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Ron Weasley was doomed.
He had been attacked by a ministry curiosity.
And it marked him permanently.
There were marks from those brain-like monsters all over his arms and torso. Those were the ones everyone knew about. Visible scars. Out in daylight once his sleeve rolled up his arm. Or when they decided to move up his neck, pocking out of his collar and vanishing beneath his hairline again.
And then there were the voices.
He had thought those things before. He should've been used to it. But only when the voices started repeating it he realized that he'd never fully accepted it. That he'd fought back. Not anymore. He was exhausted. And if even the voices said that it was just fact.
So he accepted it. Didn't argue with them further. Like he was used to anyway. Just listening. Not even trying to add something. Just nodding along. Because what was his opinion worth anyways.
Everyone had already said what he wanted to say. And everyone had already argued against what he'd muttered out anyway.
The same with the voices. They'd already said what he thought, what he believed and what argued against his leftover words.
Yes, Ron Weasley was doomed.
But maybe it wasn't the voices that had doomed him. Maybe it had been before that.
When he'd been born as the sixth son to a mother who desperately wanted a daughter. Which she got one year after he'd stepped into world. Her perfect, smart, beautiful daughter.
Not the youngest of six boys. Not the one who'll always get leftovers. Not the one who'll hardly ever have something for himself. Not the child overshadowed by his five older brothers and then also his younger sister. Not Ron.
No, it's never Ron.
It's always someone else.
While he stands to the sidelines and claps for them.
He loves his family. Every one of them.
And he loves his friends.
He would run head first into danger for them. He would die for them.
But somehow he cannot figure out anymore if they would do the same for him. If they would even consider.
He can't remember something like it.
He can't think about anything like that.
He can't hear or see past the voices.
Why are they so loud anyways? He knows what they are telling him.
He knows he'll never be first. He knows he'll never have something just for himself.
So why must they be so loud?
He can't think!
—
"Hey Ron", Harry looks up at him though his glasses, the frame slightly askew. And Ron wants to adjust them for him. Of course, he doesn't.
Instead he looks back into Harry's eyes, listening to what he's saying. "We could practice some Quidditch together after this", Harry's eyes always start gleaming when he talks about the sport. Ron's probably did that too at some point.
He liked Quidditch.. right?
Ron finds himself unsure nonetheless. "I don't know. I'm kinda tired..", he mutters out, his voice seems distant. Like it's not really himself saying those words.
Harry's voice however clearly rings through the fog in his head. "Okay, how about some chess?"
Ron half shrugs, half denies again.
"Something else?", Harry keeps trying, "We can just sit around the fire. Relax a bit, we don't even have to talk."
But Ron wants him to continue talking. About literally anything. His head feels lighter somehow when listening to his best friend.
By now he's the only one he can listen to apart from the voices. Deep down Ron is anxious to lose his ability to hear Harry's voice this clearly. He dreads the moment the fog can block him out too.
He shrugs. But at least he didn't decline fully. And judging by the smile on the other's face, that counts as a win.
They finish their homework. Ron writes down something that is hopefully good enough for Professor Slughorn. Then puts it all away.
Everything else just flies by his head. People walking by and greeting them. The other students in the common room talking and laughing. The rustling of Harry's things.
But then his best friend looks up at him again. Nods his head to signal for them to change which furniture they are sitting on. Ron doesn't notice the slight uncomfortableness of their chairs.
He follows Harry to the couch in front of the fire. It should feel warm on his skin. But honestly, he isn't sure.
But when Harry's hand touches his lightly to pull him down onto the cushion, it almost burns into him. Ron can feel his warmth and the callousing he got from playing Qudditch all those years.
There's a yearning deep in his chest when the touch disappears. He wants to reach out. But he doesn't.
The voices tell him the obvious again.
He shouldn't even think about that. He shouldn't feel like that. This was the great chosen one, the boy who lived, the Harry Potter.
Who was he? Ron.. and whatever the rest of him is.
Having feelings for your best friend is bad. Having feelings for your male best friend is even worse. Having feelings for your male best friend who is Harry Potter is the worst you could ever do.
They sit next to each other, looking into the fire. People leave the common room one after one to go to bed. Ron doesn't really notice. He also doesn't notice that it's getting late.
He sits next to Harry, looking into the fire and listening to the whispers in his head.
The next thing he actually does notice is Harry speaking up again.
"Ron", he likes how his name sounds when Harry says it, it's much more gentle than he'd ever thought it could be said.
"We're gonna find something", Harry continues and Ron needs a few moments to piece it back together.
Right, they had tried to find something. Harry had dragged him along to Professors and Doctors. He'd said something about helping him.
Harry wants to help him? Ron isn't sure about that. There's whispers in the back of his head telling him different.
The scars creep up his neck again. Harry's hand comes to rest on top of them.
And for a moment Ron thinks that Harry's touch burned them out of his skin. His neck is warm. He relaxes a little bit.
Harry uses this hand to move his head, facing each other.
He looks sad. His eyebrows are tight with worry.
"You hear me, Ron?"
Ron nods. He gets a little smile in return that momentarily lights up the room.
"We're gonna help you. I'm not leaving you alone with this. No matter what everyone says, there must be something. I'm gonna find it. For you."
His tone was so sure. His eyes glinted with dedication.
And the fog inside Ron's head tried to cover all of that up before he could fully process it.
But Harry's piercing gaze fought it's way forward. His hand steady on his neck.
"I'm here. You hear me. I'm here for you, Ron. I won't leave you with this."