The Boy Who Lived

'RON WEASLEY HAS QUIT THE GAME!'

'Ron, it's never been a competition. I've never placed myself against you.'

'I know. But I've grown up with five older brothers, all high achievers. I wanted to prove myself too. It's like when the Mirror of Erised showed me as Head Boy and holding the Quidditch Cup. I'm calling it "Little Kid Syndrome", where I feel I've always got to prove myself to feel grown up. I just keep going about it the wrong way and forget the most important things.'

'You've always proven yourself to me in the most meaningful way, Ron, you've been there as a friend when it mattered most.'

'Until the Triwizard when I doubted you; until the Forest of Dean, when I doubted you and Mione; until I found out Mione was my soulmate and I doubted life; until I was supposed to join the Aurors and be your partner again but couldn't handle the responsibility. And in every case, the underlying reason was that I wasn't enough. Why do I put so much store in needing to prove myself as worthy, like wanting to be a prefect or captain of the Quidditch team, in being a professional Quidditch player, having money, or fame, and having women falling at my feet? Because I'm certainly not worthy to fall at Mione's feet, I'm punching way above my weight there.'

'Don't you think that's one for Mione to decide?' Harry muttered but Ron ignored him.

'Let's face it, being a prefect has had no bearing on my life since school; I'm not Percy and want to be a Ministry man. And it never mattered to Fred and no one will ever be better than him at loving life with everything he had...' Ron's voice cracked.

They sat in silence for a moment while Ron battled with his emotions, never quite letting go. Harry wondered if that was part of the problem. Ron had never fully accepted Fred's death.

'The irony is that I threw it all for nothing, just an image, nothing meaningful. None of those women wanted me, they just wanted their fifteen minutes of fame. And I'm no better than those who clamoured to be on my arm each week, that's all I was doing with you in a bid to prove myself. That's the worst thing? I didn't stick to the things that mattered, to you and Mione and my family. I made everything about me, I'm such a shittrumpet!'

'And now you're addressing it all, so you're not a shittrumpet, you were just a kid who had seven kinds of hell thrown at him and we dealt with it the best we could and then we broke.'

'But you've come out of all that wankstorm sound...'

'Have I? You know I haven't. The nightmares, the insomnia, the cold sweats, the anxiety, the panic attacks, the guilt, the OCD. I mean, look at this place! The slightest thing out of place is enough to give me severe anxiety. And if I can't sleep then I'm down here polishing the bloody kitchen. It's not normal. Poor Teddy! He can't ever leave his toys lying around because I get twitchy. I can't go back to Hogwarts. I tried the other month and made it as far as the gates before turning on my tail and practically running back to London. And then there's all this problem with my rogue magic. I trashed an interview room the other day because I was so angry. The chairs, the table, they crumpled like paper and then a whole wall of one-way mirror shattered into a mini-maelstrom with me at the centre. I'm lucky no one was injured...' Harry's voice went quiet. 'They can't work it out. I've had Healers and the Unspeakable prod me for years and still no answers. It's getting worse, Ron. What happens if I can no longer control it?'

'What about the running?'

'It's only temporary and I can't go out for two hours every day forever. One day I'm going to be old and knackered, and I swear I'm losing weight with all the running I'm doing.'

'You're already a scrawny little fuckspit. Hasn't Mione worked it out?'

'No, even she's stumped and I can tell she worried.'