Chapter One

Ron was a simple boy with simple problems that needed less than simple solutions. He was the best friend to Harry Potter. He was in love with Hermione Granger even though he knew he would never date the girl unless she pursued him first. He had tasks to do that he would rather forget about or give to others. He couldn't do such a thing as that.

Contrary to popular belief, he was a hard worker, doing what he needed to do to keep all those around him safe. If Ron had to do something, he did it, all or nothing. He did his homework. All of it got done or none indeed. Ron would listen to what his friends were talking about in hushed tones or he would zone out fully when a teacher droned.

Ron did what was expected of himself. With his family, he floated around the backdrop. He was there but without an identity. He wasn't the eldest, smartest, funniest nor was he the most girly or extreme. He was Ron. Plain old Ron. He did what he needed to do.

So it is no wonder why he was in the state he was in. He was dead. Nothing more. Nothing less. Ron was an empty shell and everyone at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry could obviously see it. Fifth year was a horror for all and sixth was a waking nightmare. But once everyone came back, summer-revitalized, Ron was gone. All that was left was some being who had decided to prank everyone into believing that it was Ronald Weasley. It was no use. Professors and students alike noticed the walking death that could only be describe as Ron. He didn't speak. He didn't laugh. He never ate except when forced. He never went to bed unless forced. He went to class. He went to Quidditch practice. He quit being Keeper and excelled in all
things academia.

His housemates worried. His friends fretted. His family despaired. He never broke through the shroud that settled around him that one day in summer. Many believe that the day Ron died was July 31st, Harry's birthday.

Today was like any now-normal day. Harry and Hermione plotted on how to finally defeat Voldemort. Snape deducted points from Gryffindor. Ron sighed, breathed, blinked, but never reacted. More threats and death poured through in the lines of the Daily Prophet. Gryffindor won yet again thanks to Potter's Seeking abilities. Yet still no reaction from the youngest male Weasley.

"Ron, you haven't had a bite for a few days now." Commented Hermione delicately.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Will you please have a piece of bread?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

Harry growled slightly at Ron lack of caring, causing the other boy to flinch. "Eat."

And so he did. Mechanically, Ron reached for his fork, dug into the potatoes that Hermione had spooned onto his plate, raised it to his mouth, opened, and then chewed, swallowing the contents. He repeated this action a few more times, staying clear of the steak that was cooling in front of him. He knew from the books he read in the library that if a person had restricted their nutrient intake by cause of eating disorder, then one must slowly take in food, bit by bit, and not fill up. The stomach just wasn't accustomed to it.

Harry watched in amazement at the wasteland in front of him. It seemed that the roles had switch. Ron was now the thin, scared boy who wore clothes that hung on his wire-hanger frame and Harry was the healthy, hearty young man that was affable. Harry knew the cycle. Ron would not eat or had a small piece of fruit and would refuse to sleep for several nights. Hermione would try to intervene along with Harry. Harry would show some dominant expression of hopelessness, like growl and sigh harshly, forcing Ron into submitting, to do what needed to be done. He hated the frightened boy that was in front of him. He hated scaring his best friend.

Once Ron was finished with his meagre meal, he put his utensils down and watched. He observed how relaxed everyone was, how comfortable and well rested. He wished it could be like that once again.

That afternoon.

That afternoon prevented him from ever being normal again.

It was time to leave the Great Hall and sleep off the meals that everyone stuffed into their belly. It was time for Ron to lie in bed, wide-awake.

With Hermione and Harry on either side, the redhead made his way up to his designated House location, his dorms, his bed. He was still Prefect but he was less than effective. He crawled under the sheet, his full uniform still hanging close to him. In a fetal position Ron prepared himself for yet another restless night of tossing and turning.

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