Revenge

Harry hated Ron.

He was sure of it this time. It seemed like all they ever did anymore was argue, and it was rarely over anything worth arguing about. A pair of shoes left in the middle of the room was enough to spark a fist fight between the two boys. Dean, Seamus and Neville didn't understand why they fought the way they did or as much as they did, and no one asked. It obviously wasn't anyone's business.

Ron didn't even really know why he and Harry were always at odds. He just knew that Harry was jealous. Jealous that he wasn't dating Hermione and Ron was. And Harry was jealous. It was no secret that Harry had been in love with the Head Girl for nearly two years now. Everyone in Gryffindor knew. Everyone except for Hermione it seemed.

And it hurt Harry. It hurt him that it was someone else, not him that shared her bed. It hurt him that his best friend, the last person he would have expected to do such a thing, was the one to do it. But it especially hurt Harry that Ron didn't seem to know or even care.

So Harry hated him. And he hated Hermione, or at least he said he did. He could never actually bring himself to speak ill of her. He loved her too much. But he could still hate her love for Ron, and he did. He took to sleeping in the common room and eating meals in the courtyard to avoid Ron. He would arrive at classes late, just to get detention so he would have something to do at night and on the weekends. He didn't care how badly he was doing in his classes and he didn't care how many house points he was losing, he just cared about Hermione and the fact that she wasn't with him.

Then it was the straw that broke the camel's back. One Saturday night after serving a particularly long and exhausting detention for Snape, Harry just wanted to sleep... in his own bed. Turning down Dean's invitation to join the older boys in their monthy ritualistic viewing of Seamus' latest issue of Playwitch, Harry lugged himself to his room, thankful that he would be asleep before they--and Ron--returned. But Ron wasn't down the hall with the other boys. No, Ron was in his bed, with Hermione. Harry knew that it wasn't the first time they'd had sex. Ron wasn't at all discreet about his very active sex life. But now Harry had seen it.

Blind with rage, Harry stumbled down the stairs to the common room. He didn't know where to go or what to do, but he knew he needed to leave. Then he saw her. Sitting quietly, reading by the fire. And Harry knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to hurt Ron, just like Ron had hurt him. A strange smile twisted across his face as he walked stiffly towards her. "Hey, Ginny."

She looked up and blushed. "Hi... Harry," she glanced nervously down to the spot on the sofa next to her. "Would you like to sit down?"

Excellent, Harry thought, his grin spreading wider. He obliged her request, sitting down uncomfortably close to her. He knew how much she fancied him, and he could only guess what six years of desire had done to her. Ginny blushed even more, obviously very confused, but extremely excited at the closeness. He knew it would be no trouble to get to her. A hand on the knee, a few meaningful glances, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face, letting his hand linger ever so slightly--it was almost too easy.

It's wasn't long before they kissed, and things progressed even more quidckly from there. Harry knew he would get what he wanted, he knew she wouldn't be able to resist. Through wandering hands and stifled moans, Ginny was soon looking at him, pleading with her bright, green eyes, to take her upstairs... to have her right then. Driven by his hate--his desire to hurt Ron--Harry obliged, and they went to her room and made love.

Harry knew that Ginny would tell her friends, and he knew it wouldn't be long before word reached Ron about what he had done. Gossip about sex traveled fast, and gossip of that nature involving Harry Potter traveled twice as fast. Before dinner Sunday night, virtually every student in the school knew.

Harry didn't go to down to eat, and Ginny stayed with him. They sat on the same sofa as the night before, his arm around her, and Harry watched the portrait hole... waiting for Ron.

Half an hour later, Ron stormed into the common room. He had obviously just heard, and seeing Harry on the couch, his arm around Ginny only made him angrier. Ron grabbed Harry be the front of his robes, pulled him up with amazing strength, and slammed him against the wall.

"What's this I hear about you fucking my sister, Potter?" Ron growled.

Harry shoved him off and glared. "Last night. Got a problem with it, Weasley?"

"You're damn right I've got a problem with it. You keep your hands off her..." Ron sneered.

Harry narrowed his eyes and glanced over at Ginny, who was sitting on the couch with a stunned look on her face, watching them. He leaned in and whispered, "I'll fuck her if I please. I'll fuck her any time, any place that I please. In fact, I think I'll go fuck her right now." He was unable to hide his smirk, knowing that he'd accomplished his goal. He hurt Ron in the most painful place he could.

Ron clenched his fist and moved to punch Harry, but Hermione rushed forward, along with Dean, and pulled him away. "I'll kill you, Potter. I'll kill you!" he screamed as they dragged him away.

Harry, still smirking, turned to Ginny. Somehow, by the look in his eye, she knew what he wanted. She knew it hurt Ron, but she loved Harry, and he loved her. She knew he did. He knew it hurt Ron, and he was glad. He didn't care about anything else. He certainly didn't care about Ginny past using her. And they went up to her room. They had sex, and Harry was satisfied.

Across Gryffindor tower, Ron was having sex with Hermione. But it was different this time... it wasn't out of love. He was doing it to ease his pain. It was because he needed, not wanted it. But mostly it was out of spite. He was doing it to spite Harry.

Ron hated Harry.