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Ron,
I remember when I sent you off to primary school for the very first time. You had your red-checkered scarf on and your cheeks were flushed, your eyes watered and you said: "Mummy...don't cry." I cried anyway. I felt so awful leaving you there, as though I was abandoning my little boy at someone's front porch. Your teacher smiled, "Hi, Ron," she said. You just looked at her: "Say hello, Ron!" I whispered through my tears. "Hi," you said and then pointed to me, "that's my Mum."
You came home that day from primary school happy and you showed me your painting. Our family. Your Father, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, even tiny Ginny...and me, chubby, wearing a homemaker's dress and a tired smile. I kept it in my drawer and even now I look at it. You kept going back to primary school and it never got easier letting you go.
Even when you were a child I knew you would grow up to be a hero. Not the sort of hero in the books I read to you. Not the sort of hero that we read about in the papers. But a hero. I'm not even biased, I swear I'm not. You were so alive then...so silly and ridiculous and stubborn. My last little boy.
Your Father said I had to let you go to Hogwarts. He said that's what respectagble young men do, that's what boys do. I said no, I won't do it, he's my Ron and he's staying. Your Father laughed and hugged me, like he always had, always will. "Oh Molly, he must." I agreed and was so happy to see your happy face when you got your letter. You hooted and hollered, you screamed and hugged all of us. "Finally" You screamed. I felt like I was losing my child to magic and friends and a life all his own.
We took you to the station, you were so excited you kept talking and didn't make much sense. Ginny came with us, crying, and I felt like doing the exact same thing. You noticed, like you always do, but didn't say anything. We walked you to the Platform and I held your Father's hand so tightly he thought I was in labor again, he has always been so amazing with a sap like me. The poor thing. You looked so grown up then, red hair combed and pulling along a trunk. You began walking and looked back at me once more, "bye, Mum!" you said. "Bye Ron," I said.
I got better though. I swear this whole letter isn't about me bawling and being a ridiculous sap. You came home from year one and told me of your friends. "Hermione's a girl," you said, "but she doesn't act like one. She's really brilliant, first class." And then you told me of Harry and I became scared that Voldemort would come after you. "No, Mum. We're just like regular kids," you said, trying to be modest. I laughed. That summer you insisted we paint your room orange and get you many charmed Chudley Cannon posters, I agreed and your smile lit up the room. Do you remember that? I do.
You came back for year two after a summer spent with Harry. Harry was always such a good boy. Year two Ginny entered Hogwarts and you said you'd protect her, but Ginny won't let anyone protect her, you know that. That was the year of the diary. Your bravery in the chamber with Harry impressed me to no ends. You wrote home to me telling me how the stone-like Hermione was doing, you said it was sad looking at her...so lifeless and cold. I said you'd have to show me this Hermione girl so I could see why you put up such a fuss about her. No one was good enough for my little boy.
Summer after second year I finally got to meet her. I knew the second I met her she was the one for you. I could tell the way you looked at her, the way she looked at you. She was so polite. Seeing all three of you, you and your two best friends, made me feel so good. I knew they'd take care of you and help you and be there for you. I knew you had made good choices. I told your Father this whole parenting thing never gets any easier and he just smiled.
Lord knows how much third year worried me. With Sirius Black on the run, a man I had thought I knew during Hogwarts, I worried constantly. I told your Father "Let's get the kids out" he insisted there was no safer place than Hogwarts and I always believed him. You said you'd write daily but ended up writing about once a month, if I was lucky. You told me you were busy with lessons, with friends, with attending quidditch matches. With getting into trouble, I supplied. I could hear you laughing through the letter. "Just being thirteen, Mum." Thirteen, already a teenager, growing taller and more independent. It was hard to believe you were the same little boy whom I read bed time stories too, whom I hugged when he was scared, whom I made cookies for. But you were. You were always Ron to me, even as you grew up.
The summer after third year was the quidditch world cup and you were so excited. You jumped up and down and began talking senselessly about stats and the like. We brought Harry and Hermione along and you all kept yourselves busy. Tossing biscuits into each other's mouths and reading aloud scary stories. Whenever I thought you'd grown up I was shown that you weren't really so big...you were still fourteen, still a silly little boy.
Upon hearing Harry's name was drawn from the Goblet of Fire in fourth year I was shocked and scared. I wanted to scream, not again, don't put me through this. But you all did, you all made me worry a whole year, once again. I told your Father that it was a bad idea sending you to Hogwarts when you were eleven and he laughed: "Maybe so." But your friendship with Harry and Hermione only grew stronger. You said you were sad they cancelled quidditch that year, and that Hermione still has her annoying cat, and sometimes Harry's very angry. I smiled and showed your letters in crude cursive to your Father who merely shook his head. You said you were going to the Yule Ball too, with a nice girl, "Not the nice girl I should be going with because she already has some quidditch star git for a date" you wrote to me. I glared at Hermione through your letter.
We stayed in Grimmauld Place the summer of fourth year where I tried desperately to keep you and Hermione and Harry out of Order of the Phoenix business. But no one ever listens to me, do they? It was a dirty place but you three seemed to enjoy yourselves with Sirius Black playing another fifteen year old friend. You'd stay up late playing cards or telling jokes. You were always the child to turn silver into gold...and you made a day at Grimmauld Place a day at London's zoo. We all loved you for it. You were our hope.
I did not know how things at Hogwarts could get worse. But they always did. Fifth year you joined the quidditch team and I was, as always, the proud Mother. You wrote to me that Hermione had kissed you on the cheek and I smiled secretly, I knew that girl would come around sooner or later! It is safe to say I never particularly liked Sirius Black. Which is not to say I disliked him, I was just not fond of him. He was obnoxious, crude, and a charmer if I ever saw one. But we all loved him, kind of, even if we didn't want to. I never knew him to be a mass murderer. When I heard news of his death, I cried for two days straight. I cried because I was just so happy it wasn't you...it wasn't you. I felt so awful and despicable, but you were my child, and if I lost you nothing else mattered.
Summer after fifth year was very quiet. Hermione and Harry didn't visit. We stayed around the house. You played quidditch in the backyard and asked me to make cookies, I did. One day you said you missed Percy. "I do too," I said, hugging you, and feeling like a Mummy again. I love feeling like a Mummy.
Sixth year you began dating Hermione. I was thrilled. So thrilled. Words do not describe. You had finally told her your feelings, and I felt like a proud psychologist. I had her and her family over for supper on Christmas break. Seeing you so happy and so in love was important for me. You two held hands under the table and I smiled secretly at your father. You told me Hermione's difficult sometimes: "All the good one's are," I said and with a wink, "like me." Harry was hurting, and like a true Mother, I felt bad for Harry as well. It seemed like with you I had adopted two more children...two times the worrying. But I always loved you the most. Voldemort was back in power and stronger than ever, that killed me, that guy never goes away. I knew a war was on its way but I didn't know when. I just prayed you'd be safe...I prayed you'd never leave me...prayed you'd be careful. Prayed I had some luck left in me.
Summer after sixth year Harry and Hermione stayed with us. I was so happy to have them around. The house was quiester with only you three, Ginny, your Father and I. You three still seemed so young sometimes, especially when you'd roll down our hill or throw glasses of water on each other. You even made a lemonade stand. Harry seemed better. He was dating Cho Chang and absorbed in quidditch. I could tell you and Hermione were keeping him busy and happy, his own family. I couldn't believe you were about to embark on your seventh and final year at Hogwarts and I cried the morning I took you three to the station. I looked at your painting often...your little hands had made such little people with bright colored clothes and a happy home. I smiled.
I was so glad the fates seemed to give you a bit of a break your seventh year. The new Minister of Magic, Herrald, was finally calling more aurors and calling for more help on the Voldemort front. At least to keep him at bay. Finally. I say. FINALLY. You said your courses were pretty easy and all you Hermione, and Harry would walk around the grounds or talk. You were growing up and you were so tall and strong. On your last day of Hogwarts, you greeted me in the entrance hall. "We're getting married next December," you said, pointing to Hermione who had a big grin on her face, "she said, yes, Mum!" Finally. I say. FINALLY.
I am so proud of you. Words do not describe.
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My love (forever, and ever, and ever)
Mummy
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You could tell it was about to rain.
Ron stared at the closed coffin. His wife standing beside him, clutching his hand, and his best friend a few steps away. Harry stood quietly, Hermione stood stiffly, it was Ron's eyes from which tears sprouted. Harry and Hermione exchanged awkward glances as Harry nodded.
Just nineteen.
Photographers came over to see Harry, who with the help of Ron and Hermione had finally conquered the Dark Lord...forever, Harry shrugged them off, feeling awful already. Ron made an attempt to speak, and then stopped, making a choking noise.
"That's my Mum," he said, kissing the coffin quietly, "that's my Mum."
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