Ronarry One Shots

Baby, We're Already Defeated

Summary: Set after Sirius' death. Harry finds the mirror. Ron finds him.

Ships: RonWeasleyxHarryPotter

All credit goes to endinsosuddenly on Ao3

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I knew nothing I could say would've made him feel better. Harry hadn't been at dinner, so I got worried. Hermione told me to give him space but, somehow I knew that wouldn't be what he needed. So, when I found Harry sitting with his back towards his bed, legs sprawled on the floor, looking blankly at the ceiling. I just stared. His eyes were glossed over, but I could see the tear stains that ran down his face, some tears still spilling. Yet, he made no motion to move. He just kept staring.

It was like I wasn't even there. I remember keeping my eyes on him, seeing if Harry would acknowledge I was there. He didn't. I walked towards him, slowly, I knew he didn't like to be crept up on.

Glass crunched under my shoe. I looked down and realized something had shattered here, a bowl? No. I could see my reflection in the glass shards on the ground. A mirror. A mirror had shattered? I slowly crouched down and picked up the broken glass to inspect it. I didn't understand why it was there.

I put the glass back on the floor, going back to my objective.

Harry still sat there, unmoving. His breaths were slow and labored, tears would often flow out and roll down his chin, his neck and shirt slowly dampening.

I approached again, slowly. When I got near him, he again, didn't make any reaction to me being there. I was going to say something, anything, but I didn't know what. What could I possibly say? Harry was going through something I could never imagine. It was obvious to everyone that Sirius was the person Harry loved the most. Even if it was just an idea of home, I saw the way it kept him going.

Especially this year, the idea of Sirius, the letters, and everything Sirius did for Harry was a lifeline to something better. Something he deserved more than anything.

I knew that. Everyone did. I felt horrible. To have something you love so dearly ripped out from under you, and so quickly.. It made me feel sick to my stomach.

And this might be selfish, but I was afraid. Afraid Harry would never be himself again. I would never be able to crack a joke with him, or have those deep conversations we never brought up again. It felt like I was losing my best friend to grief, and it hurt to see him like this. Defeated. Lifeless. Harry had always been the sun itself, blazing bright and strong. Never wavering, never dampening. To see him like this, it was like a dementor had ripped his soul out of his chest.

I stared at him for a minute, trying to decide what to do.

I decided not to say anything. I just. Sat down next to him. Our thighs touched and instead of the usual warmth, it felt cold. It was like his grief was so world-shattering I could feel it seeping outside of his every pore.

I hadn't noticed it until I got close, his right pant leg was stained with blood. Under his hand, that was gripping something?

I glanced at him, before lifting Harry's hand up and flipping it over, so I could see.

It was a mirror.

It looked like a shard, but I could see the edges were softened, like it was supposed to be small and discreet, but not meant to cut.

Harry was gripping it so hard, it was digging into his hand. I tried to pry it out, but his grip tightened even harder.

I glanced up at him, worried, and his face stayed the same. Lifeless. Zero emotion.

I didn't know what to do. Harry's lack of emotion, and lack of life scared me.

I wasn't sure if I should speak, and try to comfort him or do something else.

Whenever I was sad, my mother always hugged me.

I leaned over and put my head on his shoulder, then wrapped my arms around his torso. I gripped him tightly. Trying my hardest to press all the love I had into his heart, so he'd understand. I couldn't ever do it through words, so maybe this would work.

We just sat there, I don't remember for how long. I just knew it got later and later.

I was drifting off, arms still tight around him when I felt it.

Movement.

My eyes shot open, his eyes stayed to the ceiling. He turned, and his arms went around my shoulders.

He sobbed.

And sobbed.