HarryxRon Oneshots!

To hard to say

Harry needs to tell Ron something before facing the Dark lord, but he just doesn't have the courage...

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It was raining that day, that fateful day. He sat up in their old dormitory from their school days. Hogwarts was their last line of defense now;it was all that was left, the last stronghold against the Dark Lord.Even now he could hear the boom... boom... boom, he could feel the constant thuds that shook the whole castle. They were a fortress under siege, and he knew they could only hold out for so long.

He knew what had to be done, what he had to do. As he sat there, he reflected on his life, he remembered all of the things that had happened to him, the things that had happened in this castle, this very room. He also thought about all the people who had influenced his life. Sirius... Dumbledore... even his thrice cursed Aunt and Uncle and nasty Dudley, yes, even them. But they were all gone now, as so many were. His sparkling eyes swept the room, the four other empty beds, and he remembered those who had once occupied them. They were all gone now too. Well, no, that wasn't true; there was one other still, besides himself, one other left. And he was the most important of all.

This was the train of thought that led him to suddenly leap to his feet and scramble through the room for nearly five full minutes in search of a quill and some parchment. Once he had finally found the supplies, he sat back down on his bed, and began to write.As soon as he set quill to parchment the words began to flow, the words he had been unable to express for so long now, no matter how much he had longed to. But now there was no more time, no more chances to muster up his courage. It was now or never, as he had decided that his fate would be that very night.

Yes, that night he would face his destiny, once and for all. So it was with that, that he at last managed to unlock the doors of his heart and allow the emotion, so long gone unrelieved out. It felt good, if only just to write the words, it gave him a sense of relief, as though by simply writing them everything would go back to before, back to when he had first found the words resonating through his head.

He scribbled, and crossed out, and scribbled again. He had to start over on a new piece of parchment several times. But at last he felt he had it just right. He had just finished writing and carefully folded the paper into perfect tenths when the door opened and a red haired head poked in.

"Come on, Harry," said Ron, "Come eat."

So Harry stood, the paper tightly clutched in one hand, and followed his best friend out of the room. All through dinner Harry said nothing, practically sitting on the paper, as he picked at the food on his plate. There wasn't much talking at all; actually, silence had become quite normal lately. Instead the small band of refugees sat huddled together at the long Gryffindor table, feeling quite small in the expansive, empty but for them, Great Hall.

At last the meal was finished, and the plates disappeared. Slowly, one by one, everyone wondered off, alone or in small groups of two or three,heading back to whatever it was they occupied themselves with.Harry didn't move, and neither did Ron. Harry knew that Ron was watching him out of the corner of his eye, waiting for Harry to break the silence. For a long time Harry didn't, instead he sat, turning the paper over and over in his pocket, folding and unfolding it nervously. Somehow, Ron didn't notice the constant movement under the table. 

At length Harry did speak. His voice was soft, firm, confident, although he didn't really feel that way at all. "I'm going after him tonight," he said quietly, not turning to look at his best friend, "Its time to end it."

A long pause, a deep breath, "I suppose you have to, don't you?"

"Yes."

Harry detected the nod out of the corner of his eye. For a long moment there was once again silence. Harry refolded the paper for about the fiftieth time. Do it, a voice in his mind growled, just bloody give it to him already! Harry only pushed the letter deeper into his pocket. Then in one swift motion he pushed the bench back from the table, stood, and began to walk away. Even as he walked toward the huge double doors his mind was in uproar. A part of it demanding to know why he hadn't given Ron the bloody letter, another part wish desperately that Ron would run after him, stop him, anything not to be walking away now without a proper word of good-bye. Then, just as his hand was reaching out to pull the handle of the huge oak doors, to walk out to his doom, a breathless voice behind him made him freeze.

"Harry...Harry, wait," Ron panted, rushing out of the Great Hall to catch up with him.

Harry stopped, turning back to the redhead.

"I, err," Ron stuttered, coming up short as he reached the dark haired boy, "I-I just wanted to tell you... before you go, that I, err..." Harry's heart rose, his breath suddenly failing him, was Ron about to say what Harry thought he was about to say?

"I just wanted you to know that you're my best friend and that I'm rooting for you," Ron finished at last, looking embarrassed, his ears turning slightly red.

Harry only nodded, his heart sinking again. "Thanks," he said tonelessly. His hand was still in his pocket he noticed, it was shaking, the paper was now sticky with sweat from his constant fiddling with it. They stood there for several minutes, both trying to work up the courage to say something more. Do it, Harry's mind growled, louder and louder. His hand trembled more and more. How are could it be so hard to hand Ron one simple piece of paper? Too hard, apparently.

Harry nodded gravely to the redhead, and turned, opening the doors, to walk out, into his doom.

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Ron watched him go. His best friend, his brother, his... his what?

As Harry descended the stone steps Ron noticed a small slip of parchment slip out of the other boy's pocket and flutter to the ground behind him. Harry didn't seen to notice. Ron bent to pick it up, his mouth already opening to call Harry back, although he knew that as some, small scrap of parchment would hardly matter given what Harry was going to do, it was just an excuse to keep him from going a little longer. But he stopped as he read the one word that was printed on the outside of the neatly folded, and refolded, paper, his name. Frowning he, he stepped back into the light of the lofty Entrance Hall. It was a letter. Slowly he opened it, his hands shaking, although he had no idea why. When he saw the first lines, he suddenly felt light headed and had to lean back against the stone wall behind him for support.

Dear Ron,

I love you.

I love you; Ron had to read those three words several times before he fully comprehended them. Harry loved him.

Suddenly he realized that it'd been several minutes since the last time he'd drawn breath and took a huge shuddering gulp.

Maybe I always have,

The letter continued.

I've always wanted to tell you, but was never able to find the words. I guess now, now that this is my last chance, somehow that makes it easier.

Ron was barely even aware of the fact that he was slowly sliding down the wall. Just like Harry, he mentally cursed; he just had to have his last words, his last bravado before the huge battle. But this time he wasn't coming back. They all knew it, and from the way his letter read, so did he.

There isn't much more I have to say, I guess. I thought you should know, now that it's over.

I love you, Ronald Weasley, and I always will.

Ron's eyes were beginning to fill, so much that he couldn't even read the familiar signature at the bottom, not that he needed too. By now he had slid all the way to the floor, and sat there numbly, his back pressed against the wall, his knees braced in front of him, staring through foggy eyes at the letter.

"Git, Harry," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. Even in the last, Harry hadn't worked up the courage to tell him, he hadn't given him the letter; it'd just been chance that it'd fallen out of his pocket. Chance... or fate.

But it was too late. Too late now. Would Harry even realize the letter had fallen? He would never know how Ron felt in return; Ron would never get the chance to tell him. But all the same, even if Harry would never hear it Ron had to say it.

"I love you too, Harry," he whispered to the empty hall, "I always have." And with that a single tear landed to splotch the ink over the word, love.

"I always have."