[WARNING: May contain gore.]

        He gathered strength, stretched his arm out, and feeling the quaffle meet his palm, he slammed down as hard as he could. People sitting on the bleachers wearing red and gold broke into hoots, cat calls, and applause. He readied himself once more as Madam Hooch picked the ball up again, and threw it into midair, allowing the Slytherin chaser to tuck the quaffle under his arm and race off with a trail of Gryffindor players behind him.

He was the keeper of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
Keeper wasn't easy — in fact, it was the position that got you bruised and cut the most. Let's face it; quaffles smashing into your body parts all the time, and if unlucky, bludgers. They gave you all this protective gear, but they only seemed effective for the shoulders, knees, and the chest. And, of course, the head. Playing with Slytherin wasn't making things really better at all — chasers were laughing at him, teasing, and throwing the quaffles as hard as they could. One had almost caught him square in the face.

        "... and there goes the Gryffindor chaser Katie Bell with the quaffle, Slytherin beater Vincent Crabbe hurls a bludger at her — ooh, thank goodness, barely misses! And then they're off... Katie Bell reaches the hoops, she throws the quaffle... she scores!" Zacharias Smith exclaimed, and the Gryffindors once more burst into screams of joy and chants. Slytherins groaned.

The game went on, and from the hoops, he could see Harry and Ginny whizzing across the fields. Harry was on his Firebolt, jet black hair flying in the wind and head dodging left and right, thin-rimmes glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He imagined himself sitting with Harry back at the common room, laughing, joking about something, just the two of them... He snapped out of his thoughts.

Focus on the game, not Harry. Harry's for later.

He watched the quaffle being passed between Slytherins — chaser Urquhart began advancing to the hoops on his old Nimbus 2001, dodging Gryffindor players. The students in red and gold shouted and pointed. Urquhart came closer.

Catch the quaffle.

He kept his eyes on the ball, the ball only as it left the Slytherin's fingertips, and sailed towards the top left hoop. He could catch it; he was so close —

Just then, something hard struck him on the side of his head, and like a candle having its fire blown out, his mind shut down before he could reach the quaffle. Then he felt himself fall.

...

        He felt as if his head was splitting in two. His body ached in various places. Groaning almost soundlessly, he listened to the voices nearby.

        "... has a concussion, several broken bones that need to mended — the minor sprains will be quite easy to heal, but he will have a painful experience with his ankle... blood was flowing everywhere when you first brought him in. Oh, you kids, do mind the floors, will you? No more than five visitors at once —"

        "Is he going to be alright, Madam Pomfrey?"

        Ron tried to open his eyes and sit up, but his head seemed to pulse as soon as he applied strength to his arms. He groaned. The voices stopped immediately, and he heard several — no wait. Many people shuffling towards him.

        "Ron!" A masculine voice called out. "Hell, you alright?"

        "Oh, you had me worried sick, Ron; how's your head? Are you feeling —"

        "Out of the way, out of the way — too many people here! Your boots are getting dirt all over my floors! Out, out! The hospital wing needs to be kept sanitary." Another voice of a woman, the same one who had been speaking before, probably Madam Pomfrey, interrupting the previous feminine one. Then there were grumbles, grunts of what seemed to be of disapproval along with footsteps that thudded across the room, where the eventually faded away. Ron, through the pain, slowly managed to open his eyes, and immediately shutting them closed as a light blinded him — he had caught the slight glimpse of the sun outside of a window.

        "It's alright, dearie. You're okay. Does your head hurt? Heard it was quite the nasty fall."

        "Hurts. A lot." He croaked out truthfully, reopening his eyes to adjust to the light. He tried to turn his head to look at the source of the human-like silhouettes, but his head released another wave of pain and he cried out, reaching for his head with his stiff arms.

        "Oh, Ron..." Someone gasped as he did so, and Madam Pomfrey carefully removed his hands from his sweat-matted hair. The worst pain was now gone, but a concerning pain still remained. It wasn't as bad as before, but he braced himself for another attack.

        "Do you think you can swallow?" He nodded once carefully in response to her, and she grabbed a vial from the bedside table. Then she opened it up and carefully began to pour the green substance into his mouth. It tasted bitter, and felt like glue inside his mouth, but he continuted to drink.

After he was finished with the vial and the contents were all gone, he rested his head against the pillow he had been laying on. For the moment, it seemed like the most soft pillow ever. As Madam Pomfrey skitted away to her office, he carefully turned his head to see his friends two best friends, Harry and Hermione, his sister Ginny, and his two older twin brothers, Fred and George.

         "That was quite the fall, little brother." George spoke out, smirking.

        "Although it could have been worse." Fred said.

        "You should have seen yourself."

        "You fell straight down after that bludger smashed you in the head."

        "You should be more careful."

        "I tried to hit back at 'em with one of our products called 'messy explosion' — supposed to make you get covered in eggs after getting hit. Missed, though."

        "Very barely, of course."

        "How are you guys even here? How..." Ron faltered, then asked. "... How did you know about the fall?"

        "Can't miss our little brother's games now, can we?" Fred replied.

        "Thought we'd stop by from the shop for a little break. Dumbledore gave us permission." George added.

        "Ron," Hermione shot out from behind Fred and George and leaned over him, shielding the sunlight and making a thin line of gold on the outside of her silhouette. "... are you alright? Oh, you scared me so much. Crabbe hit you with a bludger on purpose, Professor Snape gave him only one day of detention, one! I'm sure if I search the school books of discipline, harm to another student results in at least —"

        "Relax, Hermione. Give him some room to breathe." A familiar face pushed his way to the front of the small crowd. A boy with jet black hair and thin-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. A visible lightning scar on the left-top part of his forehead.

        "Harry." Ron breathed, before noticing that his throat was very dry. "The game, what..." He left the sentence unfinished, unable to resume, and he instead looked around for answers.

        "Madam Hooch said we were to have a rematch once you were better." Ginny responded for him, forcing a small grin onto her face. "Slytherins weren't happy, that's for sure. Malfoy went mental after the game, raging and throwing stuff onto the floor. Can't wait to see bats flying out of Malfoy's nose."

        "Ha." Ron laughed shortly in response, only to feel a sharp pain in his chest. He winced immediately. "Ow... hurts."

"It's the effects of the potion I gave you, Mr. Weasley." Madam Pomfrey said as she approached them with her wand and several rolls of bandages. She took at seat next to him on a small chair that rested beside the bed. She removed the covers and exposed his ankle, which was hurting a great deal. He yelped quietly and held his breath to see blood seeping through the hastily wrapped bandages around his ankle and the heel of his foot.

"Got to remove that clothing." Madam Pomfrey muttered, beginning to unwrap his ankle. Ron winced to see a deep gash and red scrapes, blood pouring from the cuts under his sock. The sock, drenched in crimson, was all wet. The nurse pulled on the sock, and Ron winced as he felt his skin being pulled.

"I think... I think the blood dried. And... atttached the cuts to it." Hermione rushed. "He's hurting."

"We need to remove that layer before we wrap the bandage — it can cause infections, you know?" Madam Pomfrey replied.

"Does it hurt for him?"

"How much does it hurt?"

"Oh, the poor thing!"

"I'm right here, you know?" Ron muttered in frustration, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Madam Pomfrey's jaw twitched, before she leaned over his leg and began to carefully remove the blood-drenched sock from his foot. A sharp pain exploded in his foot, and Ron couldn't help but grit his teeth and release a groan. His fists clenched as he squirmed underneath the bed covers, Fred and George restraining him.

Suddenly, under the pain, Ron felt something slip over his hand. He opened his eyes to see Harry at his side, his own palm on top of his clenched fist, squeezing. Something inside of Ron sparked.

He's just Harry. Your best mate. Just Harry. I don't have anything for him.

Are you sure? He's cute. He's the Boy Who Lived. He's nice and understanding.

No, he's nice and all, but he gets aggressive sometimes. And again, he's just a friend.

Just tell him, Ron. Tell him. Tell him how much he means to you.

No, I can't do that! What if he doesn't like me back? He'll laugh at me! Worse, he'll ignore me for the rest of his life or something. I don't want that! We'll just stay friends.

Tell him.

No.

Tell him!

No!

Just tell him!

Fine!

"Harry." Ron blurted out, only that the boy could hear. Harry perked up and leaned forward, eyebrows raised.

"Does it hurt?" He asked, his voice laced with sympathy.

"I love you." Ron said, looking straight into Harry's green eyes. "I love you." He held his breath, ignoring the stinging pain in his foot, waiting for Harry to reply.

I knew it! He doesn't love me back. He's going to mock me for the rest of his life —

"I love you too."

"Huh?" Ron sputtered as he faced Harry again, who was looking right at him.

"I love you too, Ron." Harry repeated again, and the grip on his hand tightened. "I've always loved you, really. I know this might sound weird, but..." Harry quickly looked around him to see if Fred, George or Ginny was watching, then turned back to him. "I want to be more than just best mates."

                  Ron opened his mouth to reply, but another wave of pain was sent through his body, causing him to jerk. The grip on his legs tightened, and Fred yelled at him to stay still. He steadied his breath as Madam Pomfrey removed the sock and began to work on his wound. He looked back at Harry. "I didn't... know you liked me." He breathed.

                 "Quidditch surprises, I guess." Harry shrugged, his tongue sticking playfully out of the corner of his mouth. "Confessions you can only get after getting into these situations." He grinned cheekily, and Ron couldn't help but smile.

No more conflicts between inner thoughts.