Disclaimer: Everything is J.K. Rowling's. The plot remains my own, thank you very much.
Carve Me A Grave With My Name On It
From a dark hidden corridor, he watched them. His best friend was towering over her. She was the love of his life, and his best friend was advancing on her. His best friend. And she welcomed him with open arms, literally. And the next moment, they were in a tight embrace as though the world had stopped.
And it had. Ron stood there, invisible to the world around watching his best friend hold Hermione like it was the end of the world. And it was the end of the world. For Ron, it was the end of his life.
"Bloody traitor," he muttered under his breath, not letting his eyes off of Harry.
Memories began to wash into his mind like tidal waves. It all makes sense now, Ron thought. Why she wanted to be their friends in the first place. Sorry, it was only Harry's friendship she wanted. Why she had always thought Harry's welfare came first before his. Hermione fancied Harry Potter all her life. It was earth shattering to Ron.
He grimaced at the thought of their fourth year, when Harry and he had had a fight about the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He knew deep down that Harry had not placed his name in that stupid goblet. But jealousy had overcome him and he could only surrender to the feeling.
All Ron had wanted was comfort from a friend. And the only friend he had was Hermione. But no, she was too busy with Harry, making sure he was safe and feeling okay. Sure, she came to him once and a while, trying to convince him Harry was not at fault. Did she not care that Ron had known that already and there was more to it? It sure as anything did not seem that way.
It was always Harry. Hermione always wanted him.
By the time he realized that his eyes were streaming tears, Harry and Hermione were gone. Of course they're gone, Ron though to himself, they'd never stay a second anywhere too public when they're by themselves. It was getting dark outside the Hogwarts castle, and the lit corridors were starting to darken like the one he was hidden in.
It was then that he made up his mind. Ronald Weasley would be no more. His mind set, he slowly walked through the castle halls back to the Gryffindor Tower where he could plan his methods. Normally, the Astronomy Tower was his ace chamber to wallow in his depression, but he had a strong feeling that it would be in use by two hormonally charged Gryffindors.
"I need to write to Mum. But then, of course, she wouldn't mind, one less son to spend money on," he said to himself. He was well aware he was talking to himself, and that he would be in deep soot if he were heard, but he had also left Harry's Invisibility cloak back in the dark corridor, leaving him detectable. It wouldn't matter if I get caught, he thought, I'll be gone sooner than you'll know it anyway.
"Ronald Weasley will be no more," he sang softly, chuckling at the thought of Harry and Hermione finding him somewhere, limp and lifeless. "Ronald Weasley will be no more."
The boy's dormitory was dark when Ron arrived, but of course, being the after hours, it would be. While Neville was snoring like an overgrown pig, though, Dean and Seamus sounded quite awake, talking about the Quidditch match coming up between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. As sneaky and stealthily as he could, Ron tried to creep to his bed. He didn't want them to acknowledge his presence or else he would be forced to talk to them.
It was no use though, as soon as he stepped inside the dim chamber, his foot got caught in a pair of boxers. Frantically but still in silence, he tried to shake them off, out of sheer disgust for his roommates' disorganized habits, even he too was quite messy, and those boxers could've been his own. Struggling to disentangle the boxers, fate played against him, and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor, knotted in a disarray of clothes, boxers, robes and smelly socks.
"Ron, didn't see you there."
Sounded like Seamus, from under the clothes.
"Maybe we should clean this place up a bit," he said, yawning, "Haven't seen Harry, have you? Been wondering if he's going to play a good game at the match and concentrates on the Snitch and not that Ravenclaw seeker again."
Frustrated by his own actions and bringing attention to himself, Ron, stood up. Kicking his way amid the mess, he ignored Seamus and climbed into his four-poster bed, violently shutting his curtains, almost ripping the fabric. Seamus and Dean obviously had gotten the message that the fiery red head was flaming with rage. A little frightening by Ron's actions, the two allowed silence to fill the room, and drifted into a world of sleep and dreams. But the fiery one stayed up all night.
Lying there, Ron thought about what he was going to be letting go. The first image was of his mother. He pictured her, crying over the open coffin his body was placed in. Her once bright red hair had lost its sheen and her face was weary. A twinge of guilt started to overcome Ron. No, he thought, it will be better after the initial shock of when she first hears word of my death. It would be okay he tried to convince himself. They'd get over it after a short while. Ginny also entered his mind. Tears rolling down her cheeks. Her frail body sitting in a corner, trying to take in the fact it was true that Ron was only a nuisance and waste of space. Another pang of guilt hit him.
That was the only problem for Ron. Every time he thought of the hurt he would cause his family, guilt always held him back. He admitted to himself that the only reason he hadn't done the deed that night was because he wanted to make sure his family understood why his actions would be justified. And soon after they'd hear of his death, they'd grieve for a while, and soon after realize that they have one less person to spend their money on. Yes, the Weasleys were still poor as dirt, and Ron's death would allow them to save some money. See Ron, he mused himself, some good will come out of this.
After thoughts of his family passed, the red head tried to ease his way into slumber for what seemed like hours, but it wouldn't work. Nothing ever works, he thought. Sighing, he rolled over in his bed, slightly pulled the curtain to the side, and reached for his wand from the bedside table. As he closed the curtain once again, he sat up, searching the pouches of his beat up robes for an old pocket watch his grandfather gave him. He found it and got his wand out.
"Lumos," he whispered and the wand was lit. He pointed it at the watch. It read 3:28 AM.
What the hell! his mind screamed at him, where in all of England is this bloody guy? The thought of Harry being out so long with Hermione made him sick. Even more than being sick, it made him angry.
"If that boy thinks he could mess around with a girl like this!" Ron yelled yet he didn't realize it, "And her to let him! Argh! Harry Potter, when I get my …"
Suddenly, he heard a loud thump.
"Ron? Ron, was that you?"
It was Harry.
"Sure as hell was me. What the devil were you thinking staying out so long? What were you doing?" Again, he was yelling without realizing so.
"Didn't know you were PMSing, Mum."
Ron figured Harry was waiting for a reply. Hah, as if I would, he cogitated. His silence proved to Harry that Ron was waiting for his answer.
"Calm down, Ron, I was out with Hermione," Harry began, as though it was an everyday, or in this case, night thing, "We were studying. She was helping me with the most recent charms and potions we were learning in class. Cause you know what happens when my scar sears on my forehead. You know how Dumbledore wants me to tell him everything so I could help defeat Voldemort… ("Don't say his name!") I was falling behind, and she said she'd help me."
Bugger, as if Ron had believed that. This was partially because he could sense the nervousness and anxiety in Harry's voice; he kind of mumbled the last part. It was also because Harry didn't know that Ron had seen them sneaking off several hours ago. So, Ron just sat in bed, pointing his wand at the red velvet curtain separating him from the outside world. He was alienated from outside world with Harry, the boy who went from the boy who lived to the boy who should have died.
Ron just stared at the color of the curtain. It was a dark red that reminded him of blood. A smirk suddenly appeared on his face as he associated the curtains with blood. Insane it was for him to sit there and smile at the thought of such a thing. And he sat like that, smirking for a few minutes. Forgetting the fact that Harry was still waiting for Ron's approval of his being so late.
"Ron?" Harry asked, "Ron? Are you asleep?"
Well if I was asleep I wouldn't be able to tell you, now would I? he contemplated. Ron didn't want to answer him. Going back into a lying position, he put his watch back into his pocket, and carefully put his wand back on his nightstand so Harry couldn't see. He then heard footsteps coming closer. Damn bugger has to check now, he thought, does he? And Harry did. He pulled back Ron's drapery and found him under the covers sleeping. It was annoying for Ron it lie so motionlessly. He even had to fake some soft snoring sounds to convince the bastard to go back to his bed.
"Alright then," Ron heard Harry sigh.
You bet it's all right, Ron grimaced. He heard Harry step into the dormitory's lavatory. It was now his turn to let out a sigh. Sadly, all his frustration and depression came surging back to him.
"By this time tomorrow, you'll be sorry you ever thought of touching Hermione. Then it'll be your turn to feel the pain of loosing someone," he whispered softly, "Bloody traitor."