a/n: Nothing but a short little blurb that came to me in fits of sleep. To
give proper warning would be to give it away, but this is utterly and
completely wrong. Proceed accordingly.
These characters do not belong to me. They belong to J.K Rowling and warner brothers and scholastic and whoever else. Suing will get you nowhere. You will only get some cigarettes and a handful of change anyway.
********
Ron Weasly held the vial up in the light, where it sparkled, making prismlike patterns against the white walls of his flat.
It was the perfect potion. Mere moments of nothing but sheer euphoria, and then death would come, sliding in the door of conciousness quickly and quietly. Taking over before you could register it, and you didn't really care anyway. There was no time for regret. No fear would come along to taunt you. There was nothing but bliss and then oblivion.
He was 27 years old. 10 years after he graduated Hogwarts. His life, although not perfect, was quite pleasant. Voldemort was long gone, and his friends and family were mostly left intact. He was working for the Ministry, good pay and an amazing benefits package. A nice little flat in Brighton. A decent social life. And the blonde muggle girl who would come over once or twice a week. She may have thought it was a relationship, but it was really only built around shagging. She wasn't as intelligent as Ron had thought at first, and although a bit of a disappointment.. he couldn't bring himself to call it quits with her just yet.
But everything got utterly fucked last night.
Harry had brought her over, in her state of such drunkenness she didn't remember her own name.. Heartbreak, some bastard who'd been using her for a shag on the side. He'd been married, apparently. The girl he'd sworn to protect from this kind of thing. His first instinct was to up and kill him, but Harry convinced him to stay and tend to her first, make sure she didn't hurt herself. She couldnt stay with Harry; not with the baby there. His wife got precious little sleep as it was.
Hours later she seemed almost sober. She slipped into the bed beside him, saying she didn't want to sleep alone, her golden eyes pleading. He, of course, agreed. Anything for her. He didn't even bother thinking that it was harmless or innocent; because it was. Until her hands were roaming his body, stroking him in such ways that he didn't know which direction was which. She was intoxincating him, and it was something he'd desired so much, down inside the parts of him he wouldn't even allow himself to touch or think of. He'd murmered for her to stop, she was making him uncomfortable. But she wouldn't. She was whispering in his ear that it was something she'd wanted for so long now, too long. He told her it was just the alcohol, but when he rolled over and looked into those eyes of hers, there was no mistaking it. She was for real.
And so they danced. Their naked bodies pressed against each other in heat and sweat and desire. When it was all over, the realization of the complete wrongness of this struck him. He lay with her in his arms for hours, sleepless and aching. This feeling, was unlike any other he'd experienced. He loved her. He was *in* love with her. It just took this for him to face up to it. How it happened, he didn't know. Why, he didn't know that either. But this... should never have happened.
She awoke early, memories of the night before flooding back to her as well. And there was shame in her eyes as she kissed him innocently enough on the cheek and slid out the door, saying they really needed to talk. That was the understatement of the year. But... there was nothing he could say to her. Nothing at all. She could feel the same way about him [and he was sure she did]-- but they could never be together. He couldn't blame her, she was all sweetness and beauty. Her and her long tangled hair and pale skin, golden eyes like fire. But himself. He was a bastard.
He shouldn't even allow himself the mercy of going this way. But it was the only way he knew he could do it.
He was in love with his own little sister.
His last thoughts were of Ginny, as he fell silently to the floor.
These characters do not belong to me. They belong to J.K Rowling and warner brothers and scholastic and whoever else. Suing will get you nowhere. You will only get some cigarettes and a handful of change anyway.
********
Ron Weasly held the vial up in the light, where it sparkled, making prismlike patterns against the white walls of his flat.
It was the perfect potion. Mere moments of nothing but sheer euphoria, and then death would come, sliding in the door of conciousness quickly and quietly. Taking over before you could register it, and you didn't really care anyway. There was no time for regret. No fear would come along to taunt you. There was nothing but bliss and then oblivion.
He was 27 years old. 10 years after he graduated Hogwarts. His life, although not perfect, was quite pleasant. Voldemort was long gone, and his friends and family were mostly left intact. He was working for the Ministry, good pay and an amazing benefits package. A nice little flat in Brighton. A decent social life. And the blonde muggle girl who would come over once or twice a week. She may have thought it was a relationship, but it was really only built around shagging. She wasn't as intelligent as Ron had thought at first, and although a bit of a disappointment.. he couldn't bring himself to call it quits with her just yet.
But everything got utterly fucked last night.
Harry had brought her over, in her state of such drunkenness she didn't remember her own name.. Heartbreak, some bastard who'd been using her for a shag on the side. He'd been married, apparently. The girl he'd sworn to protect from this kind of thing. His first instinct was to up and kill him, but Harry convinced him to stay and tend to her first, make sure she didn't hurt herself. She couldnt stay with Harry; not with the baby there. His wife got precious little sleep as it was.
Hours later she seemed almost sober. She slipped into the bed beside him, saying she didn't want to sleep alone, her golden eyes pleading. He, of course, agreed. Anything for her. He didn't even bother thinking that it was harmless or innocent; because it was. Until her hands were roaming his body, stroking him in such ways that he didn't know which direction was which. She was intoxincating him, and it was something he'd desired so much, down inside the parts of him he wouldn't even allow himself to touch or think of. He'd murmered for her to stop, she was making him uncomfortable. But she wouldn't. She was whispering in his ear that it was something she'd wanted for so long now, too long. He told her it was just the alcohol, but when he rolled over and looked into those eyes of hers, there was no mistaking it. She was for real.
And so they danced. Their naked bodies pressed against each other in heat and sweat and desire. When it was all over, the realization of the complete wrongness of this struck him. He lay with her in his arms for hours, sleepless and aching. This feeling, was unlike any other he'd experienced. He loved her. He was *in* love with her. It just took this for him to face up to it. How it happened, he didn't know. Why, he didn't know that either. But this... should never have happened.
She awoke early, memories of the night before flooding back to her as well. And there was shame in her eyes as she kissed him innocently enough on the cheek and slid out the door, saying they really needed to talk. That was the understatement of the year. But... there was nothing he could say to her. Nothing at all. She could feel the same way about him [and he was sure she did]-- but they could never be together. He couldn't blame her, she was all sweetness and beauty. Her and her long tangled hair and pale skin, golden eyes like fire. But himself. He was a bastard.
He shouldn't even allow himself the mercy of going this way. But it was the only way he knew he could do it.
He was in love with his own little sister.
His last thoughts were of Ginny, as he fell silently to the floor.