What are you?

What's Wrong?

 A few minutes of hushed sobbing and snotty sniffles had passed before Ron realized that he had been late to charms. He didn't care. And, as he stumbled through the halls to find the damned room he still didn't care. Merlin, what was wrong with him? He felt like a zombie, like the walking dead.

His brain was completely shot, he didn't know what to say, or do, or even how to function as a normal human being. Draco. Nothing. Everything. That was all he could seem to think about.

Even as he received his scolding from the teacher and sat next to Harry blankly. He knew his face was flushed, and his eyes were puffy, and his skin a deathly color of grey, but he pushed those thoughts off. Numbness, that was all he could feel. Well, that and the feeling of utter, searing, blinding betrayal. "What in the hell is wrong with you?"

Harry asked in a tone of concern that hardly phased Ron. Hermione's eyes focused on him, Neville turned in his chair, Ginny leered peculiarly. They all looked at him. He didn't answer, he didn't know what to say. What did he say?

What lie was he supposed to tell this time? No, he couldn't lie, not when the fate at Hogwarts was at stake. "I don't-" He cut himself off, not sure if he was really talking or if the conversation was taking place in his mind. He just wanted to leave, he wanted to go back in time. To make things different.

"Ron . . . what's wrong? You look terrible," Hermione whispered, tapping her quill nervously. 

  "I'm . . ." he gulped "fine." He stared around the room, suddenly feeling dizzy. "I think the food was off," he said, trying his hardest not to meet anyone's eyes. Merlin, what was he doing?

"I ate just as much as you and I'm not sick," Ginny said, trying her hardest to be nice but making him mad anyways. "Yeah, I thought it was good," Neville chimed in, causing Ron to ball his fists. He was in the middle of something, couldn't everyone tell that? It was bad enough that he had just found out that Draco was supposed to kill Dumbledore, but being bombarded with questions and random statements from people in his house was making it that much worse. "Well, I guess it only affected me then, must have gotten a bad egg or something," he said, clearly becoming less sick and more frustrated.

"There's no eggs in-"

"I don't care if there are no eggs Hermione!" He shouted a bit louder than he wanted to. Everyone looked at him. Including a certain blood someone who (just at the sight of) made him want to pitch himself off of the astronomy tower. They locked eyes for a moment, and suddenly two simple facts had become clear. He had been crying.

They had both been crying. "Mr. Weasley, Have you something to say?" Flitwick asked, brandishing his wand as if it were a trophy. "I-" he had to swallow the bile rising in his throat in order to get the words out, "No, professor."

"Good, then let me continue with the lecture.

So in order to-" he continued on, and Ron tuned out. Draco was still looking at him. His skin was pale, his lips drawn into a thin frown, eyes puffy. He looked him up and down a few times, something suddenly dawning on him. It didn't seem to occur to Draco that Ron was seething with rage. I

it took every bone in his body for Ron not to Crucio him, to make him feel every ounce of pain that he felt. Funny how things came full circle, isn't it?

___

Ron sat by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, trying his hardest to warm up while he scribbled down his DADA essay. He was supposed to have met Draco, in the library, like he always did. But the very thought of that made him want to puke, and he enjoyed the silence. The sound of writing, of a crackling fire, and the sight of snow piling up on the windows was enough for him to feel slightly okay about what his life had become. The rest of the day had gone by in a blur, he talked when he needed to, did his work, ate a normal amount of dinner, then came to his room.