Envy
Ron had been called jealous from the moment he was born. The sixth son, the sick son. But he felt starved; of attention, of talent, of affection. When he entered Hogwarts and befriended Harry Potter, he thought that he’d finally be getting all of the attention. He was sorely mistaken. Now, he was not only behind Head Boy Percy and the notorious twins, but also The Chosen One. He did register that perhaps it was a little fucked up to envy an abused orphan whose fate was to die, but he did.
When Hermione Granger came along he selfishly thought that he could one-up her because there was no way that a muggle-born could best a pureblood. However, she did. He was angry. The professors loved her, Harry loved her. The girl absorbed information and Harry's attention. He'd tried to point out her flaws, to show Harry what she truly was, a nightmare. It was as though she was the straw that broke the camel's back. For years Ron sat in silence, allowing her to hog Harry’s attention, because she was useful, in fairness. Even when Ron left them in the forest of Dean, he went back. He'd regretted leaving, truly. He had left in a tantrum, the Horcrux whispering into his soul. When he got back to the Burrow, he couldn't squash the jealousy, were they together right now? He couldn't shake the vision of them. Touching, existing in peace when his life was filled with the bitter taste of envy.
But he finally realised that he was the human embodiment of envy. Nothing would every be enough. Until no everyone in the world possessed less than him, he would never be satisfied. As he sat atop his newfound galleons, staring down at the withering corpses of every woman he’d ever slept with, he realised that he may be asking for too much.
“You don’t think I'm asking too much, do you mate?”.
Harry’s skeleton never answered.