Marked

The Manor

Chapter 22: The Manor

Ron Weasley was not a bad person. Really. He wasn't.

Okay. So things had gotten out from under him a bit. It wasn't his fault. Why couldn't anyone see that?

Every summer, every Christmas, practically every moment of any significance whatsoever in their lives that hadn't taken place at Hogwarts had taken place at his home. With his family. And it was like Hermione and Harry had suddenly forgotten that.

Those two - and fucking Malfoy, who was no help whatsoever - might have been only children, but Ron wasn't. He had grown up learning from and leaning on his siblings, finding support in his family and learning that they could be relied on for anything. For love, and for comfort. For strength. For support.

For help.

But Ron was so wildly outnumbered, wasn't he? With Malfoy here, there was no convincing the other two to see reason. Hermione was . . . well, she was bloody giddy, wasn't she? And Harry . . . Ron never thought he would have to question his importance to Harry. But now the important conversations, the ones Harry used to have alone with Ron, he was having with Malfoy. Had both Hermione and Harry forgotten what Malfoy had done? The judgment call he'd made? So he was reformed. Fine. Good for him. So what? Why did that make him the voice of reason all of a sudden? And when, exactly, had Ron lost his standing as Harry's confidant?

He couldn't help but question Malfoy's motives. Malfoy had instantly dug his heels in at the thought of going to the Order, but that was selfish, wasn't it? He didn't want his mother and father at risk, and Ron could certainly understand that, even as he found the idea of protecting Lucius Malfoy to be thoroughly distasteful. But for Malfoy to pretend he was doing it for Hermione, who had always been safe there . . . it was unconscionable.

And then there was Harry. Ron certainly had more brothers than he knew what to do with, but even then, he had never questioned a brother was precisely what Harry was to him. But now . . .

Hermione had asked them to get some water and the only thing Ron could think about was the way Harry was loath to meet his eyes. Ron had woken up in the middle of the night and seen that both Harry and Malfoy were out of bed once again and he knew, he knew, that yet again, Harry was choosing Malfoy over him. A couple of months ago, perhaps even less, Harry would have woken Ron and Hermione. They would have huddled together, trying to figure out what it all meant. Hermione would have still looked at Ron with affection and Harry would have turned to him for advice.

But that was not the case anymore, was it? Not even remotely. Now it was Harry and his bewildering faith in Malfoy. Now it was Harry's need to turn to the former Death Eater without batting an eye to how Malfoy was changing him, to how Malfoy's influence was destroying the person Harry had once been. Nevermind how many times Ron had been there for Harry. Nevermind the friend Ron had always been.

Ron wanted to leave, he really did. And he didn't think anyone would miss him if he went, honestly. He couldn't remember the last time Hermione had even given him a second glance; she'd never needed Ron for his brain and now she didn't need him for his company, either. As for Harry . . . he wanted to think Harry would come around, that there might be a time that Harry would need to fall back on the relationship he'd had with Ron. But was he willing to bet on it? He no longer knew. As if it wasn't enough that Malfoy was fucking Hermione every goddamn chance he got, now he was fucking Ron over, too.

That wasn't even the worst part, either. The worst part, unquestionably, was that even with all of that, even with all the resentment he felt towards Malfoy, Ron still couldn't fully hate him. He couldn't hate him, he couldn't blame him, and he certainly couldn't turn on him. They'd been through too much, whether he liked it or not.