Jealousy (and all the ugly things it does to me)
Ron, whenever he thinks of Harry, thinks of scars.
The ugly, small one on the back of his hand,I must not tell lies spelled out for everyone to see.
The one across his forearm, left there by his own 'pet rat'.
The one on his forehead that tied him to a monster, left him to bleed, sucked out his soul, send him to his own death.
That got him attention he never craved for wherever he went.
Ron thinks of those scars, it's hard not to associate Harry with those, after all. But he also thinks of those nobody but Ron can see.
The ones you don't notice till you look besides the boy who lived.
Ron remembers that little boy he shared a carriage with, a little over six years ago. He remembers the awed faces when Harry stood there at Kings Cross. He remembers all his siblings ceasing their conversations with him once the little celebrity joined them. He remembers the gold in his pocket, the jealousy swimming in his heart like a poison.
But.
He also remembers the too big clothes that little boy almost drowned in, remembers the skinny wrist Ron was arguably kund of afraid to break once the two shared a handshake, remembers how much smaller he looked compared to Ron and his brothers, remembers him cowering away once Fred and George pointed out who he was.
He remembers thinking that no eleven year old should have such old eyes.
Those eyes, in the years to come, would only harden even deeper, their once shiny glimmer dimming with every disappointment Harry faced.
It's weird, the sensation of mourning someone you have never met, but Ron would do so much to just turn back time and to give that little boy the first time he was locked in that cupboard under the stairs a big hug. He must have been so confused in that little room, all alone with his tin soldiers and feeling unloved and unwanted.
Ron did have a hard time sharing things because of the amount of things in his trunk he can't call his own because they've belonged to two, four, seven people before him and his family has never been perfect, but he has always known that he was loved.
Some days, he thinks Harry doubts that anyone can love him the right way.
Can appreciate him for just existing.
The bile that rose up his throat the day he found Harry with a packed backpack behind the Burrow won't ever leave him alone again. He thought right then and there that Harry was ready to die for the Wizard World. Harry thought of himself as expendable.
As if Ron's world didn't circulate around Harry like the world does the sun.
He thought 'this is it. I'll lose him and there is nothing I can do about it.'
Two years later and Ron was right. The sight of Harry's mangled body in Hagrids big, strong arms are nightmare material for the years to come, he is sure of it. Only when he saw Harry breathe again did Ron do the same thing.
After it is said and done and Voldemort cannot torment his best friend anymore, does he return to the great Hall for one last goodbye.
It's a bit of an out of body experience, being part of a war you've known would come since fourth year.
It's also weird seeing Fred so still, so quiet.
Obviously he wasn't there when the twins were born but he can't imagine that the two came quietly. They probably came into the world like no baby ever does; shaking with laughter instead of cries.
Those sounds followed the twins; laughter and shrieks of joy. The two weren't even quiet when they were sleeping; they snored like a train, the both of them.
So, now staring at the gray face of a man he has only ever seen smile over both ears, is undeniably cruel.
He slightly turns his head towards George, who is doing those quiet little sobs of despair, his big hand, the one that isn't holding Fred's, that is, held over his quivering mouth to silence himself even further.
Ron can't fucking breathe, debris and wet air choking him.
He turns around, ready to sprint out of the great hall, and comes face to face with the rest of the family. Grieve isn't exactly what is haunting the Weasley's faces right now, it's utter terror. They are a big family, but none of them thought they'd bury one of their own.
They have all stepped away from the twins, mom and Dad holding one another. In the background Ron can see multiple medi witches tending to the hurt. For one dumb second he wants to call out to them, to tell them they should help Fred, when he remember that death is inevitable, unavoidable to anyone but his best friend.
George behind him makes another violent choking sound, still draped over his other half and Ron tells himself quietly that maybe it would have been kinder for George to have died as well; that way, he would have died without ever knowing what a world without his best friend looked like.
He is so ashamed of these thoughts, Ron does run out of the Great Hall again, to the end of the bridge where he finds Hermione, the love of his life, and Harry. His best mate, the one filling his world with color and adventure once upon a time, holds the elder wand. He has never looked more tired.
The stick of death looks so insignificant in Harry's small, calloused fingers, but even multiple meters away does Ron feel its powers.
"We could use it", he suggests, licking his overly dry lips.
"We could be undefeated."
But, of course, Harry shows the whole world and Ron's greedy heart once again why he was, is and always will be the choosen one.
He breaks the wand in two and throws it over the edge.
Maybe this wasn't a good story, Harry's story.
It was filled with misery, loneliness, and way too much death.
It was rotten and Harry never stood a change, after all; mistreated, sacrificed, manipulated. He has never looked more vulnerable and Ron, for the first time in forever, looks at the boy he swore he'd follow to hell and back and thinks, he shouldn't have been the one to lead. He was forced into that role and never wanted it.
Maybe, Harry's books were filled with people too afraid to take charge, take care of Harry, too aware of his scars and thought, it's rotten work.
Ron isn't one of those people. Neither is Hermione.
This is his story now and Harry never has to sacrifice his happiness over anyone else's ever again.
Harry Potter is made of scars and Ron Weasley is damned if he doesn't help ease the pain in every way he can do.