There is a Muggle saying, it goes like this: 'Everybody makes mistakes.' As most philosophies go this one is both simple and very accurate. What it means to those without the common sense to understand three simple words is this: no-one is perfect. At least no-one, that is, who hasn't made it her life's mission to try and be perfect.
For as long as I can remember I have always tried to be the person who did no wrong. If there was a question then you could always look to me to have the answer. I never got into trouble and usually when I did it was because of a certain 'Boy-who-lived' and a certain male red-head who had entered my life during my first year of Hogwarts. And even then I was always considered by my Peers and Professors to be the 'reasonable' and 'good' one of the infamous Gryffindor Trio.
I tried so hard to be the best I could be. Being a muggle-born surrounded by half-bloods and full-blood wizards and witches I guess I had to be. I had to prove everyday that I belonged just as much as they did in this fantastic and incredible world. I was the best and brightest student of my collective classes. The best and fairest Prefect. I even tried to be the voice of calm reason when there was only chaos and danger surrounding me. Always, I strived to excel and prove my worthiness to those who took such thinks for granted.
But best does not always equal perfect, despite the number of times we may often try to fool ourselves into believing it does. And just because I always tried to be the best or to be perfect in whatever arena I committed myself too it did not mean that I didn't possess flaws. It just meant that I was more successful at concealing them then other people.
My biggest flaw, I suppose out of the many I have hidden, is the one I'm looking straight at right now. His name is Ronald Bilius Weasley and no, he's not the flaw. The greatest flaw in me is that of love. How can I love a man who I do nothing but push away? Whether it is intentional or not, accidental or in the heat of pointless argument, why do I find myself struggling to embrace the fortitude of my feelings? Why doesn't there exist a voice within me to halt my pathetic sabotages of happiness?
Of coarse I cannot accept all the credit for my stupidity, Ron has to always taken his share of responsibility and blame as well. But for someone who cultured and refined herself to being level-headed and logical it would be pointless to cast an accusing finger to someone wasn't these things, even at the best of moments. As my father often used to say: "How can you blame a Fox for being a Fox?" The answer to this riddle is self-explanatory: You can't. Ron can be as witless and stubborn as he can be as equally daring and adorable. It's what makes him, him. How can I love just a piece of someone when it is their whole that makes my heartbeat quicken?
I suspected that I fell in love with Ron even before I ever admitted I had any feelings for him, or that I even understood what 'Love' truly was. After all, with only a casual comment he could either make my heart soar or send me running off to my dorm room, or the Girl's Lavatory, in tears. Even, Draco Malfoy, with all his cruel taunts could never once accomplish that easy claim. Only someone you truly love could make you feel that bad and that wonderful without even trying.
After Voldermort's death. My world was safe once more. No, scratch that. It wasn't just safe, it was better! Because in that horrid interim, between fighting for our lives and that loathsome excuse for a Wizard's demise, Ron and I finally found the desperate strength to confess our feelings to the other. All these bottled up and confusing emotions that we had both repressed and had tried to deny could no longer be kept silent between us. I mean, how could we keep quiet? Especially as death itself could have met either of us at any moment. To reject what we both felt for so long would have been more then foolish, it would have been cowardly. And as Gryffindor's were known for their bravery we both finally chose to take the plunge and be true to our 'House' nature. It just took us, sadly, several years to do so.
But that just raises the whole question of what is more important in a relationship, quality or quantity? Yes, we had both missed out on many years and yes there were many tears and frustrated silences between us. But in-truth, as strange as it is to confess and say, I think we needed these experiences. I needed my experience with Viktor in the same way that Ron needed his dalliance with Lavender Brown. Because it was these two people that forced he and I to finally acknowledge that our tiny impulse of longing of the other had a cause more then that of simple jealousy. And despite my personal issues with Lavender because of her 'romance' with Ron, I suppose deep down I will always be grateful to her. Because it was in his time with Lav-Lav, that Ron began to appreciate what it truly was to be in a relationship.
It is only a shame that I had only a brief moment to bask in this sunshine before I welcomed the dark clouds into my day. One-week. That was all we had. Seven-short-days of contented bliss where everything and nothing was shared between us. I walked on a dream for most of it. My parents had returned to me in this time, their memories of who I was to them was repaired. All thoughts of a happy future played in my mind and no image was absent, Ron. I even had pictured children, two boys and a girl with names to accompany each. The boys: Conner and Randall, and the daughter – Roselyn, or Rosemary (I hadn't decided on which yet), and they all had the surname of Weasley. It was a good future, and a beautiful dream to have. But my dream became a nightmare on the seventh day.
It was one week passed our victory over the 'Darkness' and the rapidly reformed Ministry of Magic was desperate to affirm with the Wizarding world the truth that all was now safe once again. A Gala Ball was initiated with me, Harry and Ron as the Guests of Honour to give memory to the Fallen and the assorted Heroes of the War just passed. There were a lot of emotions between us three and this night, but I dare say it was my emotions that were the most acute. Because this would be the night where Ron and I would attend together not as best-friends, but as a couple. Harry would enter the Hall with Ginny on his arm and Ron and I would follow them several seconds later doing the same. It was our 'Coming-out', so to speak, for all to see.
The moment itself as we both entered the Function was, for lack of a better word, magical. I had been on Viktor's arm when I entered the Great Hall of Hogworts during the Yule Ball, but it was nothing compared to this wonderful experience. All eyes were upon us with admiration, envy and even gratitude for all the hardship we four teenagers had endured over the years towards claiming our eternal victory. We descended the staircase arm-in-arm, and nothing in my life could have been more perfect. That is until we were midway and I felt Ron tense for a moment between steps. When we reached the bottom and stood beside Harry and Ginny there was an eruption of applause from all gathered for us four. But I noticed that Ron's eyes were lost in the direction of a pretty blonde girl sitting alone in the corner of the great venue.
I looked to the keeper of my heart and his expression was a pained one mixed with the desperation of an anxious dog straining at some invisible leash around his neck. When the applause died he surrendered to me my arm that he had claimed a minute before and said that he had to speak to 'someone' and that he would not be long. He then figuratively dived into a collection of admirers, negotiating his way to the unknown Beauty in the distance. I strained my eyes, doing my best to observe his approach and mannerisms, our relationship was still so new and though I trusted Ron with my Life and my Heart I knew from bitter experience that his ego can sometimes be a powerful thing. Especially where fame and an attractive girl are concerned, Lavender Brown and his fame as the House Cup Victor being a painful example.
He stalled in his approach and said something, the woman turned and smiled to him accepting whatever words he offered with sad-pleasure. He said something else to her and in this fragile exchange she darted out of her seat with the same enthusiasm that Ron had in now rapid approach of her. The two collided in an embrace that was powerful as it was tender. In this instant my life fell apart. I wanted to send another flock of vicious magical canneries in his direction, but I couldn't. My heart felt too betrayed to find the anger and the words in me to complete such a complex spell. Instead I just watched as Ron, the man I loved with all my being, stroked and soothed the golden hair of a stranger as she wrapped herself in his arms.
They say that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and it was in this known Shakespearean statement that I found my vengeance. If Ronald Bilius Weasley wished to spend his evening holding a 'stranger', a 'beautiful-stranger' at that, then I would happily do the same with the many men who were starting to gather around me seeking a dance.
The rest of the evening progressed in a blur. The faces of the various males who took my hand towards the dance floor became a muddle of collective features in my mind. The only face that mattered to me was the expression upon Ron's whenever our eyes met across the Hall. There was a myriad of emotions being played out on his features, the most notable of them all was anger, followed by sadness and then loss as he watched me being held, dipped, and swayed in the sweaty meat-hooks of another person. In my cruelty I felt, at times, despair, but then all I would have to do is look to the woman sitting beside him, holding his hand, and in this viewing I felt invigorated towards my 'justice'.
When evening concluded in the morning early hours, Ronald approached me to escort me back home to my Parent's place (just as he had promised them he would). The moment he took my hand I could feel the tension in his light grip and in this I knew that as soon as we were away from everyone that he would verbally explode. It was in this intimate knowledge and understanding of him that I planned my reaction and retaliation.
When we both Apperated to the street besides my Family's home, I was not left disappointed. The accusations of philandering exited his mouth with ease, and the term 'Scarlet-Woman' was pursued with eagerness over his lips. And when in a brief moment of silence as he paused to take a breath I made my gambit-stake to claim the advantage.
Oh, what a sight we must have made to the neighbours as they peered out their second story windows. To their eyes we must have been just another young couple have a lover's tiff, but to me it was a far greater tragedy then a trivial disagreement.
I called him arrogant, insightless, foolish, immature, insensitive, boorish, and rude as well as everything else I had named him over the many years of familiarity and friendship. The only difference was that instead of delivering these words in piecemeal as I had once done, I now did it all in one roaring sitting. I pointed out to him every flaw, every insecurity and every embarrassment I knew he had. Even some I knew he did not know that I knew. Embarrassments that were told to me in confidence by Ginny during some of our 'Girl-Talks'. And I did so with pure venom and contempt.
Unsurprisingly, he stood there with a lost and stunned expression plastered upon his face as I spoke anecdotal facts that he thought I did not know. And slowly I saw in his face his own anger dissolved under my own.
I told him how pathetic he was as a boyfriend, comparing him to Viktor Krum (which I knew would cause him pain) and how all the girls in my Dorm, including Lavender, right up until our 5th-Year all thought he was a walking punch-line. And that their opinions of him only changed when he won the House Cup, and not a moment before. I chose to close my spiteful-diatribe by referring to the woman he left me for that evening, claiming that she would not have looked twice in his direction if he wasn't a Hero of the War. Strangely this statement encouraged his expression of loss and hurt to disappear and evolve once more to anger, through gritted teeth he defended his actions and for the second time that night my world fell apart.
The heat of his words revealed that the young woman Ron had approached was none other then his dead brother's secret-girlfriend. And that only a few in his family knew of her existence or her relationship with Fred. This was because she was a squid, one of the few who are born into a magical family but do not possess the ability to wield it. Such people in the Wizarding Community are looked down upon, even more so then muggle-borns and Fred was choosing his time carefully before he revealed the dictates of his heart to his parents … his 'Pure-Blood' Parents. Fore though he was not ashamed of his romance, Fred was cautious towards what ills may befall her if it was revealed that a 'Blood-Traitor' was in-love with a Squid. To the supporters of Voldermort this would have been a greater offence then if he was in love with a 'Mud blood'. The difference would have been that she would not have had the skills to defend herself. So for this reason her existence was known only to Ron, George and Bill and this was principally because Fred had often used them as alibis with his Mum and Dad in order to meet with her on the sly during Bill and Fleur's wedding preparations.
She was also the girl that shared with Fred's the losing of the other's virginity. Ron knew that she was taking his brother's loss harder then many others, mainly because their relationship was a secret one. And as the topic of virginity and 'First-Times' is a private matter he wanted to keep it such, which is why he did not invite me to join him as he approached her. The words he spoke to her were not a declaration of his own love, but rather that of his dearly departed brother's. And Ron imparted to her the understanding that she had made it possible for Fred to perish in achieving all the aspects associated to ascending manhood and that his family would always have a spare seat free at their table and love her for this. It was in these words that her emotions took over and she hugged Ron and kept holding him, gaining from her embrace the love she once knew in Fred's arms. So desperate was she to release all the private and loving moments she shared with his brother, Ron, allowed himself to play the family ear and take in all the finer moments about his older brother that he did not know. After all, what else was he going to do? Catherine needed an ear to bend, and I was making myself busy dancing with lecherous men who all smelled heavy of cologne. So as I was making myself purposefully unavailable, he instead chose to remain at her side and help her gain closure to his brother's loss.
As this revelation was revealed, I could not find myself doubting the sincerity of his words. Each sentence was heavy and thick with the tone of a betrayed heart. If I could have drawn myself out of my shock in order to apologise for jumping to conclusions I would have. But silence was what claimed my tongue as a recent memory of a hundred hurtful words filled my minds ear. My condescending rebukes to one of the most decent and noblest of men claimed my soul and forced me to freeze in place out of fear to what I had jeopardised because of my jealousy.
When Ron finished, he looked to me with pity. He was not feeling pity for me or himself, at least I do not believe so. I think he was feeling pity for the loss of respect he thought I had for him. He didn't say anything, and neither did I. He slowly turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the street. If he chose he could have Apperated right there, but instead he gave me distance. A distance that allowed time to lag and possibly offer me a chance to apologise and ask him to take me back into his arms. But the knowledge and fear I had towards losing him closed down my mind, and just as that night when he walked out of the Tent after his row with Harry. Those important seconds that I could have used to retrieve him, relived once again in my all. I stood frozen and remained silent against the will of my heart and mind.
The man I loved Apperated away without any effort from me to stop him. And when he disappeared, instead of following him to Harry's and confronting him, I instead collapsed in tears and silent sobs. In this state I remained until my father and mother came out and retrieved me from the footpath outside their home. It took an hour of soothing talk to make me coherent, and in this I formulated a plan to reclaim Ron's affections. I suspected Ron would be as excitable as me (our tempers and emotions were frightingly parallel at times), so I chose to wait until later in the morning to re-approach him. Believing that after a nights sleep he would be more settled to hear my apology. Seven-hours, that was the time-limit I gave myself before I would Apperate to Ron's side.
Seven-hours, ha, even seven-minutes were too long a wait. But what was one more mistake in an evening of many. When I eventually arrived at the Burrow …well, how many times can a world crumble for one person in 24-hours???
Mistakes? I don't make many, but the ones that I do make as BIG ones and they are ones that haunt my happiness.
TBC?????????