never let Harry hug or hold him close again.
Afraid the cruelty he endured would smear itself onto Harry’s skin and tarnish him- take away the Harry glow, whatever the thing is that makes Harry remarkable and bright. Pure, trusting, and selflessly brave.
Ron could replay the pre-wedding night in his head though; the candlelight sunset, a crisp white sheet, the ability to learn new things about Harry after all the years, and the feeling he had of being invincible in Harry’s arms.
Tainted.Tainted.Tainted.Tainted.Tainted.Tainted.Tainted.Tainted.Tainted.
Ron would not allow himself to taint Harry.
Tainted like the way he looks at Hermione now.
Their friendship strained. It was all his fault, he needed her now more than ever, but continued to push her away. She kept trying to reach him but he wouldn’t let her. Used sarcasm as a weapon to cut at her- till she left him alone.
He saw her as something he failed at, something he should’ve done right- been normal about. Really? Why couldn’t he be normal about this one thing? Hermione was beautiful and smart, she was one of his best friends, why couldn’t that be enough? She was always so wise- if he just listened to her back in the woods and stayed in the tent- took off that blimey necklace and tried harder to love her correctly, maybe he wouldn’t be in tatters.
Then there was after the woods, when Harry “died”. It felt like something else inside him broke apart, what remained of him was gone. Having already dwindled, Harry’s death would be his undoing.
It was as if his deluminator stole every light from the world, from his body. It was so dark without Harry’s existence. Ron didn’t think he’d ever feel again..
Harry didn’t die, he came back to them.
Beautiful and bloody and everything that was wonderful in Ron’s life.
The light had come back to Ron, but with the light and relief came the same pressing shame, resentment, and guilt from childhood. Along with the newly added raw fear and unfiltered distain that crawled into his pores, swished around his mouth, and weaved itself in the strands of his hair.
It was after the battle, when ash fell onto their heads like snow in may, faux winter left behind on the ground- the debris from Hogwart’s impenetrable walls crumbling under their feet, that he couldn't fight his desire anymore. Much like their school, Ron’s defenses were destroyed.
He had no option but let down his walls and look towards Harry. Not with the view of a childhood wish, but as the man that stood there breathing and alive, smiling in triumph.
Full of flaws and detriments. Ron loved him, deeply and completely.
Loved the scars he carried, the bags under his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped- like the weight of the world rested there. Loved the way he was proud without ambition, how he hated fame and never was embarrassed to wear his heart on his sleeve.
Merlin, he loved this man, who fought for a better world and was prepared to die. Loved the way he never saw Ron as poor- had jumped into a lake to save him- had actually thought out of everyone that Ron was the person he’d miss the most.
Loved how his eyes lit up when seeing Hagrid, how he’d run to hug the giant. And loved him during Christmas, how Harry would grin wide and bright- the first to wake up or join the festivities, grateful, making up for all the other Christmases he was denied.
Fuck, the way Harry loved Ron’s family and how they loved him in return.
Ron’s love was soft and hard, loud and quiet, he wanted Harry to have it all- take it all, anything he needed Ron would give him and ask for nothing in return.
Harry didn’t have to want him back. Merlin he’s more than happy for Harry to never return his feelings- would actually prefer if he never found out.
It’s too big for Ron to understand- this cycle of want, hate, love, devotion, and disgust. Harry had just saved the Wizarding world, Ron wasn’t going to make him wade through the mess of stunted emotions from his love sick mate. Harry didn’t need anymore burdens.
In a few hours Ron would be dealing with the death of his brother, the reporters snapping pictures and the trauma that lay dormant in all of them, but for a one short moment…as he watched Harry snap the Elder Wand in half, Ron allowed himself to selfishly want.
And he wanted so badly.
Wanted the fights, the arguments, the grief, the pain, to be touched, to be held, to spend every night like the one before the wedding- heart beating fast against Harry’s damp body. He wanted to love Harry and for that to be okay- acceptable.
Wanted Harry’s love to wrap around him gently and protect him from the horrors in hiding- the ones with sharp teeth and blunt fingernails that lurk deep inside the trees.
Wanted to make every missed holiday special for Harry. Wanted to kiss him- wanted Harry to want to kiss him back. Wanted Harry to show him how to be happy. Wanted Harry to heal the snarled ugly parts of him.
He wanted it all, but more than anything else he wanted Harry to stay just as he was now; alive, carefree, and untouched by the filth residing inside Ron.
———————————
Ron keeps rubbing his stomach, maybe if he could get rid of the nausea, he could get rid of the awful feelings as well.
Are Harry and Hermione awake now?
The urge to know was starting to take over, as if it would make a difference- like if he knew they were awake or not, he’d be able to tell if they’re touching each other.
A penchant for pain.
The sky was less dark now, a dusty light blue creeping in while he was lost in his head.
He needed to know the time.
Turning his head to look at the clock, he started at the base of it, slowly letting his eyes travel up the pendulum, the circle weight swinging harmonically. The minutes ticking by.
Tick. Tok. Tick. Tok.
Ron shakes his head as a bird chirps loudly outside, focus fading again because the pendulum’s back and forth movement.
It was a new problem of his- drifting off at random.
Time seems to slip away from him, clock taunting him or not.
Ron finds that losing himself is quite easy when he isn’t really anyone.
Time.
The clock releases a deep resonating melody, Westminster Chimes.. signaling another quarter-hour. It plays for several long seconds, making the pale hair on his arms rise. He still hasn’t got used to the noise. Every time it plays he grits his teeth. The tune of it sounds a lot like mourning.
Tick. Tok. Tick. Tok.
Why does Ron even care what time it is?Time is cruel and pointless- he wants to turn away once more, cover his head with the pillow, and never know the time again. But now that he’s given it an audience, the clock won’t let him avoid it any longer. It taunts him.
Tick. Tok. Tick. Tok.
It looms tall and old. Wood scuffed around the edges, glass cracked, decorative molding broken off, and the minute hand was slightly crooked.
The clock took up to much space; seemed alive, controlling, and grand.. it knows, regardless of what Ron wants, he will have to follow it’s rules. Rules of attendance and schedules. It knows that time is perishable. It eats away the minutes until there is nothing left. It’s gluttonous, hideous and Ron hates it.
…but maybe in the past or in a different home he would’ve called it beautiful.
It was stained a dark maple, flowers carved into the sides, and the clock’s face glowed a soft pink. Some kind of spell that made it never dim and casted a constant dreamy hue in the room. Making the blue of morning blend into amethyst and night blend into plum.
The color curled around the shape of his body- dipping into the hollow points, highlighting the paleness of his skin. Covering him in a light he couldn’t feel. Taunting.
The clock is probably getting revenge with every tick- sending Ron reminders of the time he’s wasted.
Revenge for being brought into a home and mistreated by seven chaotic kids- who, in youth, used it as a barricade in fights, a hiding place during games, a clothes rack, and a perch for Errol.
It once had a life in the kitchen, Ron can remember stubbing his toe against it on more than one occasion.
It was replaced by the Weasley family clock a few years after Ginny was born.
Unsurprisingly, like all things in the family, it got used, and used, and used. Until it was no longer worth anything, not that the Weasley’s cared about worth. It probably didn’t have much value to begin with, if they owned it. It was handed down, given back, and seemed to have returned just to taunt Ron.
It was tossed into the attic, just how he was now. Waiting to be of use, breaking apart despite the chimes for attention; decaying in dust, cobwebs, and mold. Worthless and ruined just like him.
Tick. Tok. Tick. Tok.
Ron thoughts were starting to drift again… he was glad he didn’t have to look at the time through spoons with his sibling’s faces on them. One spoon absent.
He forced himself to take a deep breath and finally look into the clock’s illuminated face.
It was 4:30 am.
Harry and Hermione were most likely asleep. Cozy together.
Fred is dead.
His funeral is today.
Ron feels empty.