so, yeah. i wrote this after reading silver weasley's sunlight, and you really should go to check that out. hers is much better, mind. but i was suddenly inspired to do her same thing but ron's point of view. because i love that guy.
disclaimer: world belongs to mrs. j/k; dialogue, idea to silver weasely; words to me.
I'd always known that I was going to be a Gryffindor.
It was in my blood, really; I don't care what no one says about Padma and Parvati being twins in separate houses, the Weasleys are Gryffindors. I'm actually pretty damn sure it's a fact in one of them big textbooks Hermione lugs around.
I mean, yeah, it has to do with stuff other than blood. Those Gryffindor attributes hidden somewhere that pop out at opportune moments (but seem to disappear around, say, arachnids). As a kid I'd even known it; I was three and had gotten mad at Fred so I gave his toy broomstick to the garden gnomes and they chewed it up and Bill had remarked, 'No one but a true Gryffindor would be that dumb!' (At first, I thought it was because I had gotten near the garden gnomes but now that I look on it it was probably 'cause I had destroyed the toy broomstick. Fred's toy broomstick, at that. I've never had a teddy bear since.)
But even though I'm supposed to be brave, and loyal, and daring, I've honestly never felt like that were the case. Plenty of times I've stopped and wondered whether the Sorting Hat had gotten something wrong when it touched my head then deemed me a Gryffindor. I would figure that it saw I was a Weasley and, true to my legacy, I needed to be a Gryffindor. There were times when I'd get half a mind to march up to wherever that old hat was kept and ask it for a reevaluation.
Of course, I've never done that, but still. You get the idea, right?
What I suppose I'm trying to say is that I can't figure out my attributes that are so glaringly obvious in everyone else. Harry doesn't need an explanation, nor does Hermione. Neville's a strange one, but he's loyal as wood and right brave once it gets down to it. Dean, well, aside from dating Ginny, was a fair guy and an artist to boot. And Seamus -- well, Seamus got Lavender off my hands. Enough said.
But me -- I can't figure it out. Between Harry's courage and Hermione's smarts, I feel like the third wheel most of the time.
My first year at Hogwarts I spent tagging alongside Harry, introducing him to the magical world as we were both introduced to the castle. Besides him being new to this whole magic thing, we were basically on the same page. It was nice, though, to have a famous friend. I honestly didn't give a damn about anyone else and, come to think of it, no one really gave a damn about me. Even now, though, that doesn't bother me, since I've gotten over that semi, erm, crisis thinger in fourth year. Harry was my best friend and I was Harry's and I felt important.
Then Hermione came to the picture. She was the annoying know-it-all with big teeth that lectured in the background. We, uh, we didn't get along for those first few months. (Well, we still don't quite get along, but you must understand that that's besides the point.) But that wasn't my fault, not much. Granted, in hindsight, I wasn't as nice as mum always yelled at me to be, but up until Halloween she honestly was a nightmare.
Each school year had a sort of turning point where everything sort of got switched around. I could be boring and omniscient (new word!) and go through all o' them, but I tend to try to avoid the boring and omniscient...y... path. So I'll just out and say that Halloween was first year's. Actually, it was an event that should go in the history books so Binns would teach it a bazillion years from now. (Not that anyone would listen, though.)
It was the day when Hermione - yes, the same know-it-all with big teeth that lectured in the background - joined the HarryandRon Duo and made the HarryRonandHermione Trio. It isn't a day that I'm about to forget.
We had been walking, triumphant, down the hall when a girl's scream informed us of what we had done. I can't even remember thinking as we both turned heel and raced back; it was sort of the feeling you get when you stand up too quickly and you feel extremely dizzy and you're very conscious of everything you're doing but it has a sort of 'no words' feeling.
I knocked out the ugly troll myself. I was very pleased with myself. And the icing on the cake was that McGonagall even gave us House points.
And the cherry on top of that was that Hermione had lied to get us out of trouble. Yes, Hermione, Ms. Perfection At Everything in the Universe had slashed some of her pride to save our necks.
I don't know about you, but that's a point in my book.
She became our friend, and, how I see it, we wouldn't have gotten very far without her. I'm not just talking about her doing -- uh, checking over our homework for us. If it hadn't been for her Harry couldn't have gotten through that monstrous Potions obstacle past Fluffy.
Our friendship - Harry, Hermione, and I - is a unique one. It's as tough as Hagrid but ten times prettier. My family unanimously accepted Harry as a sort of brother and we became his surrogate family. Like every family, we've had our ups and downs (and they were usually my fault) but it was a given that between us -- and Hermione -- we'd find a way through it. And we always have.
Harry's the kid I wish was actually related to me. I love my family to death, but by the end of first year Harry was as much, maybe more, of a brother than any of the others ever were. George and Fred were a boy in themselves and had no room for no one else, and the other three were too old for me to bond with. And I'm crazy about Ginny, but -- well, she's a girl. Harry and I share just about everything; from love of Quidditch to a dorm.
And Hermione -- well, I can't explain her. She eludes explanation. She's unlike most girls I've heard of and I can't even begin to understand them. Let alone the complex... thing that is Hermione.
Well, she loves reading and has bushy brown hair. She's as tough as they get but can break down like the rest of 'em. She's a girl but she's smart and, well, I don't know what else to say.
Let's start here: a few years ago I had some, well, let's say slightly unrealistic standards when it came to women. You all know what I'm talking about: girls that looked like Fleur Delacour. With the perfect hourglass and silky hair who were just all-around loving. And then when I realized that I loved Hermione it kinda made me backtrack and wonder where I'd been.
Don't take that as a bad thing or that I'm saying that Hermione's ugly or anything. Because she's not. She's not as scarily perfect as my brother's wife, but she's still completely beautiful to me. The curliness of her hair is a wonderful excuse for me to play with it or get my hands tangled into it, and her skin is smooth and dotted with light freckles. And then there are her eyes, dark and brown and framed by lashes of the same color that have that fiery glint and that characteristic mark of intelligence to them. And the way they narrow when she yells at me because I usually provoke her and half the time I do that on purpose anyways.
And so I love her and she loves me and I feel like less of the third wheel of the trio. Harry and Hermione and I have been through every scenario together (the scariest involving canaries), and it's cemented us like the charm on the back of Mrs. Black's portrait. We started together, we've done this and that and made mistakes and I've made my stupid contributions but we're here, now, together at what may be the end of everything with You-Kno-- Voldemort standing right in front of us.
Harry and I are on the ends; we had subconsciously moved around Hermione in a sort of useless protective circle in comparison with the much larger circle standing behind Voldemort. He's leering, and I'm scared out of my wits but I don't let my feet or face move one bit.
After all, we've been through it all and prepared for this moment countless times. The only new factors are the horrible stink of dead flesh and the fact that the three of us know that if a mistake is made we can't pause and yell, 'do over!' or just replay like you can in chess.
"Potter, you know I could kill you right now," leers Voldemort as he starts his monologue.
"Yes, Tom," Harry interrupts at a whisper with eyes intense and containing that focused glint. "I know that." Harry's deadpan insult makes the air crackle and spark with tension and anticipation and hatred.
"I could kill this little girl," starts he, gesturing at Hermione. My insides clench as a fresh wave of hatred and disgust surges into me. I feel my hand gripping hers unnecessarily hard.
You'd have to go through me, first, I think with a jaw so clenched it hurts. Voldemort had already taken so much from me: Charlie and George and Percy, who Lucius Malfoy killed literally just after we reconciled. If there was going to be one thing that I was going to do that would at least make my mark in this war, it would be to die for Hermione (or Harry) if the need came.
I was burning so hot with anger that I had missed the next few moments of conversation.
"...disinclined to pay heed to your commands," Voldemort mocks dismissively. "You have two options, Potter, one of which is to bow down and admit defeat -" - like hell he would - "perhaps I shall even spare your friends if you do this. --" - like HELL he would! - "The second is to try to fight me, and when you die, I will not waste time taking pity on Mudbloods and blood-traitors."
"It's too late to fight, Tom. I've already won."
"What?" He's surprised. It's a satisfying thing to watch. "Impossible. I have spoken idly here too long, half-blood. Time to die, now." He smiled that horrible grin, and raised his wand, and Harry met my eye and nodded.
I'd like to say with certain pleasure that I came up with the idea of using Voldemort's trademark curse against him. Hermione, at first, threw a shit fit at the thought of using an Unforgivable and tried to opt for a nicer, more legal way to kill the mass murderer.
Harry had sided with me, pointing out that Voldemort wasn't technically a human anymore, being immortal, and the Curse was only unforgivable when used against another human being. Hermione was still uncomfortable with the idea, as we all were, actually, but it came down to be the only way to make sure he died and stayed that way.
We shout those words, the green power surging through my arm and fingertips then out the tip of my wand. He is blown backwards, his wand still in those fingers, and falls dead on the ground in front of us.
At first we all don't make a move, our wands still in the air as we stared at the body of the Dark Lord. The Death Eaters fling themselves down in defeat but the Aurors take care of them. Nothing really hits me in those first few moments; it's like a dream, 'cept I couldn't tell you whether the dream was a bad one or a good one.
At once, we all release everything; the tension and anger and frustration with everything, the grief of death and the joy of victory and liberation. And we clutch, as three, and hug and there are tears and wails and screams and choked, disbelieving laughter. Somehow we end up on the floor, tangled in arms and embraces; Harry and I crush each other in a rib-breaking hug and then I find Hermione and desperately kiss her on the mouth as if it were our first.
Hermione speaks the first words of victory: "It's over."
There's a moment of silence, where we're all looking at each other in shock; the boulder on our backs has become weightless and we're standing around wondering what in the hell has just happened.
"Yes, Hermione," Harry finally responds; his voice is shaky, and I know from the start that this is still going to take time to get over. "It is. It really, really is."
Automatically, I glance down at her, and she's looking up at me with her eyes shining. "It's okay, Ron."
I have seen more death than anyone should have a right to; I've lost friends and family and have gone through the most hopeless situations in the world -- yet, somehow (and it beats me exactly how), I came out of this thing alive. We've come out of this thing alive.
And it's over. It's gone. It's done. And things are going to need to be repaired and healed and patched, but the storm was over.
I smile at her. "I know," I finally reply. "And that's the best thing of all."
And we stand, and walk, and keep walking until we're off a the Quidditch pitch that I've always loved yet never want to return to again. And our arms are slung around each other, over shoulders and around waists, and the sun rises on life, and we're in a straight line and neither Harry nor Hermione nor me are walking in front and our strides go step for step. And I've just helped to defeat the Enemy of man and I've kept my best friends at my side the whole way and -- and they've kept me at theirs.
It's hard to look in on yourself. I look in the mirror and I pick out my flaws and I look at my past and I pick out my mistakes. Over the years I've done nothing but fluff, in my opinion, but today -- today, that's changed.
Gryffindor is in my blood and my blood is in Gryffindor; and my blood is in Harry, my brother, and Hermione, my heart. And it's in that Quidditch pitch behind me and in Charlie and Percy and George.
'Gryffindor', I realize, has nothing to do with something a hat shouts out from atop the head of a scared first year. Being a Gryffindor is an identity; that identity can be obscure or confused or totally illogical to an outsider's point of view, but it was something that we were all born with and the House we are in is a much a part of us as the bones that hold us together. And I don't usually philosophize much, I leave that to those who are good at it but - damn, it took me seven years and a million emotions to come up with that definition and I'll say and believe that it holds true.
And I have to bow my head to keep the New sun from getting into my eyes, and then I realized that we're walking East and it's shining on Three true Gryffindors.
well?