MUSE OF APOLLO

Revamping the journal

Fri, 29 Jun 2007 06:10:44 GMT

I did a little revamping, layout wise :)

Snatched at thefulcrum and only redid the banner a bit.

As for writing I'm currently planing on writing a bit more original fiction but also think about doing a sequel to 'Dark side of the soul'. Well, best to wait and see :)

Original Fiction - Tear

Tue, 09 Jan 2007 00:02:31 GMT

Title: Tear
Author: bibi_bloom
Genre: Alternate Worlds, Future Fic, Sci-Fi
Rated: Eventually R
Summary: This story is set in the fictional world of 2325. It follows a teenage boy named Tear. Crimes on children had dangerously increased and so he grew up in a time where every move of adolescents is watched closely. But there are some odd things that don’t add up to the common knowledge. Curiously he starts investigating and stumbles across a conspiracy that will put him and his friends in danger.
Inspired: By some recent articles about the increasing crime rate against children and the ever curious eye of the ‘man’, big brother or whatever.
Author’s note: This is my first original story; all characters were created by me. As well as the world but I hope it sounds a bit realistic. All the Brand Names are made up. Please, if you have a moment to spare leave some feedback.
………………………………………………………………………………..

Chapter one, “August”

First chapter beta’d by Amy.

“Ours is a lost generation, it may be, but it is more blameless than those earlier generations.” - Kafka

His mother named him Tear because he was born in a time of depression, in a time where the world was covered by a veil of melancholy. It had been a time of silence, no wars, no politics and no real hope either. The people had been tired of fighting and blaming and struggling. Many gave up around that time. It didn't need highly developed computer gadgets to know that it was a time where suicide was the highest rated cause of death.

The birth itself was a straining one. There was so much worry and fear inside the room and Tear sucked it up with his first scream in this world. It surely wouldn’t be the last since his vocal chords turned out to be quite powerful. His father, Miles, a seventeen year old tweaker, stared at his son in a mixture of mild interest and utter astonishment. He wasn’t really moved deeply by this wonder of nature, especially since the birthrate had reached a dangerously low level, but only a bit curious. That curiosity would soon vanish and only a week later; Tear’s father walked away.

It would never be determined if it was a great loss or a blessing to grow up without a father. In this world and in his time, fathers seemed to be lurking around everywhere. His mother was still young and attractive and that was something entirely rare these days. The men came and went but none of them ever reached the boy in any way. There was only mutual respect and tolerance but no deep emotions.

With the time of sadness slowly fading, Tear became a young boy when feelings in general had lost their meanings. People barely smiled and almost never laughed. Not even if something was surprisingly amusing to them. Nobody cried or got angry anymore. It was a dull state of living and only instinct pushed them forward. Those who still felt pain in their hearts kept killing themselves and only the younger generations were blessed with a sense of fun.

This story will start with the morning of Tear’s sixteen birthday in the year 2325. It was August and therefore too hot to go outside. In Tear’s mind, August was by far the dullest month of the year. Everybody stood under national quarantine because of the blistering heat and the random fires breaking out. Too many for the fire department to handle. Every August everybody turned into some sort of Vampire and fled in utter fear from the warmth above. Every August they moved downstairs to the basement.

His mother would seal the upper door and set the timer. Mostly she’d sigh and would add, “One month of rotten air.”

Aurelia, his younger sister by three years, would roll her eyes and his uncle Mike would start to look for a comfortable nesting space. Everyone on their street and mostly everybody in the country, possibly the world (Tear wasn’t sure of that) would do the same and hide underground. Only a few, the unfortunate ones who had no home were scattering in the sewage and abandoned houses.

Last year they had found a dead guy up in the living room. First grade burns had darkened his skin and he would have even made it, the doctor explained, had he not been insanely intoxicated. Since the alcohol increased the dehydration of the body the man died about two days before the most dangerous phase had passed.

Tear had found the corpse first as he ran upstairs to his room. He almost stumbled across the guy’s legs and stared at him for a whole five minutes before his mom appeared next to him and let out a shriek. It had been a cool story and he instantly dialed up his best buddy Parker and proudly told him about this profoundly important incident. Parker had let out a puffed ‘oh, wow, dude’ and they indulged further into the subject.

Unlike the adults, Tear and his small group of friends all living in the direct neighborhood, because you don’t leave your quarter before you turn at leas, seventeen, were not as apathetic as them. They shared many interests such as wasting time with each other and had the tendency to be misfits.

August, though, August was mostly boring. Tear sighed as he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He was on top of the bunk bed and listening to his sister girlishly snorting. It was his birthday and it would be a birthday just like the rest of them. One without his friends and without the chance to go somewhere else. His mother would hand him her credit card so he could order a movie via Internet and they would unfreeze the cake she bought in July.

Gifts would be exchanged, considering the financial situation of the family he didn’t expect much and afterwards his mom would kiss him, cry and tell him how much she loved him. Although the tears would then quickly dry out and she would be focusing on her laptop to figure out her work schedule. Business was bad these days. Not many people graved for the attention of Miss Rosa, especially not in August where her target audience was just as locked up as she was, they only shared rooms with their significant others.

However, it was still a way to make money. Others weren’t fortunate like that. Marc’s mother for example refused to do any online services and always had to come up with a solution for the four weeks she was out of work. Legally she was receiving a check by the government but it was barely more than twenty percent of her regular salary. It meant being hungry and there was always a possibility that the electricity capacity wouldn’t last the full four weeks.

Which naturally meant pure horror because then Marc wouldn’t be able to communicate with his friends. That also had happened last year but Tear suspected it to happen again. He crossed his arms as he kept looking at the basement ceiling and squinted his eyes to count the holes in the concrete. It was too early to go online and he wasn’t in the mood for breakfast yet.

Sixteen was a big number. Once he would walk out of this prison he’d be almost an adult. That sounded pretty cool in his mind. He’d even be allowed to drive a car and there were already plans to cross into another quarter. As most boys his age he had become restless. He was fearless about the outside world because he was very confident that he’d seen everything already.

Tear had been online since he turned five years old and what started with funny shapes and games, quickly turned into many other directions. Qualities and talents were discovered and tested during his online-school, friends were found and abandoned, relationships formed and morals defined. The first five years, until he turned ten and was finally allowed to be outside every now and then, he spent in a virtual world. That world had become boring by now.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered to himself and tangled his fingers whilst he dreamt from doing great things such as going shopping for himself. There was a certainty that he would receive his first credit card as a gift today. Of course it wouldn’t have much credit and he would be responsible and careful (probably) but it was a start. At sixteen he’d be allowed in shops, restaurants and Movie Theaters.

His mother wasn’t very happy about this particular birthday. In her opinion her son looked way too young. She couldn’t see a sixteen year-old man but a little boy. These weren’t good times to have your kids walk around unsupervised. There was barely any morality left on the streets and crimes on children had reached a horrible first place in the statistics.

Some said it was envy. Envy of their youth and ability to somewhat enjoy life to a certain extent. Other said that it was the dullness, the apathy that triggered the hunger to inflict pain on those who couldn’t fight back. Many psychologists studied this phenomenon and all had different theories. Quite few had been eventually arrested too because they couldn’t withstand the temptation. Most religious groups warned it to be a direct temptation by the devil himself. Which was both an accusation and an excuse for the many priests giving in.

The only community who didn’t question but learned to live with it was that of the children themselves. It was common to keep them inside a close space until they would turn five. After the fifth birthday they were allowed in community centers supervised by both psychological and medical professionals. The buildings, groups and playgrounds were secured by armed forces and self-defense was the first class every kid went to.

At the age of twelve they were allowed to be unsupervised but only if they were in possession of a GPS Cell-phone linked to the parents residence so they could be monitored via satellite, and to the nearest police station. One button would trigger the alarm and the new, spiffy generation of Security-Cell-Phones could even be used as a defense weapon.

Those were pretty awesome in Tear’s mind and he envied that Leon had one and he still carried an old model. He, himself never cared much about the daily danger. There were other, much more important things to worry about. Girls for example. Now, girls weren’t easily to spot. He was lucky because he had a sister, so occasionally she’d bring home one of her friends.

It was only because of Aurelia that Tear’s family could afford to live in a fairly nice neighborhood. 24 surveillance, community center, church and convenient stores in walkable and bright-lighted distance. Girls were precious. Not solely in Tear’s mind but in general. Due the Suicide-years the general population was already reduced and in recent studies, scientist recognized that of every ten children they was always just one girl. The government paid courageously for them and even the education programs were always better than those for the boys.

There were many theories on that anomaly as well. Dr. Robert Block wrote in his book, ‘Why we are all female’ that it was only a physical aspect and that eventually men would be able to procreate as well. His opinion was not shared by Professor Procter, who stated in every talkshow and on the radio that the human kind was on the verge for extinction. He wrote a wildly discussed article called ‘Our time is up’ in the TIME magazine and always looked like it had already happened.

That Marcia Flower only recently discovered a cure for all forms of AIDs was an acheivement not really celebrated due the imminent danger of dying out. Pregnancy these days was way to a better life, which is why Mrs. Sanders, Toby’s mom, already had four children. Unfortunately they had all been boys but so far neither her nor her husband Christopher seemed to be giving up. As far as Tear knew she was already pregnant again.

For Tear, girls and women had been magical creatures. Mysterious and glorified by everyone around him. This, however, was a newfound sensation he only recently became aware of. Up until then he only knew a few details from Toby’s older brother who was about the only teenager Tear knew that had actually been on a date. Ten boys for one girl. Do the math; Tear thought gloomingly and a bit afraid that the odds might become even worse for him.

The only current women around him were his mother, and that was legally forbidden and his sister, which according to old files used to be forbidden but was now even encouraged. However, Aurelia was not only too young but also about the only girl he didn’t really like all that much. There was a good chance that in two to three years people might start suggesting them to get together but Tear sincerely hoped to have found another girl by then.

If you count it, he had already had girlfriends. Online girlfriends. About six months ago he had even cybered with Cecelia, a girl he had chatted with exclusively for a while. It had been supremely fantastic to watch her touch herself and he couldn’t deny that the orgasm, one of the first he ever had, was a nice add to that too. However, there was no real contact involved and as far as her profile stated she lived at the East Coast. In addition she evidently wasn’t as pleased with him as he was with her because only two weeks later she broke up with him and even blocked him. Bitch, he thought angrily and gazed at his wristwatch. Still too early.

“Are you up?” His sister asked in a sleep drunken voice.

“Yes for about an hour.”

“Happy birthday,” she hushed softly and he smiled, thinking that his sister wasn’t so bad to as a sibling.

“Thanks.”

Maybe it wasn’t too early after all he suddenly decided and reached out for his laptop placed next to him. He flicked it open and his fingers routinely rushed along the keyboard. He sighed as he was notified that the system was looking for a wireless port. Considering how ancient his laptop was this could take a few minutes. The entire process was completely soundless and he straightened up as the screen came to life.

- Welcome, Tear. You have 1.500 unread messages –

He simply typed ‘Delete all’ and pushed the enter button. Nobody bothered reading messages these days. The Spam Empire had long taken over and it was completely pointless to find the one possible interesting message in this chaos. Besides the people who knew him could simply talk to him online.

- Entering Section 5, Sector 5 LA and surrounding areas. Access to FortressofSolitude room requires username and password –

Tear reacted with a well-known habit and entered both name and code whilst he brushed a strand of his black hair from his face. As the Chat window popped up he could see his own image thanks to his small camera and made a face. Objectively he was considerably handsome. He had worked hard to create a unique style but mostly looked average. His dark, almost black hair was a genetic gift from his father as his mother often told him. Even though it wasn’t curly it still look distorted. It would look like that all the time and not just shortly after waking up, though later he would use wax to make it hide part of his face. It was important that there was no real structure but a lot of emotional despair visible through his haircut.

By now it had grown quite long much to the dislike of his mother. Tear liked it and it was much easier to hide dark rims around the eyes and the curses of puberty, since his mom refused to buy him ‘SmoothSkinShine’, which was ‘the’ formula against all skin irritations. It worked well, as seen in Toby, who was the only one who ever tried it. Tear drummed against the keyboard as he waited for the familiar sound, a sort of bell announcing he was connected and scratched his neck absently.

- Welcome to the fortress of solitude, Tear. One soldier of your legion is currently online.

Even before Tear clicked on the name another window popped up and showed his friend Parker with a broad grin. His voice sounded mildly distorted through the speakers as he blurred, “Duuude!! Happy birthday you old toad!”

“Thanks, man. How is it goin’?

“There isn’t much going. It’s fucking August. You?”

Tear shrugged and made a face, “Same shit. Only I’m now a year older.”

“Sixteen, dude! Are you going nuts already?” Parker shifted in out of the frame as he reached out for an energy drink. Judging by the constant trembling he probably shouldn’t.

“Not really. I mean what’s really going to change?”

“Everything, dude. You are getting’ out of here. Meeting like, real chicks!”

“What? Alone? My mom never lets me go out alone and none of you guys are old enough.”

“Six months baby, six months,” Parker announced and winked into the camera.

Then his face turned serious and he narrowed his eyes, “Did you hear about Justin?”

“Justin Meyers?” Parker nodded and Tear asked, “What about him?”

“They got his little brother.”

“What do you mean ‘got’?”

“Apparently he got played by a creep. The guy hacked into the NetGround and faked to be a girl. They chatted for almost a year and according to Mick’s mom, he even used IllCam.”

The Illusion-cam was an invention by Coby Kessler. Five years ago he had played around with scan imagery and holographic gimmicks and almost accidentally created a program of illusion. Basically you can add any details and amenities to the program and while it records, it transform the original image into a manipulation. In Casey Meyer’s case a 45 year-old teacher named Harold create a false image of himself a fourteen-year girl from San Diego.

Of course one always has to be careful in online dealings but NetGround was a usually a highly protected program and designed to filter such fakes. Harold had been smart though and had stayed undetected. About a week before the start of the August heat phase, Harold, going by the name Tara suggested they should meet half way and Casey, heated up with excitement stole his fathers car to comply to this wish. The entire drive he was having butterflies raging in his stomach and was more than a little aroused.

They met in an old motel near the freeway. But as Casey entered room 12 with a heavily beating heart he was suddenly confronted with someone completely different to his imagination. Instinctively he pulled back and attempted to escape but Harold, who had been waiting for an entire year, a year of endless stupidly romantic chat sessions was more prepared and faster. He was very well aware that his crime might cause him his life but he didn’t care. All he wanted was the fifteen year-old boy all to himself.

“IllCam? I thought that shit doesn’t work in here.”

“Apparently he figured out a way. They found Casey’s body dumped at the roadside. He really fucked him up good.”

This wasn’t good news, Tears thought because security would be increased.

………………………………………………

End of Chapter one.

Original Fiction

Sun, 20 Aug 2006 00:39:14 GMT

And because this is supposed to be a writing journal a little piece I've written recently.

Original fiction, teenage angst, drama ... the usual :)
.................................................

Now, the truly fucked up thing about a suicide is to survive. That’ll screw you over for sure. When you open your eyes, expecting whatever heaven or hell you assumed to have waiting turns into an ugly white hospital room you’re screwed. Simple as that.

My dad was the first person I saw and he paced back and forth my room with a red face. His I’m-pissed face. He was evidently pissed at me and I couldn’t make if that was because it hadn’t worked. Confusingly enough he also seemed to care, which had been rare.

Mom only cried. It’s what mothers do and blamed herself.

I remember when I tried to move that my throat felt sore but other than that I was relatively painless, just really fucked up over the fact that I was still alive. I didn’t mess up. It was cut right as it should be and there was enough blood to, at least, assume it’ll be enough.

They were wondering why I would want to die and that was really pissing me off. Have they been blind lately? Did they think it would just go away? Had they thought that since I failed once I wouldn’t try again? I was on a mission for crying out loud. There was a plan behind this. A well thought out plan that ended with me being fucking buried.

I had imagined him crying. He’d blame himself for sure. Call me pathetic but it was all because of him. Call me cliché if you will, I don’t care. My father thinks I sought out attention. Is it my fault that it was giving to me that way? I think he blames me.

Just stop telling bullshit, like it’s all going to be fine because it’s a goddamn lie.

Don’t give me pity either. Just stop lying.

And please, all stop faking. It’s profoundly wrong to fake compassion.

But the really fucked up thing about a suicide gone wrong comes days later. Then, when you least expect it you’ll be dragged into your first session with a frigid old bitch.

‘Why did you want to die?’ She asked casually.

Let’s see, hmmm. Pffft, well, lately I’m finding myself reacting extremely aggressive towards pop-music. It makes me questioned the IQ of this country. That Bush is somehow still president also pisses me off. I have no friends. I have no life, basically. Oh, yeah, I guess I’m abused or used or maybe just plainly screwed. It sort of makes me really fucking pathetic. Because, seriously what sort of a lame label it that? I hate myself. I hate my skin, it’s why I cut it. I hate my mind even more because it plays tricks on me.

I can’t sleep anymore. It’s just being awake, feeling like shit. Every fucking day. Why bother getting up. I don’t have to go to school because of the terrible, unspeakable evil that has tormented me for such a very long time. Poor, poor kid and yet I feel like I’m being punished.

If you ask me those are all pretty understandable reasons for not wanting life to go on. Then she says, ‘You have to learn to embrace life.’

Great, thanks for the tip lady.

Embrace life, yeah, fantastic advise.

What does it take to make them all shut up?

It’s just words, they say.

They don’t mean anything.

They never will mean anything and

they never meant anything either.

Write it down, they say.

This doesn’t make sense.

If words never meant anything, don’t mean anything and never will be meaning anything

Then why bother writing them down.

Get over it, some say.

Gladly, boys and girls,

Now, if you’d stop using all those meaningless phrases

And just let me heal.

Tell a story, a few asked.

A beautiful story and fill it up with beautiful, meaningless words.

Arrange it perfectly and lie.

If words are meaningless than lying is completely pointless.

Trust me, he said.

What exactly does trust mean?

Has it meant anything?

Or was it just words?

Don’t, I said

But that meant nothing.

Harry Potter

Wed, 22 Mar 2006 01:24:50 GMT

Oh, well I did it again. It's still extremely weird writing HP fiction because it's such a huge universe and I find it a lot more difficult. But before I put my efforts back to all the other stories I'm writing I had to start this. I think I like it. I think I might even want to write more of it but as before I'm not sure because it could be total crap. I definitely should re-read the books as well lol

Title: Unforgivable crime
Author: MissB
Pairing: Ron/Harry (implied)
Rating: Currently I'd say PG-13 but you know me...
Disclaimer: I most certainly have not invented Harry Potter or the HP universe. I'm just shamelessly stealing J.K Rowling's characters to use as I please. Which makes me a bit guilty but since it's also fun I think I can leave with that.
Summary: They had been prepared for you-know-who himself but hadn't forseen the cruelty of the muggle world. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time and one was forced to committ a terrible crime.

At first it was only pain and then it was fear. It was a dark night with a pitch-black sky and no stars. And it had been a quiet day. From what little he was still remembering he recalled it as a good day. Possibly because it was one of the first days ever, since all had become so tragic, that was all about having fun.

Hours, [i]only[/i] hours later Ron leaned crotched down against a wall, shielded by Hagrid who waved his arms in desperation and was supported by a wildly protesting Madame Pomfrey arguing that the boy needed help. Said boy was Ron and despite the blinding pain he found himself agreeing. He could hear the voice of his mother who sounded outraged and his father who sounded in shock, though for what had momentarily faded out of his mind.

He was also aware that Harry was in the same room, though quietly. Mostly because he didn’t dare to risk being thrown out. Therefore he was mutely sitting on Ron’s sight, holding his hand, which under different circumstances might have been awkward but Ron was only grateful for something to hold on. A part of him was glad that Hermione wasn’t there because he feared she would have quoted various books, all stating the same. All refraining to the earliest. Many trials have been held regarding the crime he committed but despite how hard he tried to remember he couldn’t come up with one that was not voted guilty.

“Hmm,” Ron choked out in pain and his body cramped painfully as he spat out, “Harry…please it hurts.”

It was an understatement on Ron’s behalf because the pain was so horrible that he even fainted briefly only to be awakened by it again. Never before had he felt anything like it and it felt like a fire burning him up from the inside. He had one hand pressed tightly against the hole shot into his body because someone told him to do it. Whether or not it was helping, Ron couldn’t say and just acted automatically.

He really wished they would make room so Madame Pomfrey would do something magical that would either take away this nagging pain or kill him. It didn’t matter what because, at least it would be over. Ron wanted it to be over. He wanted it to be over hours ago when it had all started. He groaned when his body convulsed heavily and withered in agony.

In a brief almost hysterical moment of a constant break down he wondered if his father would want to keep the bullet. After all it was a muggle artefact, wasn’t it? Certainly one that Ron really did not like. If it wouldn’t all be so insanely wrong he probably would have said, “Blimey, Harry. That really bloody hurts.”

Of course that would occur after he would have been healed and when everything would go back to normal. Even the prospect of being a part of the Order, of being trained because absolute evil crawled nearer every day, suddenly sounded amazingly beautiful and in his cloud of pain he let out a sigh, heavily, definitely and sunk into himself.

“Ron!?” Harry screamed pulling him up by his shoulders, rattling and shaking him whilst his voice tried to reach the unconsciousness by uncontrolled screaming in panic.

“Mr. Weasley?” A voice asked him while Ron looked down at himself and a crying Harry.

“This is strange,” he said and turned around to face nearly headless Nick. The ghost gave him an odd stare that instantly made him uncomfortable.

“Indeed strange. I would have not expected to see you in such a position.”

“Why can’t they see me like we see you?”

“If they wanted they could. It is the power of the moment. They are all too focused on bringing you back to life,” Nick said in a compassionate voice.

“I was shot,” Ron explained in a slightly absent voice not really wanting to die but obviously was. There seemed to be so many things left to do and to say. His eyes watched as the elders around approached his lifeless body in a rush, all waving their wands in perfect synchronisation. Not all, his mother simple cried and Harry…

“Who would use such a primitive weapon?”

Harry looked in more pain than Ron had felt before. His eyes were pained with the certainty of loss. He watched everything trapped in a trance that made him relive every moment with Ron. From the first day at Victoria Station and their ride to Hogwarts till the very last second that Ron had still be conscious. Harry always knew how loss felt but it still hit him so hard that it ripped him of his feet and he sunk helplessly to the ground with only just a glimpse of forced hope that maybe magic would do its wonder.

“Muggles,” Ron replied to the ghostly question and kept on following the chanting of various reviving spells. Madame Pomfrey had her palm over his wound because she knew that they needed to get the bullet out. For the first time Ron saw what had been done to him or rather his body and it almost amusement him, “So much blood.”

“I am sure those talented people will bring you back to life, Mr. Weasley. I wouldn’t worry about this little out of body experience. It is quite common as far as I’ve heard. Once…”

“May I ask you something?” Ron interrupted him.

“But of course, Mr. Weasley. Anything. I’d be happy to be of help in this dreadful situation.”

“What is the worst crime you know?”

“Murder of course,” the answer came quick but was said with a suspiciously undertone.

Ron seemed to have lost interest in the situation because he started to feel something pulling him back down and was no longer sure if that was such a good idea. For a moment he could almost see his future and it frightened him momentarily more than pain or death. Azkaban, he though in a moment of panic, they are going to sent me to Azkaban.

He struggled and turned around to Ghost, croaking, “Don’t let me go back. Please!”

“I’m sorry?”

“They are going to think I’m a death eater. They are going to think I work with You-know-who!”

Headless Nick carefully floated a few inches back and cocked his eyebrow, “Why would they think that?”

There was no time for explanation and Ron let out a scream when he felt pain again but a different pain. As if his body was rattled and rocked and pulled back inside out he felt cold and hot all at the same time when magic crashed through every one of his veins. He felt trapped inside his own body and noticed in fear that the was unable to move. Every sound formed into a growling inhuman hiss and strained him further.

Slowly he became aware of hands holding him down and a rush of gratitude flushed his inside when the pain faded. There was nothing eating through his flesh anymore and no more blood pouring out. His skin tickled with life and pushed aside the numbness from the previous blood loss. Everything felt strikingly wonderful for a faint moment of just being glad that it was over. Though, once he lifted his eyes and stared into the various faces surrounding him Ron wished himself dead.

“Ron,” his mother was the first to speak in a tear-struck and pained voice and softly brushed through his hair, “I thought I had lost you.”

It was supposed to be the moment in all adventures that everybody would find a cheering word and provided an encouraging smile. The moment in which Harry would grin because they beat destiny once again and they were fine. It would have been a moment where Dumbledore would walk through the doors and make everything right again. In the end they would eat something deliciously sweet and laugh about the recent events.

The faces around his bed showed him a clear picture of his chances. There were his parents who looked both still extremely shocked and pale, there was Hagrid who looked almost as worriedly as Professor McGonagall and there was Harry, whose face wasn’t giving away his emotions, though Ron knew it was mostly fear because he knew as well as everyone in this room that things had just made a drastic turn.

Madame Pomfrey’s facial expression belonged solely to Ron’s physical condition and she rather dared not to let her thoughts drift. The new Potions teacher, Professor William Flint looked oddly fascinated and his angelic facial features luminescented, which made his face look more like a painting. The rest of the faces looked at him with narrowed eyes and didn’t promise to be on his side. Rufus Scrimgeour and his brother and at least two men he had never seen before.

He shifted and helplessly tried to wet his lips to force himself to speak but everything felt sore. Somehow he got a hold of his father’s wrist and croaked, barely audible, “I am sorry.”

It felt even wrong to say it, Ron thought but sunk back as if he achieved at least something. He was sorry but explaining for what and why would have taken him hours and he feared that only Harry would be able to understand. Because Harry was there and seen it all. However, Harry wasn’t supposed to have been there and neither was Ron. They both shouldn’t have been there at that particular time and no matter the reasons for his actions they would all point that out. He could almost hear question over question as to why two underage Hogwarts students had decided to go to London.

There were many explanations and all of them would made everything worse. Ron couldn’t picture his parents to accept it and he was utterly sure that the Ministry would not care about his or Harry’s need to see a concert in London. Muggle-music, Muggle-venue and Muggle-band were only three reasons as to why they weren’t meant to be there. For a brief moment Ron found it amusing to think that they probably would not care that it was a school night because what had happened was equally horrible on either night of the week, month or year.

Snape most likely would have added it; he thought with a bitter taste in his throat whilst he blinked and turned to face Harry, “Are you alright?”

For Harry the question sounded almost ridiculous since he wasn’t the one being shot but nonetheless he smiled warily and said in a soft voice, “Yes. Thanks to you.”

It could have been Ron’s greatest moment for he was a hero. At least in Harry’s eyes he was and that usually was all that mattered. Lately it had mattered quite a bit more, which probably would have went un-noticed had not Hermione noticed it long before either of them would have dare to waste a thought. She only once, during a date, casually joked that maybe Ron and Harry should date since they were so close anyway. It had raised a laughter that was maybe a bit too loud and too hastily but it had taken them another three months to even allow to think of it again. Acting on it had never been a question, at least up until yesterday.

Ron locked eyes with Harry and thought that maybe this wasn’t supposed to happen because the result looked pretty devastating. Yet, on the other hand considering that this might be one of the last moments they would ever share the youngest Weasley son suddenly let out a sob but calmed himself when he whispered, “I…[i]meant[/i] it.”

“Me, too,” Harry only replied sadly in a code that nobody around them understood. All but maybe, Molly Weasley who spotted something rather unexpected and under better circumstance it might have amused her. It struck her hard how trivial this little secret between them had become and how irrelevant it was to this entire situation.

“Mr. Weasley,” a small, blonde man asked him with a darkened voice that sounded unfitting to his appearance. He was wearing a simple black robe, though had a maroon colored scarf wrapped around his neck. The blonde, almost white hair increased the ghostly paleness of his skin and he seemed oddly nervous when he asked, “Would you explain what had happened?”

Ron suddenly felt blocked. His throat seemed to be filled with knot that deprived him of air and the ability to speak. Something deep inside him started to rave with memories that instantly turned into anger and fear. Thick tears profusely trailed down his checks as he forced himself to croak, “You already know.”

He wondered if there really is a need for him to explain the reason because as far he knew it would not do any good. Only the facts would matter when he would be forced in front of the [i]Wizengamot[/i] and nobody would care what happened before or in between. Ron knew it as well as Harry who silently started down to the ground because he wasn’t sure how much was supposed to be told. He would, and Ron was sure of it, eventually tell them his side. Even though it wouldn’t matter and might even get him into trouble as well.

“Ron,” his father started carefully, “is there anything you want to say?”

There was something. There were a lot of things actually but none of them Ron felt ready to share. The spells started working on the healing process and he felt suddenly tired. Besides he wanted to escape those eyes and those questions. What good would it do if he would rose up and tell them why he killed a muggle? Because in the end it came down to just one thing. The crime he had committed by using magic. He had used it in a place where he wasn’t supposed to be. None of it would have happened had they simply stayed in school, just like Hermione had urged them only hours ago.

“We need to give him some rest,” Madame Pomfrey finally came to his aid and started to dismiss everyone with a waving hand. It was Arthur who pulled his wife with him because they needed to talk; they needed to find a solution for something that seemed to have none satisfying one. However, Madame Pomfrey failed in ordering Harry Potter away from Ron’s sight. She only received a silent but determined glare before he fixated his eyes back on his injured friend.

Removing the bullet from his body had been easy enough, casting a spell to increase the healing process and brewing him a potion all of that she could provide. Everything else was up to his family and friends and therefore she nodded slightly before she left with a warning by saying, “I’m serious. Mr. Weasley needs rest!”

“Don’t worry. I will take care of him,” Harry replied sternly, dismissing her without another look because he thoughts belonged to Ron.

There was still a nasty bruise right above his left eyebrow and the paleness made those many freckles seemed to fade in defeat. Even though they had lifted the pain his body was still weak and it pained Harry all the more to see him like that. Mostly because he blamed himself for all of this. It had been [i]his[/i] idea to go to the concert; Ron didn’t even know the band. It had been [i]his[/i] assurance that he knew his way around the muggle world, though completely forgetting how long it had been since he actually ‘lived’ there. London wasn’t exactly a mirror of the Dursley house.

No magic had been the rule they made up because magic would get them caught. Magic eventually did get them caught, though Harry wished desperately that they had used it so much earlier. Then maybe they would get a mild punishment, maybe only detention and an angry letter by the Ministry and surely it would have been something Arthur Weasley could have helped them with. After all he was Harry Potter. [i]The[/i] Harry Potter, defeater of you-know-who for more than one time and hope of the Wizard World.

They were the reason why Ron and him hadn’t spent much time with each other lately since his time schedule was filled day in and day out. So many extra hours to learn more about the defence of the dark arts that Harry’s former favourite class had become a drag. Everybody was always waiting for Voldemort to strike. Yet, nothing happened. Things quickly adjusted to every day life, though with a little more awareness maybe. Or in Harry’s case things started to get very boring. Even the idea of Girls became boring and he found himself wanted to spend more time with Ron because the youngest Weasley son never seemed boring at all.

Why they started to talk more about the Muggle world, they both didn’t know. They were just young boys who wanted to do something and because George and Fred had done mostly everything you can possible do wrong in a school they decided to go to London. Just for this one time and prepared for everything. They were prepared with defensive charms, taking all pre-cautious. They were prepared for every death eater and Voldemort himself.

They had not been prepared for Muggles and the danger of a city like London past midnight. Neither had they’ve been prepared for feeling so free and carelessly for a few hours in which they were doing something forbidden though seemingly easy and problem free. It even felt not that bad that there was no magic involved because it made it feel safer. At least no forbidden curses, Harry thought bitterly and squeezed Ron’s hand tenderly.

Harry used to be aware that there were Bullies in this world but hadn’t thought about Dudley for such a long time that the thought had slipped his mind and was therefore not even scared when it started. Five strangers, all muggles, all loud, obnoxious, obscene men and all drunk and the best idea was to simply outrun them. It seemed like such an ease task since they only had to reach the entrance to Diagon Alley. Which granted sounded a bit scary around this time of night but had been their failsafe plan in case of trouble.

They could not very well summon their broomsticks or apparate besides none of it was allowed anyway. However, outrunning and vanishing seemed less of a violation and it would have worked if they wouldn’t have had guns. Harry swallowed as he remembered Ron’s confused face when he yelled, “No, stop. Don’t run.”

Because even though the muggle told him to stop, Ron hadn’t fully comprehended that he was in danger of getting seriously hurt by these guns. It should have been the moment where they should have stopped caring about violatingany regulations by the Improper Use of Magic Office. Though they were both frozen and Harry didn’t even think of reaching for his wand.

“Why did ye’ run? We’re nice blokes to hang out with,” one of them growled and by the sound of his voice they both new they were in trouble.

Harry felt a wave of tears rising when he cursed him and Ron for waiting so goddamn long to use the only defence they had. No, the tears, he cried because he waited so long. It was Ron who saved his life and almost lost his own in the process. All because Harry had not be able to move or to react when they grabbed him. It had felt so strange to be in this position and seemed preposterously unfair to Harry. Staring into a ghastly face, a wand dangerously ready for a deadly curse waving in front of his eyes, all things he had dealt with in the past seemed of little meaning when they started to push them around.

It had felt so entirely wrong and it confused the both of them, making them trapped into a nightmare with a million solutions on their lips but such a fear to use any of them. They had been afraid to die before; afraid to be cursed, afraid to be poisoned, afraid to lose against the darkness but this had never been a particular fear. It didn’t need for them to listen to the words, spoken in a heavy vibrating agitating voice, telling them what the plan was. It would not have needed words to make it evident what was supposed to happen. Though Harry couldn’t help but still feeling confused, half expecting a Death eater showing up to enjoy the show, when they roughly bend him over a bench.

Even now, in the hospital Harry could still hear the sounds and the clearest was Ron’s heavy rasping voice uttering in panic out a warning that made the guy who was holding him pressed down only laughing. It was Ron who reached out for his wand first and it was him who with just a few words made his attacker fly through the ground with a scream on his lips.

It was Ron who forced himself up and approached Harry, his voice sounded so dark when he directed it to the man who held the famous Harry Potter in his tight grip, “Let him go.”

“Bloody hell! What did you do?” The other guy spat out and Harry stumbled at Ron’s side when they formed up in front of them.

“Levicorpus,” Ron pressed out and a scream escaped the guy’s lips as he was dangled by his ankle up in the air, as if an invisible hook was holding him.

It was then that panic overwhelmed them by the sight of something they couldn’t explain.

Ron moved slightly and opened his eyes to blink and look at Harry. They both knew what had happened, though the question was how much to tell. Should they tell them that before the attack they both had fun. Strange, unusual and a new kind of fun, which involved them both being much closer than usual? Was it important? Probably not. Much more important was the unfortunate circumstance that the muggles didn’t turn and run away but pulled the trigger.

The youngest Weasley son made a face and Harry increased the pressure on his hand, whispering softly, “Don’t move too much. You need rest.”

“I…” Ron tried but closed his mouth, feeling too tired to speak. Besides it felt like Harry did understand everything without words.

Never before had he felt so much pain. Not even in the worst moments in the fight against evil. The bullet ripped his skin open and crawled deep into his insides, smashing every up, making him convulse with a groan and the absolute certainty that he would die. Ron was sure that this pain would kill him even though he couldn’t say which of his organs had been hit. It felt like everything was broken and he couldn’t come up with a spell to make it stop. He sunk helplessly to his knees, his hand pressed against the wound. Warm blood splashing out of him with every breath he took and every breath made it hurt more. He coughed and croaked in a grasp, “Harry…I…it…” wanting to say how badly it was hurting but his words transformed in a gulp and he started spitting out blood as well.

His head fell to the side and he saw a bus. For some reason the sight of it made him wave his wand with the last bit of strength and he said, “Petrificus Totalus.”

The muggle with the gun had been petrified by the spell and was frozen on the spot. His eyes moved frantically when his mates urged him to move because the bus rolled closer in a steady yet fast pace. Due the darkness the driver was not able to stop in time and Harry would never forget the sound of it crashing against an unmoving body. The utterly shocked face of the man with the gun getting hit by the vehicle was the last thing Ron saw clearly before everything went cold and there was only pain left.

Harry had held him and stretched out his arm with his wand to summon the Knight bus because it didn’t matter if they would find them. All that mattered now was to bring Ron back. It didn’t occur to him to seek out a muggle hospital or to find rescue close by. He wanted to go back to the school. Back into safety. His entire upper body was soaked in blood when they finally arrived and Hagrid was the first to approach since he had heard the bus familiar loud BANG.

“Did I really kill him?” Ron whispered when he felt Harry tensing next to him.

“It was self-defence,” he replied unsurely because the truth was he had no idea. If Ron wouldn’t have used magic than the muggle would most likely still be alive. No, he would certainly be alive but if he hadn’t something terribly might have happened to them. Harry just was not sure if there is such a thing as self-defence in that particular case.

He was aware as well as Ron was that they should not have been there in the first place. Nonetheless nobody could expect from them to let it happened. Could they? Ron was not sure and Harry wasn’t sure either. Instead of adding he leaned forward and hushed a shy, brief kiss onto the red hair, which had Ron blush despite his injuries and the heavy blood loss.

“That is very weird,” he croaked weakly but with a faint smile curled around his lips.

“I agree,” Harry replied dryly and repeated it.

“It would have been nice to do that more often,” Ron suddenly said in a lowered voice and sighed, “But they are going to sent me away.”

“Don’t say that. It wasn’t your fault. That man was…”

“And we all know that the Ministry of Defence firstly cares about stupid Wizards who walk around London at night with the ability to harm muggles. Especially in these times.”

Between every word he made a break and it kept sounding incoherently and bitterly defeated. There was no pain anymore but the memory was still so fresh that he winced slightly.

“We’ve been in worse trouble.”

“I haven’t.”

“Ron…”

“They are going to sent me to Azkaban. They are going to sent me away for a long time,” Ron croaked in a matter of factly because that what will happen since he had no idea what to say in his defence.

And if you have a minute please, please leave a comment :)

Harry Potter

Sun, 19 Mar 2006 08:37:53 GMT

Well, okay I saw Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire today and this was bound to happen. I was told that I had turned over to the darkside. This entire piece might suck rather intensely since it's not beta'd and this is my first try in this particular fandom. I don't even know if this is worth continuing or not. I beg for comments, though!

Title = Truth be told
Author = MissB
Pairing = Harry/Ron, though with a twist
Summary = Ron Angst! Forced to keep secrets by magic Ron makes a mistakes and is faced to live a lie.

There had always been times in which his best friend would act peculiar. Often simple because of a slight envy that inevitably would raise quilt for feeling it in the first place. Because the truth was he never wanted to switch places with Harry Potter and being his friend seemed exciting enough. Nonetheless Ron had felt out of place again. It made him rethink his particular role around Harry. He came to the conclusion that he should have done more in the past. Maybe, just maybe if he would have been more careful and more aware he could have helped but instead he had been nothing more than a bystander, clueless until someone pushed him to act.

All of those insecurities that built up quietly and un-noticed made him follow Malfoy when he spotted the Slytherin walking down Diagon Alley, passing Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. It had startled him to see him walking freely and undisturbed after what had happened in Hogwarts. Harry was right with his suspicions. It truly seemed that the Wizard World had forgotten Dumbledore painfully quickly. Life continued even though so many things had changed.

Things had gotten darker but that was to be expected. Even though everybody was now aware of the danger that crept nearer with every passing day with doing nothing. They still wasted most of the times arguing. Who was responsible? Who in charge and who was supposed to save them all? Naturally all eyes, as always, turned to Harry and Ron didn’t envy his friend for that.

Nonetheless, dark times and politics didn’t explain Draco Malfoy’s being here. For all Ron knew they arrested him yet details had never been revealed. Carefully he sneaked into a dark, small Alley after he had watched a pile of blonde hair vanishing into the darkness. Obviously Malfoy was up to no good, Ron thought and bravely kept on following a shadow. It would be a nice change to provide some vital information in the help of ridding this world from evil. That was the plan and the youngest Weasley son ignored that nagging feeling inside of him that screamed inside his head to turn around and find the others first.

“How can you be so foolish…” a dark voice whispered and Ron faltered in his step.

“I had to hurry,” another voice replied. It sounded slightly brighter but surprisingly not like Malfoy at all.

“Have you found him?”

Ron instinctively listened more closely since he was certain, if not utterly sure, that they were talking about Harry. His thoughts drifted to his best friend and he hoped that he would have the chance to warn him from danger. However, first he had to figure out what danger was awaiting them.

“No. We searched everywhere but we cannot find Malfoy’s son. He seemed vanished.”

“The boy knows too much,” the darker voice growled and the tone sent a shiver down Ron’s spine when it said, “We have to silence him.”

Silencing Malfoy did not sound all that wrongly in his mind and he shifted slightly to get a look at the two voices. The sound of a small stone rolling away, after he accidentally kicked it with his feet, made him flinch but before he could reach for his wand he knew it was too late. Even though he barely heard the curse he instantly felt it and struggled against the magic that forced him out of his hiding shadow.

“He’s been listening,” the voice hissed furiously but also in shock.

“It’s the Weasley kid,” his companion orated darkly.

“Maybe he knows where Draco is?”

Ron wanted to say that he didn’t know and that he felt confused because his eyes clearly saw Draco standing in the faint moonlight. Evidently it must be a spell, his mind processed but straining painfully he still tried to resist the Imperius curse. His throat felt sore and he couldn’t form the words but only uttered a growling disaproval.

“At least he can find out.”

They started to make a plan that Ron didn’t like and did not intent to comply with. He would not, as they demanded, look for Draco. Instead he would go back and straightforwardly tell his father about this meeting. Then he would inform Harry as well and Hermione, of course. A spell was spoken and Ron blinked confusedly, finding himself back at Diagon Alley right in front of Ollivander's. Someone called out his name and the redhead immediately turned around on the spot to give away what he had learned and what was asked of him.

“There you are, Son,” his father said and Ron noticed that lately his father always sounded relieved to see his children alive and breathing.

I ran into some strange fellows and they were plotting something out. They want me to find Draco for them because they fear he knows too much.

Ron opened his mouth and closed it again. Heat shoot up to his cheeks because he could not make himself say those words. Every time he attempted he felt a sting inside of him and a nerve-racking raging inside his stomach. It made him bow almost slightly and he made a face, hissing, “Hmmm.”

“Everything alright?” Harry asked concerned because he could not ignore that his friend looked flushed and agitated.

“Yes I’m fine,” Ron finally pressed out because he could say nothing else than that. His eyes moving frantically from his father to Harry but all he could do was to shake his head and smile idiotically estranged.

……….

That had been three weeks ago and by now Ron is more than wretched. He had learned how to stay at a distance because every time he talks to Harry he wants to reveal this big, bad secret but all that comes out is gibberish nonsense that no one gets. Every night he is haunted by the same dream and always receives the same command.

Because he cannot fight he started to investigate as careful as he could. He asked question casually and thrown into a conversation but could not gather the answer he was seeking. By now the answer is mostly all that mattered. If he would find Draco then maybe this very heavy weight will be lifted from his shoulders.

Every morning it is the same and what he used to love and miss felt shallow and wrong. Of course it is Harry who finally confronts him one morning when the other students have left.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks carefully because it is never easy to figure Ron Weasley out.

“No,” Ron replies and feels uncomfortable by this questioning glare. Instantly he feels that wish to tell Harry everything but it is pushed back by a magic that he cannot control at all.

“You are acting strange lately,” Harry tries to sound diplomatic and watches him closely as he waits for an answer.

“I do?” It seems like a good idea to play innocent, Ron thinks and shifts from one foot to the other.

“Yes. You are avoiding me.”

“I’m not. I would never do that, Harry,” Ron snaps appalled and notices the cocked eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

“Okay, maybe I did once but I wouldn’t do it again,” the redhead assures but still rocks slightly back and forth, biting his bottom lip.

“Then what is it, Ron? Is it because of Hermione?”

It is a legitimate question since it could be because of her. Ron is not foolish and knows that she noticed it, too. His skin starts to feel heated up, as he lowers his eyes to the ground and mumbles, “No.”

Harry approaches him and the closer he gets the more badly Ron wants to tell him but he can’t. The words seem trapped inside his throat and out comes only a growl.

“Is it school?”

He isn’t saying Voldemort or Snape or Dumbledore’s dead for that matter but he asks about school and Ron shakes his head almost in despair. He has not yet found an explanation what it was anyway. He didn’t know those two strangers and his biggest problem certainly isn’t school, though even a new potions teacher didn’t help to improve, but that he acts under the imperious curse and is unable to tell anyone about that.

“It’s you,” he manages to croak and lifts his eyes. Harry is standing awfully close and somehow he words sound somewhat wrongly pronounced.

“What about me?”

It’s not really about Harry, Ron thinks frantically but finds himself shrugging helplessly because he can’t say Draco. Something inside of him prevents it from slipping out from his lips and because he struggles so heavily against it he suddenly reels slightly against his best friend, “I can’t say it.”

“You can’t say what?” Harry asks a bit dumbfounded because Ron acts weirdly.

“I just can’t,” Ron admits weakly.

Harry wonders what is so bad that Ron isn’t able to simple reveal it and it makes him worry. More accurately it adds another worry to the pile he already carries around with him every day. He lets out a confused sigh and asks, “Why can’t you say it?”

Because I am under a curse, Ron wants to say but says, “Because I’m ashamed,” instead, which has him making a face.

“Ashamed?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, are you or are you not?”

This could very well go on for the next few hours, Ron realizes and shakes his head, “I’m fine. Let’s go to class.”

“No, Ron, we can’t just go. Something is bothering you and I want to know what.”

Blimey, he is persistent; Ron thinks and takes a deep breath because his head starts to ache. The longer he is so close to him but forced to lie the more he starts to feel a paining discomfort. Warily he smiles and hushes, “Please, let it go.”

“You can trust me,” Harry offers and Ron almost rolls his eyes because he already knows that.

There has to be a way to bring an end to it, at least for now. At least until he figures out a way to talk the truth. He locks eyes with Harry and lets them wander. He spots the well familiar scar and frantically tries to come up with a distraction. Harry wants an answer and it has to be a convincing one. Something that would maybe even push him away.

It isn’t the best idea but the best he can think off and therefore Ron very quickly kisses Harry on the lips. Cheek might have been able to explain but this instantly makes Harry blush intensely and he steps back, “W…what?”

Hopefully it is confusing him enough, Ron thinks but feels also extremely strange. He isn’t sure about how inappropriate it was but can see Harry’s utter bafflement. Nonetheless he holds his gaze and whispers contemplatively, “I’m sorry.”

This is even weirder than being alone with a girl, Harry thinks confused and starts nervously moving back and forth, “I’m not exactly sure what I should say now,” he admits quietly.

Nothing, seems like the best idea in Ron’s head and he half expected it to be over when Harry suddenly leans forward and returned the kiss. Oh, no, the redhead thinks in a rising panic since he certainly hasn’t expected that. He just simple concluded that by kissing him he’d be driving him away much quicker. That this would backfire came completely unexpected and he forces himself to a wry smile.

Harry smiles as well and Ron feels extremely awful because he really has no intention to proceed in that area. He isn’t moving when he feels a hand caressing along his cheeks and swallows hard because he doesn’t know how to get out of this mess. There is something in Harry’s eyes that he hasn’t seen before. It’s faint and filled with hope but disrupted by fear as well. Suddenly Ron dares not to destroy that emotion.

“I…” Harry starts but pauses and blushes heavily.

In those last months so many bad things have happened and the future lay before them so uncertain but promising more dark days and nights. Harry is the key in all of this, Ron thinks and doesn’t know what to do when his friend comes closer. He thinks of the girls the champion so openly admired and wonders if maybe this is just a moment. Something brief and quickly forgotten but all of those hopes are shattered when he feels Harry’s lips pressing against his.

Ron fails to find a solution and parts his lips slightly to really kiss him. The sheer idea seems preposterously enough but actually feeling Harry’s tongue inside his mouth makes him budge slightly. He kisses him back because he fears that anything else would make him angry and most likely would make him feel ashamed. It isn’t so bad, Ron thinks as he gives into the kiss, allowing it to grow more passionate, it’s just wrong.

When they let go of each other he looks into Harry flushed face and knows that he can’t back out now. He simple can’t because for the first time in months Harrys smiles broadly. It’s an honest smile and it is filled with a happiness that Ron believed to be lost in Harry Potter after the professor had died. He swallows hard again when his friend wraps his arms around his shoulder and pulls him into a tight hug. Ron closes his eyes when he feels how intensely Harry holds on to him as if he needs him desperately.

On this day Ron becomes someone else to Harry. It’s dishonest and it makes the youngest Weasley son feel sickened because he is lying to him. He keeps lying to him when they kiss again and he keeps pretending to feel the same feelings. His face isn’t revealing that he wants to run away badly. He loves Harry but not like that. Nonetheless he stays and kisses him again and again. The reactions the soft caresses causes his body is something that Harry takes as excitement because Ron never shows that it’s pure discomfort.

“We have to go to class,” Harry says finally and Ron nods with a smile. A fake smile because he feels the urge to jump out of the window without a wand or a broom that would interrupt his suicide. It’s not Harry he hates but himself because he sees that trust and that happiness that makes him feel incredible sorry. It doesn’t change that he rather would not feel trembling hands slipping slightly under his shirt to caress that naked skin.

Ron tries not to look at him when they rush through the endless corridors of Hogwarts and tries not to see that happy glow that he caused unwillingly. Both of their bodies are trembling through the entire day for different reason. For Harry it is pure excitement, pure joy because something has happened that he wouldn’t dare to dream of, ever. He still isn’t sure when he started to maybe look at Ron differently but the kiss sealed what he is feeling.

It feels so good to not worry about evil for once but being overwhelmed with all these soft and ardent feelings of joy. Of course he, as well feels confused since it has never been on his mind that much. He might have risk a second glimpse at Ron when they were walking the path to Hagrid’s because the sun had lit up the red hair and made it shine so brightly that he couldn’t help but calling it breathtakingly beautiful in his mind. And maybe there had been one to two nights were he squinted his eyes in the darkness to watch Ron sleep.

All of that he always ignored but now it is all different. He feels strength because of it and he tells that to Ron. He tells him how much this is uplifting him and therefore it could not be that wrong. Of course he wonders sometimes if this is normal and hasn’t really seen anything like it in the Wizard World. Though maybe it is only hidden just like they are hidden.

Hidden because Ron asked him not to reveal and Harry understands or at least thinks that he does. In truth he has no idea how profoundly it affects Ron to hear him talking about strength. More and more he becomes aware that he cannot tell him the truth. In quiet despair Ron starts to fake the happiness Harry is so desperately longing for. Suddenly his best friend seems eager again. Eager and ready, studying the defensive arts more thoroughly. He doesn’t seem so wretched and afraid.

They all can see and feel it and it gives everybody hopes because if Harry Potter is not running around under a gloomy veil with defeat painted on his forehead then there is surely a chance. Ron sees them smiling and joking again, still aware but a little more at ease. A little more confident in their abilities. It all makes it harder because Ron can’t say the truth.

Instead he does his part. He does it bravely as a champion himself but quietly. No one will ever know his sacrifice because he couldn’t bear their looks should he break Harry’s heart. Harry always crawls into his bed at night. Luckily not really going further than kissing but Ron knows it’s only a question of time. It’s a natural progress, as his older brother George once stated wisely referring to girls and the appropriate time schedule to make a move.

He is also the one who figured it out already. Last weekend he had approached Ron in the dorm room and whispered, “Are you happy?”

To which Ron provided a fake smile and a nod aware that now someone else knew. He is sure that Hermione is next and he is right. At first she seemed angry and hurt but then she accepted it bravely, which broke his heart because he couldn’t tell her that it isn’t true. That he actually fancied her. Maybe more than fancy, though she only wished them both to be happy. Soon she’ll start dating someone else, Ron thinks tiredly as he stares up to the ceiling of his bed.

He isn’t flinching anymore when Harry snuggles under the blanket because he is used to it. There is tenderness in his touches when he turns to his side to face him and there are loving feelings when he kisses him. Different feelings, though. Lately Harry has become a bit more eager when he kisses him, a little more demandingly passionate and for days Ron prepared for the inevitably.

It still struck him in surprise when Harry presses closer to him and they bodies touch. There is a faint worry that maybe Harry would now feel that it is all just a lie but fortunately his body reacts as well. His mind isn’t and he needs to shut it down. Everything he lets happen automatically. They are quiet due the other boys in the room. They are hidden by a red veil and nobody suspect it.

Harry kisses him passionately and his hips arching towards him. Ron wishes it to be a dream so that he could wake up but it isn’t a dream and it takes everything to not whimper but softly breathe when Harry touches him between his thighs. Instead of escaping that touch Ron copies it and soon enough they are stroking each very carefully. Shyness preventing them from using the pressure and speed they would use in a moment alone on themselves.

More kisses prevent them from being too loud but the more pressure they put into the task the more difficult breathing became. Harry buries his face in Ron’s neck as his body starts rattling heavily and Ron closes his eyes because he wishes badly that he would not hear that heavy breathing or feel the pressure. There isn’t a spell he can come up with to make this all stop and he knows that Harry loves it. He can feel it in the breath grazing his neck and that devotion that lay in his movements. It pains Ron to know that all Harry wants is to give him is pleasure, not knowing that it isn’t pleasure but deep raving sorrow for it can never be made undone.

There is a bitter taste on his tongue when warmth fills up inside his stomach forced by what Harry does to him but shouldn’t do. A heavy gasp escapes his lips and he tightly presses against him because it’s how he is supposed to react. They are both breathing heavily when its over, lying there in a tight embrace that makes Harry love his life and Ron hating his own.

As days passing by Ron feels more and more trapped in a nightmare. In a frantic moment where he sits alone outside in the owl tower he worries how long it would take. How long until the danger of the dark lord will be banned? How long had he roamed their world the last time? Twelve years, thirteen? There seems to be no way for him to stop this love affair that is making Harry strong and happy but him weak and depressed.

Hermione starts to talk about other boys and everyone around him seems happy with their choices. It is spring when they go a step further. Around the same time that Hermione even started talking about being in love with someone else. Of all the people it has to be Oliver, who has been made a teacher at Hogwarts. Of course as most it is only a cover since he is helping the others and Harry.

The former Quidditch Captain has changed over the few years and somehow something grew between him and Hermione and everybody calles it beautiful while Ron watches it with a knot in his throat.

He saw them kissing in the morning and at night he isn’t caring anymore. He has chosen this destiny and therefore isn’t resident but participating when Harry claims him completely. In a short moment afterwards while they were still breathing heavily and Harry’s face blushes in a deep red Ron even jokes sarcastically by saying, “Blimey, that hurt,” but feels like throwing up.

It isn’t so much the physical pain but what he has lost. His pride. No one knows that it is him who makes Harry happy. Who makes him strong enough so that he even successfully defeated a Death eater just a week ago. Harry has told him that he had been so afraid to never see him again. That it was the thought of Ron that kept him coming up with the perfect spell. That the simple remembrances of his lips made him chant the spell flawlessly.

Nobody knows. The curse is still haunting him every day and he finds himself asking dangerous questions but everything is clouded by this affair. The more people find out the worse it gets. The day his parents give them their blessing Ron sincerely considers to run away but not only the guilt he feels but the curse as well keeps him at Harry’s side.

The night is dark outside when Ron soaks in some solitude at Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom. Because it's depressing darkness suits his mental state quite well. He sits with his back pressed against the wall and his arms wrapped around his knees. The shadows paint darkly thoughts on his face and he is relived that no ghost showes up to see him like that. Since he is supposed to be the happy boyfriend of Harry Potter. Not best friend, not sidekick but lover even though he yearns for a girl and doesn’t want to be lying in the same bed as the champion. Though maybe it really simple is his task.

“Ron?” It’s Hermione and she sounds surprised.

Much too hastily Ron wipes away some of the silently cried tears with the back of his sleeve and snivels, “Oh, Hermione. Hello.”

“What’s wrong?” She asks softly and sinks next him with a compassionate glare, “Did you have a fight with Harry?”

He can’t say the truth but he can’t lie to her either and that’s why he simply starts crying. His mind blocks the urge to tell her everything and replaces it with nothing but tears. Heavy sobs crashing out of his body and his shoulders keep on rocking in the rhythm of his despair. She touches him. So softly and he can’t help but sinking into her arms only crying harder because it’s the only bit of contact he would ever receive.

“It’s going to be alright,” she hushes in a tender voice and strokes over his back.

Ron weeps loudly and uncontrolled because she’s wrong. He’s certain that he needs to find out where Malfoy is quickly otherwise, he fears, he’ll go insane. In addition he has to go back to the dorm room looking into those happily glowing eyes of his best friend who loves him so unconditionally and so deeply not knowing that he is loving a lie. He feels more wicked than the most ghastly witches because he’s lying to Harry. Every day and night. Every smile is a lie by now because he doesn’t shiver in excitement but in disgust.

How many lies has he already formed into declarations of love? He doesn’t know and his body convulses under another heavy wave of tears. How horribly unfaithful is he for pretending to be part of a love that doesn’t exist? Every night he can feel how much he is loved and only gives back this lie. How long will it last and how devastating will it be should Harry ever find out the entire truth?

Ron Weasley doesn’t know though he is aware that his mental state starts to weaken under the pressure. It feels that he is breaking. Very slowly and not with a loud bang but it is happening and soon it won’t matter if the Dark Lord is gone or not because it will be him that confesses. A confession that surely will destroy so much.