*Hey everyone! Last year I began University and since then I haven't had much time to write or continue my other, longer story. Now that it's summer, I decided to begin adding quick HP drabbles to keep me writing so that I don't get too rusty while I wait for things to calm down. I am going to try to post a new one every Friday. They are inspired by a random word generator, and my rule is that I must use the first word I get! I will also accept word requests (requests are my favorite!) so if you have any favorite words, or words you've always been dying to see an author try to write about, feel free to review/PM me the word! I will write ALL requests, though, since it is only one per week, I will write on a first come, first serve basis. I will get to them all eventually though! Also, I am posting this story on harrypotterfanfiction as well, so if someone on there requests a word first, that may be why yours isn't the next one written. Alright, sorry about the long note- I just wanted to explain this story before it gets started!*

AN: **Word: Diagnosis** This story is about the moment in the fifth movie after Harry snaps at Ron about Seamus and then has a nightmare about Voldemort/the Department of Mysteries door. In that scene, he wakes up and sees Ron staring at him. They never mentioned it again, and I always wondered what Ron was thinking there. So I wrote it! Enjoy!

I wake to the sound of a muffled cry. It's not very loud, but I'm only dozing. I sit up in my four-poster bed and watch my best mate in the bed next to mine. He's having another one of his nightmares. I don't think he knows I know about them, which just goes to show how much he's shut down lately, how oblivious he has become to the world. I may not be the most sensitive bloke out there, but I'm not blind either. He's falling apart, and even I can see that. Sure, the world has turned its back on him recently, but is that really a reason to shut out those of us who are trying to help him? Those of us who do believe him? I don't know how to ask the questions.

So instead I watch him.

Some would say he's lost his marbles. Diagnosis: mental.

I wish that he could see how angry I am that he's taking this out on me. Me, one of the few people who have stood by him through everything. One of the few people who see him: Harry Potter, and not The Boy Who Lived. How he can be mad at me, when I've only ever been supportive? I don't know how to make him stop.

So instead I watch him.

Some would say he's trying to manipulate the wizarding world. Diagnosis: dangerous.

I wish that he could see how frustrated I am that he won't let me and Hermione in, that he won't let us help him. We're trying so hard to understand, to be kind, to be supportive through all his venom, but the more we try, the more he pushes us away. I don't know how to make him explain.

So instead I watch him.

Some would say he just wants attention. Diagnosis: narcissistic.

I wish he could see how worried I am. I see him thrashing in his sleep every night. I see him stare into space for ages. I see the pain and horror in his eyes every time he thinks of that night. I see his hurt that so many of his friends have betrayed him. I see the deep pit of fury that no one believes him. He sees all the scorn in those around him. Why can't he see those of us who care? I know that he's falling deeper and deeper, and I'm so worried he won't be able to escape. I don't know how to lift him out.

So instead I watch him.

Lots of people have said lots of different things about him. But what do I, Ron Weasley, the one who has been there through it all, think? I watch him twist in his covers, hear him gasp, and see the tear run down his face, and, ridiculously, I can only think of what Hermione said earlier that day. Diagnosis: desperate.

Desperate for believers, desperate for trust, desperate for friends, desperate for family, desperate for love, desperate for life. Most of all, desperate to be heard.

But I don't know how to listen.

So instead I watch him.

As I watch, his eyes flash open. His breathing is heavy and loud in the silence. His sweat shines on his face in the moonlight. And as my eyes meet his, I see something I never expected to see. Relief. Finally he understands that I am here for him, that I will stay by his side through this coming war. The panic recedes and his eyes flutter closed again. His breathing slows and for the first time in weeks, his sleep becomes peaceful.

I know that tomorrow the desperation will be back, but I am glad that tonight he will rest. And I am also relieved that I have finally seen the sign that Hermione and I have been searching for so frantically: the sign that he can get better.

Diagnosis: Who bloody hell knows? I'm Ron, not Hermione. The complexity of Harry's emotions right now is too much for me to riddle out. But whatever it is, at least I know now that it's curable.

And maybe someday soon I will be able to stop watching and get a good night's sleep.

Thanks for reading! Please review if you had any thoughts or if you have a word for me to write about!