Harry Potter

10

The antiseptic tang of St. Mungo's couldn't mask the other scent: sour, acrid. Harry lay curled on the padded floor, limbs twitching, eyes vacant. A thin sheen of wetness stained his robes. He babbled, not words, but fractured whispers of spells and screams. The Boy Who Lived was gone, replaced by a hollow shell, broken by horrors only he could see.

Ronald Weasley

8

The glow of the Boy Who Lived and the Brightest Witch of Her Age cast long, cold shadows. Years spent trailing behind them, a forgotten appendage, have finally taken their toll. You find Ronald Weasley, not in the bustling halls of the Burrow, but in the sterile, hushed confines of St. Mungo's. His sobs are ragged, broken things, echoing in the antiseptic silence. The truth, whispered like a curse, hangs heavy in the air: their gilded romance, always a cruel mockery, was built on a foundation of clandestine betrayals. He, the loyal friend, the steadfast companion, the leftover husband, was nothing but a convenient blind spot. The weight of their careless infidelity, the years of quiet complicity, has finally crushed him, leaving only a hollow shell weeping in a darkened cell.