So Ron meets Harry, and a bond is formed. Ron has no way of knowing that his new acquaintance will change his life drastically. His new friend will have quite some impact on him throughout the years and it will be fun to convey those feelings while looking at everything from Ron's POV (Point Of View). We'll be able to see inside Ron's mind and exclusively reveal theories and thoughts that JK Rowling probably thought Ron would be having but did not choose to implement into her own books, since the POV is almost always Harry's (besides for that moment where we are looking at Bellatrix and Narcissa visiting Snape in Half-Blood-Prince which is probably Narcissa's POV, among few others). Please review, favourite, follow and whatever. A MASSIVE THANK YOU TO THE 2 PEOPLE (or maybe more by the time this chapter is released) WHO FOLLOWED THIS BOOK THE SECOND THEY SAW IT! It is really encouraging that people are so eager to see Ron's perspective on the popular Harry Potter books' events that they will follow before there is really anything to see! I just hope that it was worth it for you. Just a small note: Depending on who is reading this right now, the obvious show of vocabulary and "big words" might make this a "mature" read. I don't think so, though. But enough of me rambling on. Let's get on with the show.
Ron sat quietly on his bed, frowning down at the jumper he had received as a birthday gift a year ago. He hated maroon. There was something about it that thoroughly depressed him, even though it was a warmer colour in others' minds. It just wasn't the colour he would have chosen for his attire. But with a sigh, he halfheartedly pulled on his jumper. It was fortunate that it fitted his form perfectly. He wasn't yet adept at many spells, and trying to use Reducio or Engorgio to alter his jumper's size was asking for trouble. He had asked his Mum to just "Engorge" his jumper three years back, understanding, even at that age, that it would be a big pain to try and knit the whole jumper again. However, she felt that he could just grow into his jumper and it was unnecessary to use magic if there was no need for it. He had never understood her unwillingness to use magic, even now, when it would harm no-one and nothing bad could really come from it.
He was jolted from his thoughts by a mysterious chill emanating into the room. The source of this chill was elusive, but had no hope of hiding forever. Cursing, Ron stomped across the room and shut the wooden, rotting window with a slam, causing the birds in the trees in the fields below to fly away as if a giant was planning to include them as part of it's breakfast. He had left it ajar the previous night to allow a bit of cool air to play on his face. It was extremely comfortable. He had been quite tired that night after buying all his Hogwarts items, and undergoing a rigorous (and vigorous) cleaning of his room, and the other rooms in the house that were inhabited by his brothers, sister and parents.
His Mum was cold and decided to warm the house up a bit by repeatedly using the Hot-Air Charm in each room of the Burrow. It was a nifty little trick she had learned in her school days. It was compared to a traditional Muggle heater. Hearing shouts of "Aer Calidus"* at midnight was enough to wake Ron up, coupled with a horrified scream that suggested to the rest of the family that he had seen an overlarge Acromantula in his bedroom. It didn't really make sense, though, to call an Acromantula overlarge, because they were already proportionally huger than the spiders that inhabit your house, even the ones you find, on occasion, in the bathtub.
Whatever. He sighed again, this time a little more pronounced, and he went down to the dining room for some breakfast. He pulled out a chair and plunked himself down on it. He sighed and stared at the less than inviting bacon, eggs and toast that were occupying the main space of the spindly old table, but began to shovel it down anyways. It seemed that hunger had won over preference... this time.
The Weasley's were an extremely nice, but ridiculously poor family of pure-blooded wizards. They could barely afford simple necessities like food and garments without paying for wands, spellbooks, cauldrons, quills and ink and replacement wands, among others. The fact that they were wizards made this concern all too real, every year. Moreover, when a friend would find out about their financial struggle and offer them a loan, as well as one that didn't require them to pay any of it back, they would refuse. It seemed their pride prevented them from accepting any outside help. Or maybe they were just too thoughtful towards others to care too much about themselves. Mrs Weasley, Ron's mother, certainly seemed to give off this vibe, quite strongly too; in that she would often make her Weasley jumpers for family friends as well, emblazoning them with pictures of broomsticks and the like. She remembered knitting that particular jumper for Harry Potter, some eleven years ago. James and Lily, the boy's parents, were faithful family friends bordering on servants. You could say that they echoed Mrs Weasley's helpful, thoughtful personality to a tee; they did their very best to ensure that Mrs Weasley's life, and, more importantly in their minds, her financial status, was nothing short of the average wizarding family.
"Mum, can you try not to make my jumpers maroon. I really hate that colour." he said bitterly.
"I'm sorry, Ronnie." Mrs Weasley said exasperatedly. "I try and pick out a different colour for every one of you and I can only get these certain colours at a discounted price."
Ron was about to point out that her argument was pointless, and perhaps his open but suddenly closed mouth illustrated this, but he decided to accept it anyway as he ate his lame breakfast.
"Oh, is little Ronniekins upset about his Weasley jumper?" teased Fred, one of Ron's highly excitable (if that was the word) brothers.
"Shut up." Ron pouted.
"Little Ronnie doesn't like that name, does he? Ronniekins, Ronniekins, Ronniekins. I always thought that was a nice name. Can I call you Ronniekins, Ronniekins?" smirked George, Fred's twin brother.
"SHUT UP!" Ron roared, standing up quickly and overturning the table that breakfast had been served on, now furious at the grinning twins.
"Can't you see that I don't like it? If you still can, I'll curse your eyes out for you. Consider it a luxury." He waved his wand threateningly, to further illustrate this point.
"Since when do you know any spells that could curse our eyes out?" Fred laughed.
Ron sputtered loudly for a moment, which sounded oddly like "Conjunctivitis."
"Anyways, we need those eyes so we don't have to avert them from some voluminous drawers, and then some..." he never quite finished, trailing off with a glazed look over his eye that Ron wasn't quite sure what to make of. A question to be pursued someday.
"Fred!" George muttered quietly to Fred, giving him a look that suggested to Ron that if looks could kill, Fred would probably be dead already.
"We can't talk about that stuff in front of him." George nodded pointedly at Ron, who was now speculating about the words which had incensed George.
"Alright, alright, word police, I was just having a little fun..." Fred apologized, the misty look returning to his eyes.
George, now smiling, was shaking his head and rolling his eyes to the heavens.
It was the day before Ron would be starting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Weasley's had chosen Hogwarts because Beauxbatons Academy was too far away, and Durmstrang Institute.. well that was a school that was rumoured to have been teaching the Dark Arts to all students who attended. Nuf said.
So Ron had visited his bedroom to pack the needed items for school. He stuffed socks and books into his trunk, as well as a few quills and assorted outfits folded neatly by his mother. He had proactively packed prior to breakfast most of the necessities pertaining to a Hogwarts student. He debated on whether to pack his maroon jumper; after all, he despised maroon; but he decided to pack it anyway, since his brothers Fred and George had complained of the cold at Hogwarts; Hogwarts was situated (foolishly, Fred and George would have said, he thought with a grin) in the mountainous areas. Ron knew that this peculiar decision had only been acted upon because of the Muggles that littered the more obvious places that could house a school of magic. It was for the greater good, a slogan he had learned from his brothers, who had learned it from the creator himself, Gellert Grindelwald, who was currently locked up in his own prison, Nurmengard, after being defeated by Albus (Percival Wulfric Brian) Dumbledore. He didn't know much else and only happened to know these few details because his brother, Percy, had been reading a book pertaining to Grindelwald. Ron had asked Percy for a brief explanation about Grindelwald. Percy had started off slowly, not sure how much he should say. But with the help of a little irritable nagging on Ron's part, he had elaborated a little. So he knew about Grindelwald. He had quite liked the little slogan he had created. It rolled off the tongue. It made sense, as well. It meant that anything that was done would be good in the long run, or at least that was how he had interpreted it. There were probably many deeper interpretations that were beyond his level of understanding, probably for years to come. He sighed and unceremoniously dropped the last sock into his trunk.
He was lying in bed, knowing that he needed to get some sleep as he would be "up with the birds", as they said. But he would have had better luck trying to get the ghoul in the pipes above him to speak English, or rather, not to speak at all. He was imagining Hogwarts, the feasts, the types of lessons and homework he would have to endure, the proportions of the castle, the magic spells he would learn while there and which people would be his friends, maybe even for life. It was the latter that was worrying him. What if he was sorted into Hufflepuff, or worse, Slytherin? Would his family disown him, or would they not give a damn?
He had heard (again from Fred and George) that Slytherin house was the place where all the future Death Eaters had gone, and You-Know-Who himself had been a Slytherin. The thought sent shivers down his spine. It was the stuff of legend; that he had come to the Potter's house, intent on murder, to kill James and Lily Potter. James had held his own for about ten seconds before falling like a marionette whose strings had been cut short, to the Killing Curse. Lily had run upstairs and had tried to barricade the door. He just blasted the door open like there was no blockage and proceeded to kill the boy in the cot, Harry Potter. Lily could have lived if she hadn't jumped in front of the cot to save her son. Lily had her life taken for her own son, thus invoking a very powerful magic induced by love. You-Know-Who could never really fathom what love was, he had always thought it was such a useless emotion.
He had cast the curse that had killed every single individual that had crossed his path and it rebounded on him! His powers were lost and he was reduced to absolutely nothing but a mere shadow. Last rumoured sighting of him was in an Albanian forest. This relaxed him a little, knowing that You-Know-Who was quite distant from his place of residence and could do no harm to him. He was most likely dead and may have been so for years. The thought cheered him up, and with this comforting thought train, he was gently lulled to sleep.