Reasons

"NO! No bloody way!"

The yell echoed resolutely down the long corridor. It was white in colour, incredibly sterile, increasingly getting longer, the harsh lights baring down on him, and he had every reason not to want to be there. Every reason on earth not to be being frog-marched down that eerie corridor by his twin brothers, one on each side, pinning his arms down. Like I'm dangerous, he thought angrily, indignant, like I'm considered a danger to the elderly and mad. Wait a minute, all the mad are here. Must just be the elderly. I don't belong here.

"I'm not going to the bloody loony bin! I don't belong there! I don't belong HERE!"

Ron Weasley was the person making so much noise and, amongst the other patients, confusion. His face red, his hair redder and mussed, dirty and dishevelled, his clothes ripped and filthy, his eyes wide and staring, the pupils dilated, he did indeed look like he belonged there, no matter how hard he denied it.

"Ron, you've just killed your best friend," Fred Weasley finally answered with desperation. "It was either here or Azkaban and I really do know which one you'd prefer."

Up close Fred and George Weasley, although looking exactly the same, down to the last freckle, the last speck of green in their eyes, both looked much older than they should. The wrinkles that didn't usually dawn on peoples faces until their mid thirties had attacked the twins in their mid twenties instead. The crows feet just beginning to show around their eyes, not helped by the large purply bluish bags under their eyes, the frown lines deep and haggard, casting some of their faces into shadow. There were no laughter lines.

They muttered between themselves as they looked vaguely for the door of Rons psychiatrist.

"What the hell has happened to him? Just killing, just like that? It's worse than Percy, that's what it is! At least Percy never murdered anyone in cold blood. His best friend to! Where the hell has our little brother gone George? And why? Why?"

"Calm down Fred." George said to his distraught brother soothingly. "He said he knew why he did it. He has evidence, that's what he said."

"What evidence though?" Georges calm words had had no affect on hid brother who was speaking as urgently as before, if a little quieter. "What evidence in the world can possibly justify what he has done?"

George shrugged an I-give-up shrug as they finally came to the large wooden door leading to Rons psychiatrist. White like everything else. Scarily white. The twins did feel bad about leaving their brother here, they really did. Ok, so that was a lie, they felt like shit leaving their little brother here, for he was still little, only twenty-one years old, but really what choice did they have?

Fred leant down, or up rather as Ron was taller than him now, to whisper in his brothers ear as he pushed open the door.

"What have you done Ron, what have you done?" he asked sadly. "And more importantly, why? Why?"

Ron waited a few seconds until he heard the door shut with a quiet click behind him. Those few seconds felt like an eternity but when he did eventually hear the noise he wanted to he said loudly, clearly and, finally, unashamedly, "I killed my best friend. And I have my Reasons."