Blinded by the Walls | Dramione

Two Days

Harry hated being the bearer of bad news. It was never something he was good at. But he believed he should be the one to tell him the verdict instead of McGonagall.

He found himself pacing back and forth in front of their dorm room. This was all too much. It reminded him of how he felt when Ron had left their tent, during the war.

Listening to Hermione complain about his best mate to him was all too difficult. He loved them both equally, and during the periods they fought, he always felt a sense of unease lingering on him and felt like he could finally breathe again when they sorted things out between them.

Their early arguments were always about silly little things. Hermione would defend her point and tell him why he was wrong, and he would never accept, even though he was wrong almost ninety-five percent of the time.

But now it was different.

Their arguments involved bickering, tension, yelling, and screaming, but violence was never among them.

He somewhat understood him in his decision of not wanting to help Malfoy when he was kidnapped, even though he personally would never leave someone to die. Hence, saving him from the apocalyptic fiendfyre had proven that.

But he only knew Malfoy from when he was eleven, but the Weasley family feud against them had been going on for centuries, and that's why he was able to empathize with his decision.

But he couldn't unsee the way he had been looking, speaking, arguing with her was vile for the past month. Sometimes he became unrecognizable, and Harry wasn't sure if what enraged him like this was only about her new sudden empathy against Malfoy or if the war was finally catching up to him.

Harry had not seen him cry all summer. Ron had forbidden himself to feel, and Harry knew seeing Molly like that broke him. No matter how much he complained about his mother's short temper and obsessions, he knew that Ron missed those things about her.

He wasn't trying to excuse his behavior, but it felt hard not to. He even felt bad about ratting him out to McGonagall. And he hated himself for it, but then the bruises he had seen earlier flashed before his eyes, and he felt his sorrow rapidly turn into aggression.

Without thinking another moment, he opened the door and walked in. Ron sat against his cupboard with elbows on his knees and hands covering his eyes. He looked up when Harry shut the door behind him.

"Harry, I'm so," he got on his feet, "sorry," and walked towards him to hug him, but Harry took a step back, shooting a defensive hand for him to keep his distance. Ron stared at him for a moment, seeing the burning heat in his eyes, and realized that he had lost him too.

He walked back slowly, sat on his bed, and looked out the window. This was it for him. He lost the person he held above everyone else. He lost his brother.

Harry could feel Ron's pain and seeing him like this hurt. He slowly walked to his bed and sat next to him. He hesitated before placing a hand on his shoulder and taking him into a hug.

He knew this was wrong, but people always did wrong things for the sake of family. Ron's arms were stiff, taken back by his sudden embrace. For quite a while, his arms stood at his sides before he hugged him back and sobbed against his shoulder.

Neither said anything for a while until his sobs commenced to stifle. Harry slowly broke away from the hug, and so did Ron, but still kept his hand on his shoulder, and Accio'd a napkin from the bathroom.

Ron wiped his eyes and his stained cheeks with it and crumpled it in his hand, tossing it toward the corner of the room. It was a typical Ron thing to do, which earned him a look from Harry.