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Chapter Text

Chapter 1: chapter guide

Chapter 2: Ron starts cutting during second year.

Chapter 3: Ron hides his scars during the summer between 2nd and 3rd year.

Chapter 4: Ron tries to hide his scars from Madame Pomfrey as she checks him for wounds.

Chapter 5: Ron's self harm habits get worse during the silence between him and Harry. 

Chapter 6: Hermione gets involved.

Chapter 7: to be determined...

Chapter Text

Ron felt like shit. He didn't know why he felt like shit, he just did. It could have been waking up to thunder at 4 in the morning and not being able to get any more sleep. It could have been tripping and falling all into Fred and George's potions homework, turning him a violent shade of purple for 2 hours. It could have been Snape telling him just how inferior he was to his brothers ("You are by far the most incompetent Weasley I have ever had the displeasure of teaching."). It could have been anything.

Whatever it was, Ron was obviously unhappy about it. 

And throughout the day, it kept building, and building, and building until finally he broke. After malfoy called him an "ugly red pimple with mush for brains" and he couldn't think of any comeback, he ran pitifully to the Gryffindor boys dormitory. 

Slamming the door behind him, Ron broke into tears. He ran to his four poster bed, hoping to find scabbers there, but all he found amid his sheets and pillows was an old sock and the pocket knife his dad had given him for his last birthday. Stupid thing, really, but his father said that it was supposed to be something muggle dad's give their sons when they think they're old enough for it. Sort of like a right of passage. More like a load of rubbish.

Tears still running down his face, he threw the old sock to the floor and placed the knife on his bedside table. Then, climbing into bed, he started to think about all the times he'd been simply pathetic. 

But then, right as he started remembering his terrible cowardice when he and Harry had gone to see the spiders, he thought of the knife. That stupid knife.. he could punish himself, he thought. Maybe this would teach him not to be so horribly stupid about everything... 

So, moving slowly, he reached for the knife. No one was in the dorm, but just to be safe, he moved to the bathroom. Sitting on the closed toilet seat, he flicked the knife open. 

He looked at it for a moment. It was clean, never used before. He could almost see his own reflection in the blade. The handle was cherry red, with a silver swoop down the middle. It was strangely beautiful. 

With a shaky hand, he lifted his left sleeve. 

He pressed the blade to his forearm. He moved it down to his wrist, maybe that would hurt more? No, he thought, it would be too obvious if his sleeve rolled up. He moved the blade back up his arm. 

Then, he pushed the blade into his flesh. It stung, but he liked it. He pulled the blade back towards him quickly. Blood began to bead from the cut. He felt better. He did it a few more times. By the last cut, he had stopped crying. 

He rolled down his sleeve, left the bathroom, and placed the pocket knife in his trunk for safe keeping. 

Chapter Text

During the summer holidays, the Weasleys often spend the long, hot days in the living room doing whatever they pleased. Mrs. Weasley, was reading Witch Weekly while her knitting needles worked furiously beside her. She liked to get a head start on gift knitting. Fred was working out some nasty new joke spell, which, from what Ron could see, turned a flat piece of paper into a small paper bird that would follow people around, pecking them persistently. George, however, was finishing the last of his Potions summer work with Ron, who was working on his Transfigurations summer essay. Ginny sat in the corner armchair reading a book titled Jinxes For Even The Simplest Witch. 

"Merlin's beard it's hot out!" Said Molly Weasley, who had just begun to fan herself with her magazine. 

"It's hotter than the new firebolt, I'd say." Added Fred. 

Ron said nothing, even though he was just about dieing in the sweater his mother had made for him the previous Christmas. 

"Oi, Ron, why don't you take off that sweater?" Ron had been wearing sweaters all summer, and apparently George had noticed. Thankfully, the rest of the Weasleys had started up new conversations among themselves. "You must be sweating bathtubs by now." George's gaze was sharp, waiting for Ron's reply. 

"Erm, I'd rather not, thanks." Ron became suddenly very interested in the dishes washing themselves in the sink. 

"Ron, it's very endearing for you to finally take a liking to mum's sweaters, but you better take it off before you die of heat exhaustion." George had suddenly lost his sarcastic tone. "I'm serious. I once saw a Ravenclaw boy pass out for 20 minutes in the heat because he was wearing a sweater. It wasn't pretty." 

"Well, erm.. I'm fine. I promise, I'm not even sweating." Ron lied. 

"Ron, I can see the sweat all over you. Why are you being so insistent about this?" George seemingly refused to give up. 

"I could ask you the same thing." Ron started gathering up his homework. "I'm going up to my room. See you." 

"See you, Ron." George eyed him sadly, but went back to his work all the same. 

Up in his room, Ron got out his pocket knife. When he started cutting, he never thought it would become much of a problem, but now he felt he needed it. He couldn't go 3 days without cutting now. He was scared it would get worse, but he didn't know how to stop. 

So, he kept cutting. 

Chapter Text

Ron awoke in the hospital wing utterly alone. He pulled the covers over his head and groaned into them. 

"Sirius will never be free now, I reckon."

"What was that deary?" He hadn't heard Madame Pomfrey come in. He pushed the blankets off his head only to see her pulling back the curtain surrounding his bed. 

"Nothing, ma'am!" He sat up quickly, only to feel a stinging pain in his leg. 

"Oh be careful now, I've only just mended your bones back together." She was suddenly fixing the pillows behind Ron's head. "Well, I have a couple questions for you, now that you're awake." 

"...go on, I guess." Ron said hesitantly. 

"Professor Dumbledore told me you were bitten by a dog, now that explains the injuries on your leg. What I don't have answers for is the cuts on your arm. My suspicion...."

Madame Pomfrey was still talking, but Ron heard none of it. A pit in his stomach grew steadily, and his heart was beating far too loud for him to hear anything else. 

Suddenly, he noticed a hand waving in front of his face. 

"Mr. Weasley? Are you alright?" She had a kind yet nervous expression on her face. 

"I- erm...I'm.." He cleared his throat. "I'm fine. Those were.. I fell into a.. erm.. rose bush. Yeah, a rose bush!" He could still hear his heart pounding in his chest. 

"Deary, I know what self harm looks like." 

And just like that, everything stopped. Ron thought he might faint. If only he would!

"Now, we have a few options. I could write to your parents, or you could have weekly check-ins with me, starting now. Which would you prefer?" 

Ron didn't like the sound of either one of those options. But between his mother finding out, and having to talk about his feelings every week, he knew which one he should choose. 

"I.. I want the weekly check-ins thing, please. I don't want my mum finding out." He spoke timidly. 

"Right you are, deary." She waved her wand and a roll of parchment and a quil materialized in front of her. She quickly grabbed them both and scribbled something down before vanishing both objects as quickly as they came. 

The nerves in his stomach grew, until suddenly they changed. The transformed into something... hopeful. Maybe this was what he needed. Maybe now he could stop cutting for good.