AN: Let me tell ya: Upholding present tense when you're tired is reeeaaally difficult. But for the writers out there, I don't need to tell you. I think I got them all.

I was reading some Harry/Ron today and this idea wouldn't leave me. I've become a fan of this pairing, for some reason, but I'm still loyal to the Harry/Draco pairing as well. Shoot me, I don't care.

Pretty much, Harry is in an abusive relationship and Ron is always there to comfort him. He gets gipped.

I need to mention this: This story is not meant to be canon, and I don't care if either of these characters are in-character. It's supposed to be ironic, presenting a situation in which Harry finally snaps. We all know the possibility was there throughout the whole book. Of course this could never happen. I'm not some delusional fangirl. I know Harry and Draco would never end up together, and I know Ron would never do what he did.

Disclaimer: I own nothing


It happens nearly every night now. He comes back to the common room in tears, usually sporting some new bruise or cut on his face or arms. He charms them away in the mornings, but I can't help but remember where every single one of them was.

I'm always up when he returns. I sometimes have homework or a book in front of me, pretending I was doing something else. But I think he knows I was waiting for him to get back. That's what I do; I comfort him. It's all I'm good for really.

He'll sink in to my arms as soon as he spots me, sobbing out everything Malfoy did to him. I could almost laugh at the situation. I never really thought that I would be the confidante for the great Harry Potter. Nobody ever saw his weak side, except for me. Even Hermione had never seen him this bad. But I don't laugh, because it's not funny.

He's my best friend, but there are times I have the selfish wish that he didn't come to me with all his problems. Or, more specifically, that he didn't have any to complain about. But that's absurd, because everyone has problems; even him; especially him.

I've asked him why he even stays with that blonde-haired git. I never approved of their twisted sort of relationship, and I especially don't now. All he ever does anymore is hurt him, and I wonder if he ever loved Harry like he claimed. Whenever I tell him to just break up with him, the response is always the same:

"I can't. I love him." And then I have to wonder why. Why would somebody love the person who made them cry every day? Why would anyone love…him? I for one can't see what Harry sees in him. I wish the sod would go throw himself off a cliff so we could just be rid of him once and for all. But I don't kid myself into thinking that won't have an effect on Harry.

Tonight, he's later than usual. I glance up at the clock above the fireplace; it reads Two-Thirty-Six. Usually, he's back by midnight. I glance at the portrait hole worriedly. He's never stayed out this late before without me or Hermione by his side.

I stand up, pushing a pile of books I was flipping through off my lap. I can't just sit here and wait. He could be really hurt; I had to go look for him. I stride across the room to the portrait hole, but before I can open it, it swings open by itself.

I start, staring through the opening hopefully. I'm not disappointed, as a figure walks into the common room only a few seconds later.

It's Harry, or at least it looks like Harry. His eyes are unfocused behind bent glasses, lowered to the ground almost dejectedly. He's walking with a sort of limp, and the blood soaking his robes doesn't go unnoticed. His mouth is open partway, and I can hear him breathing heavily. A slight wheezing comes from his nose, which is dripping with blood.

I stare incredulously, mouth agape, at the sorry mess that is my best friend. He doesn't seem to notice I'm there until I stutter out his name. He looks straight up at me and smiles before collapsing.

I catch him before he falls, dragging him over to the couch and laying him on it. I ignore the blood soaking into the cushions; I can spell them clean later.

I disrobe him quickly, but carefully. I can't tell what's hurt, and I don't want to risk causing him any more pain. His eyes are open, but he looks dazed. I wave a hand in front of his face to get his attention. He doesn't look at me, but he blinks. At least that's something.

His entire body is covered in cuts, which explains all the blood. His ankle is swollen to nearly three times its normal size. It's likely it's been broken, but I can't tell for sure. His nose is most definitely broken, the odd angle and the amount of blood ensuring that. I can see harsh teeth marks on his neck, but those have long since stopped bleeding.

"Bloody hell," I sigh, running my hand through my hair exasperatedly. "Bloody hell, Harry, what did he do to you?"

He shakes his head slowly, gaze fixed on the ceiling. "He was nice today," he says, in an almost-whisper. "I thought things would be all right. He said he loved me, and…and that he wanted to make up for what he'd done so many times. So he…" A smile quirks at his lips. "It's been so long since he was that nice…"

I sigh again, inspecting the injuries more thoroughly. I can't stand hearing him talk about this stuff like it happened to someone else. It's his defense mechanism, but he shouldn't have to even have one. He shouldn't have to come back every night so broken.

"He found out that you know," he continues quietly. "He didn't like that. He told me that he would hurt me if I didn't promise to stop being friends with you." He laughs, almost hysterically; a short bark of mirth. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't say it. And so, he did this."

I look over at him from my position next to the couch. He still isn't looking at me, but I don't mind. He went through a lot tonight, and for what? For my friendship? Granted, I would rather he be friends with me than be in any sort of relationship with him. But he didn't deserve this pain if the only reason he was hurt was because he refused to give up my friendship.

"I'm going to go get Hermione," I say quietly. "She knows more healing spells than I do." I only take two steps away from the couch before an iron-vice grip grasps my arm to hold me back.

I look down to find Harry, finally looking at me, with a pleading expression on his face.

"Don't," he pleads. "I don't want her to see me like this." I feel a strange tugging sensation in my chest as I realize I'm really the only one he trusts enough to see him at his worst. I kneel down next to the couch again.

"Okay," I concede. "I'll do what I can." I use what little knowledge of healing I posses to fix the minor cuts and bruises. The ankle is beyond my expertise, but luckily Harry knows one strong enough to fix it and instructs me on how to say it. I use the same spell on his nose, and a simple Oculus Reparo to fix up his glasses. By the time I'm done, he looks as good as new.

Except, of course, for the dead look still present in his eyes.

I slip my wand back into my robes and grasp his hand, pulling him into a sitting position. "Come on, mate," I goad, "Let's get you to bed." But he doesn't move, simply stares down at his lap with the same tired, dead expression as before.

Worried, I snap my fingers in front of his face. "Mate? You all right?" He leans forward to rest his head on my shoulder. For a minute, I'm afraid I messed up on one of those spells and killed him, but I can hear his too-loud breathing in my ear. I frown. "You okay, Harry?"

"You're always here for me," he says quietly, so quietly I almost don't hear him. "And don't give me that crap about doing late homework. Even Hermione doesn't stay up this late." I can hear the harsh sound of him swallowing. "You're always…waiting here for me to get back…" I sigh and wrap an arm around his shoulders in a semblance of a hug as he starts to shake with sobs.

"Of course I do; you're my best friend." I try to smile, but it feels fake on my face. Harry refuses to stand up and go to bed, so I sit down next to him on the couch. He practically bowls me over when he buries his face in my chest.

I'm not sure what to do right now. Sure, he's been bad before. But he's never broken down like this. It makes me wonder how anyone can say he's the savior of the wizarding world. He's just a kid, really, under all that leadership and strength.

I would like nothing more at this moment than to make Harry go to bed and scour the halls until I found Malfoy and destroyed him. I would break down the wall to the Slytherin common room if need be. He wouldn't get away with this. Not if I had something to say about it. But I wouldn't leave Harry if he wanted me to stay.

His sobs had subsided for now, and we were simply sitting there, his face still resting on my chest. I thought he fell asleep until I feel lips playing at the sensitive skin of my neck almost teasingly.

I try to push him away, but he only doubles his efforts, pushing me back against the cushions with more force than I thought he possessed. This wasn't the first time this had happened, but it was the first time he had been so daring. Other times, when he had come back crying, we had often engaged in a snogging session until Harry felt tired enough to go to bed. We both went up to our rooms then and went to sleep, and I pretended the only reason I did it was because he was my friend and he needed it. We never said anything about it during the day.

But he had never done anything like this before. We had never surpassed snogging before, and it made me feel a little uncomfortable.

He pressed up against me, allowing his mouth to travel lower now. He unbuttons my pyjama shirt so his descent is unhindered, biting and sucking at bits of skin. I can't help it; I moan, even though I didn't want to.

I sit up and push him off of me, but to no avail. He presses himself against me again, tongue and lips dancing against my own. I don't want to give in to this…whatever it was…but I can't fight against it for long. His influence washes over me like a wave, and I'm pulled under.

He rids me of my shirt, throwing it across the room. I have a moment of panic when I think it might land in the still-roaring fire, but those thoughts are banished when he rejoins me and I realize something: He's hard.

In all of our sessions, I have never felt him hard before. It's…a strange experience. And more than a little unnerving. That decides it; I need to get away from this…thing…before something happens that we will both regret.

Harry leans forward again to kiss me, but I jerk away. "Harry, we…we can't," I say, quietly, desperately. Surely, he has to see reason? This can't happen. This can't go on, because I don't think either of us can handle the reality in the morning. I look back at my best friend, and he's staring at me longingly, lust dancing in his eyes.

"Please, Ron," he whispers, brushing his lips along my jaw. "Please…I need this. I need you to help me." He grasps one of my hands and presses it against his groin. I groan at the feel of it. It's hot and hard through his boxer pants, which are the only clothes he still has on. A part of my mind is glad that he didn't take them off; but another part of my brain, the part more than willing to let this go on, wants them to be gone.

The two part of my mind battle for a few moments, trying to find out the right course of action. The rational part of my mind wants me to get up and leave and pretend this never happened. But the lust filled part of my mind wants me to pin Harry down on this couch and do something about that erection.

The lust wins out.

I push him back, almost roughly, snogging him fiercely. He gasps in surprise, but clutches at my shoulders and responds eagerly. I'm almost not sure what I'm doing, but I let my body take control. It should know what to do in this situation.

Harry grasps my hand again and presses it against his lower stomach, just above his boxers. I slip my hand under the elastic and wrap capable fingers around him, smirking at the gasp he lets out.

As I jerk him off, I begin to realize that this might not be such a bad thing. Maybe now that Harry knew he had other options, he wouldn't stay with Malfoy. Maybe he would leave him and finally stop taking all the abuse. Maybe he would find somebody else to be with. Maybe even…dare I say it…me?

I lube up my hand with a spell for more dexterity and pump faster. My best friend is writhing under me, moaning and thrashing in pleasure. Strangely, this doesn't affect me like it should. I'm not freaked out about it. In face, I'm a more than willing participant. I even begin to hope that, maybe, this will continue. And maybe, we'll go farther than this. The idea excites me.

I can feel him coming to completion and quicken my pace, almost too eager to see him orgasm. When he does, he grasps the cushions under us tightly and moans, "Draco."

I pause, staring at him as he catches his breath. It takes a few moments for my brain to really register what he just said. I could have been stabbed in the chest, and it might have hurt less than hearing him say Malfoy's name when he orgasmed.

A few minutes later, he breaks out in a grin and sits up to kiss me chastely. "Thanks, Ron," he says dreamily, pushing me off him and standing up. He cleans up with his wand before muttering a quick goodnight and making his way up the stairs.

I stare after him incredulously before leaning back on the couch, covering my eyes with my hands.

I'm an idiot.