Reasons

Chapter One.

Ron looked up from his feet, at which he had been staring intently for the last few minutes, to take a good look at his psychiatrist. Surprisingly, it wasn’t an ugly old man. The person sitting behind the highly polished mahogany desk was neither ugly, a man, nor old. The woman sitting in front of him looked younger than him, Ron would have put her at nineteen or twenty at the oldest, and was exquisitely beautiful. Her long hair fell half way down her back in loose curls, the light blond highlights making it look like pure sunlight. Her large, round blue eyes looked up at him inquisitively, framed by thick eyelashes as pale brown as his own. If she had stood up Ron guessed that she would have been less than two inches shorter than him, unusually tall for a woman. Her oddly transparent skin had a pale flush to its cheeks, although Ron couldn’t for the life of him tell why.

“Hello Ronald. How are you?” She spoke suddenly and quietly in a tone of voice Ron recognised from somewhere in his past, somewhere before it had become a dim and dirty blur.

He looked quickly down at her nameplate, a small, fairly expensive looking thing, mahogany to blend in with the desk, a small highly polished gold plaque on the front bearing her name engraved on the front;

Dr. Luna Lovegood, PHD, Order of Merlin, Second Class.

“Oh no,” groaned Ron slapping his hand to the front of his head in a desperate attempt to wake himself up and find himself in fifth year again. “Not you. Anyone but you.”

“Well isn’t that a lovely way to say hello to your psychiatrist?” she replied brightly to Rons desperate groaning. “Now if you will just sit down Ronald, we can begin. As to your taking another psychiatrist, no one else would even bother to work with a highly dangerous murderer, Death Eater and associate of Lord Voldemort, so sit down please.”

As Ron sat down heavily onto the plush red couch he stuck his forearm under Lunas nose. It was a creamy colour, covered in light brown freckles and fine red hairs.

“See!” he demanded as he waved it about under her nose, about an inch away. “No bloody Dark Mark! No black skull burnt onto my bloody arm thank you very much. I’m no bloody Death Eater.”

“No but people will think you are,” she replied quietly, “and that is almost as bad, if not worse.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, gazing at anything but Ron, the flush on her cheeks becoming more pronounced. Finally she continued.

“You did however work for Lord Voldemort in such things as supplying him and the Death Eaters with information of the whereabouts of certain people.” It was not a question, it was a statement, a fact. “That is why this will be so difficult. My father was killed by Death Eaters. The reason they gave to me was that he spread too much happiness.”

Ah, so the flush was with anger, not embarrassment as Ron had first thought. Anger at him. Well that was something new. Ron was used to sadness, terror, resentment, even respect being directed towards him, but never anger before. He suddenly felt the first pangs of guilt for what he had done, and found himself at a loss for words.

“Wow Luna, I… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

Before Ron had had time to think, a fist was entangled in the front of his shirt, choking him, and those eyes, the ones that had been so distant and cool, were now fiery and blazing with anger, less than an inch from his own dilated pupils.

“You’re not sorry!” she yelled, making Ron flinch. This was the clearest the redhead had ever seen the usually dreamy girl. Something has caused her to snap to reality and grow up, and fast. “You never will care about anything ever again! That’s the saddest thing about you Ron, is that you used to care, you used to care for Harry and Hermione and Ginny and, god knows, even me! But now you couldn’t give a toss. And that’s a very sad way to live life. A half life is what that is.”

And at that the girl dropped his robes, allowing him to stand there, trembling, while she stood what seemed to be above him some how, breathing heavily.

“Sit down,” she barked out at Ron, sitting down behind her desk again, her head leaning on her hands, massaging her temples.

“Well,” she began as Ron finally sat down, “I suppose we had better start at the beginning? What made you want to be a death eater?” she asked politely, taking a pen out from behind her ear and setting it into her left hand.

Ron smiled as he realised Luna had small wands dangling from her ears, emitting several tiny blue sparks every few seconds. Some things never change, he thought as he began his story, going back over half a decade.

"Numb"

I'm tired of being what you want me to be

Feeling so faithless lost under the surface

Don't know what you're expecting of me

Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes

(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)

Every step that I take is another mistake to you

(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)

I suppose it all started that one day in sixth year. I had always been jealous of Harry, ever since I met him, that first day on the train. He had taken the attention off me, and it was supposed to be my special day. It all seems a bit stupid now, selfish, but it wasn’t back then. But then I got talking to him you see, and I realised that he was a nice person, and that the attention wasn’t his fault. There had been, however, those few minutes of my life where I had loathed the guy, for taken the attention of me when I got it for once, when my family didn’t even know him.

The first year at Hogwarts, ah that was a good year. We met Hermione, met challenges, and when it came to the crunch I sacrificed myself because I was the only one who could, I was needed. And when we all got out of there, part of the recognition went to me, Ron Weasley, because I had finally done something good. And I was happy, I felt I was being me, being myself and it was great.

I suppose it changed in second year. Down in that spiders lair I was terrified, but I had to do it, to save Hermione. But he kept telling me to shut up whinging. Telling me and telling me. At the time I thought it was just his way of dealing with the fear, and so I tried my best to stop making any noise. It wasn’t until a few months later that I realised, he was saying it through gritted teeth, like my mother does when my fathers going dotty over some little muggle thing. He was saying it like I was a hindrance rather than a help, like it would’ve been easier if I wasn’t there. It was moths afterwards so, me being that prat I am, I kept it to myself, thinking that it was over so what did it matter?

It all came back to me whilst I was sitting there with Lockheart. The fact that he could’ve stayed behind and helped me get out, but all he said was, “You stay behind and look after Lockheart.” He didn’t seem to realise that he needed looking after more than bloody Lockheart did, and that I could do it. No it was the hero complex all over again, he has to do things on his own, or so I thought. Even when we got out of there, Harry got the glory, Harry apparently did all the work. I got jack all.

Third year it changed again. After we all found out about Sirius all I wanted to do was protect Harry from what ever wanted to hurt him. I pushed that jealous, nasty, hating, little bit of my mind so far back that it didn’t come back until right at the end. In the Shrieking Shack I thought, finally, we’re all going to get out of here and get congratulated for what we’ve done, for bringing an innocent man to justice. But then it went wrong. And when I came round I found Harry and Hermione hugging in them middle of the infirmary saying something about Dementors and showing everyone. Ok so obviously Harry can do it on his own or with Hermione, but just not with you, that little voice came back with vengeance. And after that it never really went away, especially when they didn’t actually tell me what happened while I was in the Hospital Wing.

And then in Fourth Year, things changed yet again. I don’t know, that voice just… exploded like one of Neville’s potions. It was just that Harry was getting all the attention again, and all without me. It just… It told me that I wasn’t worth the attention, it made me believe that I wasn’t worthy of anything. And when Harry was so innocent about it I just exploded. It was like he had everything I’d ever wanted and he didn’t want it and I just didn’t understand. It felt as if he wanted nothing to do with his adventures, and in doing so he didn’t want me. It was in those weeks that I battled with the voice in my head, listening to it’s point of view, telling it was wrong , and generally trying to get the nicer side of me to win. Which it did eventually. We made up and everything was right for another year. Harry dealt with another challenge on his own and I felt better than I had done in months.

It was in Fifth year that the voice developed a laugh. It laughed when he voiced his opinion on arriving at Grimmauld Place. It laughed when he told me I had it so much better than him. It told me that I would never be better than him, always be a Weasley, always be me. And for the first time, I let it. I let it sit there and win, because it was easier than fighting it. After the brain incident in the Department of Mysteries it took a few weeks to get my own mind back, let alone a little niggling one, so I waltzed into sixth year , conveniently forgetting about that little voice.

It wasn’t until Harry waltzed into the Gryffindor common room in a similar way that I remembered it.

“Ron, me and Hermione, well…” here he had trailed off, staring intently at his shoes.

“We’re dating,” Hermione had finished for him. “We hope that you’re ok about it.”

I let my mouth be ruled by the nice voice in the next few minutes, telling them how pleased for them I was. This of course, let my brain open to the horrible voice, the evil demanding one.

One more thing you had wanted but Harry got without even working for it, without even trying, eh Ron? it had muttered, I wonder how long it is before Harry realises that he doesn’t want her as well? Along with the fame and glory? Huh? Huh?

That was the same day that I changed.