Hello…welcome to my first story…geez I'm nervous.

Okay, I haven't really written anything before, so some constructive criticism would be appreciated…thanks.

I was actually encouraged to write this by one of my friends after I asked her to write my idea. Err, she kinda said I have to do it myself though, so here I am.

Please check out my friend's (graveofbutterflies) stories coz they are pretty great from what I have seen, but then again, I'm her friend so I have to say that.

Anyway, I'm rambling…

Please tell me what you think of this story (again) and thanks in advance.

ThisIsMomUniverse —

Two months.

Harry realised this with a jolt as he glanced at the calendar on Ron's wall. He dropped the snitch with a clatter onto the floor as he read the number in the small box.

It had been two months.

Two months.

Raking a trembling hand through his messy hair, he collapsed onto Ron's bed, the snitch lying forgotten on the worn carpet. Breathing in deeply, Harry sank to the floor, blinking rapidly to rid the water in his eyes.

It had been two months. And he hadn't even noticed.

Two months since the Battle of Hogwarts.

Two months since…

Two months.

The Burrow had been oddly quiet during those two months of mourning. Laughter was rare around the house. Happiness was limited. Everyone had been quiet – even the ghoul in the attic.

Getting past his shock, Harry buried himself with collecting the snitch off the floor and putting it back into his pocket. Below, murmured conversation and clangs of cutlery were sounded; as far as he knew, he was the only one not downstairs, joining the Weasley's.

I wouldn't even be in this house, Harry reminded himself, if Ron and Hermione didn't make me stay.

Slowly, Harry leant against the bed frame, closing his eyes. Maybe he would eat later, when there wasn't as many people at the table. He couldn't handle all the stares that would follow him into the kitchen, not now.

Though he knew that the Weasley's didn't blame him, Harry didn't want to see the expressionless faces that would always come when someone mentioned Fred. He didn't want to be reassured, again and again, that it "wasn't his fault" and "he died the way he lived". Because it was his fault – none of this would've happened if it wasn't for him. He brought the battle to Hogwarts. He didn't protect Fred. He didn't think to grab the horcruxes secretly instead of being detected. All was all his fault.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the posters that decorated the ceiling. Though he himself wasn't hungry, Mrs Weasley was bound to send someone up to get him and drag him downstairs. Harry just hoped it wasn't George – he couldn't bring himself to look into his deadened eyes again.

"Harry?"

Sure enough, the door had opened (without him realising) and Harry didn't react to Ron's voice, but carried on staring at the ceiling.

"Mum says you gotta eat something…" Ron moved across the room, sitting on the edge of his bed. Like his family, Ron's eyes were full of grief for his dead brother, and Harry could hear a slight tremble in his voice – he too had realised what day it was.

"Not really hungry." Harry replied, feeling it was the least he could do. To his surprise, Ron agreed.

"Me neither, really – just don't want Mum worrying 'bout something else…" Harry looked over at Ron, who was staring at the floor. He moved to a sitting position so his friend could have more space. Ron muttered a small "thanks" and shuffled further into his bed. They sat in silence for a while, deep in their own thoughts.

"Did you know that today is…" Ron said suddenly, trailing off. Harry could see a few tears glisten in his eyes.

"Yeah. I did." Harry replied softly, moving closer to his friend. He glanced back at the calendar. "I did."

"It's moved strangely, hasn't it?" Ron voiced Harry's next thought. "Some days, it was really slow, but other days…"

"It was quick." Harry finished. "Yeah, it has moved strangely." He saw that Ron looked close to crying again, but was stubbornly not letting any tears fall.

"You notice things, don't you? When someone's gone forever…" Ron sniffed, looking at the wall.

"No more loud jokes." Harry mumbled.

"No more bangs." Ron added.

"No more stolen cars." Harry said, smiling at the memory. Ron gave a weak snort of laugher, which turned into a chocked sob. Harry moved closer to him, putting an arm around his shoulders.

"It's okay, you know." Harry whispered whilst he watched Ron try and hold back the tears. "It's okay to cry."

At these words, Ron (very suddenly) began to actually cry – not a delicate cry seen in movies, but what was called an "ugly cry". Ron looked a complete mess, but was actually feeling, which was more than Harry was doing. Harry just felt numb. Even so, he smiled gently as he pulled Ron closer, watching as he didn't protest, like he had done the other time he cried.

"I just miss him, y'know?" Ron muttered, wiping away his tears. Harry did know. "I never thought that…heck, I don't even mind if he turns another teddy bear of mine into a spider, as long as he's there, laughing at me."

Harry understood. The snitch fluttered slightly in his pocket as he shifted uncomfortably as his guilt (that had been ditched as soon as Ron began to cry) washed on him in waves.

Only if he protected Fred.

Only if he didn't bring the battle to Hogwarts.

Only if, only if, only if, only if.

Harry didn't imagine himself feeling worse than he had done when Sirius died – another fault of his – but he hadn't predicted Fred dying, either. Never predicted his family's reaction to the news.

He could still see it vividly in his mind: George, slumped next to his dead twin; Ron, staring in disbelief; Mr and Mrs Weasley, crying shamelessly; Ginny, eyes brimmed with tears; Percy, shouting and screaming his brother's name –

Harry turned his focus back on Ron, who seemed to have calmed down. Tears were still running silently down his face.

"It just seems that it will never get better." He whispered, looking down at the floor again. Harry knew. Harry understood.

"I understand." He said calmly, fighting the emotional battle to burst into tears with Ron. "I…understand."

"Do you?" Ron said suddenly, looking at Harry, his face unreadable. Harry felt himself flinch slightly under his gaze.

Did he?

"What do you mean?" Harry forced his voice to stay calm. Cold, even. This only seemed to aggravate Ron more.

"Do you…" Ron seemed to struggle with his words, pushing away from Harry. "How do you know what it feels like?"

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron cut him off.

"You don't have any brothers or sisters." Ron's voice was dangerously low. "You wouldn't understand."

He's just upset, Harry thought repetitively, he doesn't mean any of it.

"I still care for Fred." Harry found himself replying, his voice slightly raised. "I care for him like a brother a –"

"—Your not his brother though, are you?!" Ron's voice level matched Harry's. "You. Don't. Know. What. It's. Like!"

"I do! I still miss him!" Harry found himself raising his voice.

"So it's a completion of 'who cares for Fred more', is it?!" Ron snapped.

"No! Ron, I didn't mean –"

"What did you mean then?"

"I've always cared for Fred, Ron –"

Ron snorted, anger flashing in his eyes. Harry reeled back, surprised at the sudden anger.

"You don't even have a family!" His friend spat, glaring. "You don't –"

"I wished for a family, Ron!" Harry blurted, voice raising into something similar to a hysterical scream. Ron was shocked into silence. "I always wished that I could have someone to care for, for someone to care for me –"

Ron suddenly gave a cruel, uncharacteristic laugh.

"No wonder they didn't come true then." Harry blinked at Ron, feeling something tighten in his chest. But Ron wasn't finished.

"I certainly wouldn't give a wish to a murderer."

Harry froze, breath caught in his throat. He opened his mouth, trying so say something, anything to deny it, but Ron had got up quickly and left the room.

Harry raked his hand through his hair again, watching Ron's back disappear in the doorway, feeling like the snitch that was struggling in his pocket.

Ron didn't mean it, a small, hopeful voice tried to say. He is just upset.

But Ron must've meant it – the words sounded too true, too confident.

He, Harry Potter, was a murderer.

He had known it for some time now, but something was holding him back from making the truth take over him completely. But now the truth couldn't be hidden.

He didn't understand like Ron did. He didn't have a family.

For a few blissful years Harry had let himself believe that the Weasley's had became something like a family to him – they behaved like he saw how other families behaved, and they actually seemed to like him. But he should've known better.

It was never meant to be this way. I should've never…

He needed to leave. Now.

It wasn't for some stupid, noble reason. Maybe it was. But Harry couldn't stay in a place where he didn't belong.

Slowly, Harry moved over to the small window and began to fiddle with the hatch, forgetting about his possessions.

You prat! A voice sounded in his head. It was suspiciously like Hermione's. You're really leaving because of Ron's stupid words!

Harry paused. The Weasley's has been good to him over the years. This was much more difficult than leaving the Dursleys. Would they miss him?

They have each other. Families stick together. Harry reminded himself. He resumed opening the window. I am not. I am my own family.

Finally, the latch opened, letting in the cold, winter air. Harry shivered, hopping onto the windowsill.

"This is for the best. For me and for them." Harry muttered to himself, jumping out of the window. He didn't look back.

I am a family of me.

Tell me what you think. Depending on reviews, I will decide whether to continue with this or not, because I'm not sure it's that great.