The Harry Potter series and all its characters do not belong to me. They
are the marvelous creations of the wonderful J. K. Rowling, whom I love for
coming up with them; I'm just borrowing them for a bit and hoping I don't
dishonor the series. I have no money, I mean no disrespect, and this is
for pleasure, not profit, so please don't sue. This is my first completed
HP fic, so please review. BTW, this is part of a series I'm writing called
Colors; there are three parts total, and they can be read in any order.
The other two chapters are Black Hair, Emerald Eyes (Ron's POV) and Green
With Envy (Hermione's POV). Please read them as well if you like this one.
____________________________________________________________________________ ___
Before my eleventh birthday, red was just an ordinary color. It held little meaning for me, save the thoughts of the blood that comes from cuts or scrapes or bloody noses caused by Dudley, or the color my uncle's face turns when he's angry at me.
My eleventh birthday was the day that changed all that, and for the better.
It didn't happen all at once; in fact, it didn't happen until I reached Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Or, rather, didn't reach it.
I'll admit that I was confused; what Muggle wouldn't be? After all, I was at King's Cross Station, just as I was supposed to be, but there was no sign proclaiming my desired destination's whereabouts, no long line of children and parents waiting for the train to arrive, so what was I to think? It was then, as I was walking about trying to find the bloody platform, that my view of the color red changed.
"--- packed with Muggles, of course ---"
Muggle? I hadn't heard that word from anyone but Hagrid, so perhaps. Perhaps the person talking knew something about Platform Nine and Three Quarters?
I spun around to see who was talking, and was greeted by the site of a woman talking to four boys. Four boys with flaming red hair. And they had trunks like mine, and, more importantly, they had an owl.
Well, my mind was made up; I followed them, hoping to watch them and see what to do to get to my destination. They stopped to talk for a moment, and I caught site of girl holding the woman's hand; the girl had red hair the same color as the four boys.
I don't think I'd ever seen so much red all in one spot before, especially not sprouting from people's heads. It was actually pretty interesting, but I had more important things to do than stand around thinking about hair colors.
I watched three of the boys disappear into a wall, the rest of their family just watching calmly, and I still hadn't figured out how they were doing it, so I asked the woman. She explained how to get onto the platform, for which I was very grateful. I did as she said and ran straight into the wall between platforms nine and ten.
And was through the wall, and greeted by yet another life-changing red site. There in front of me was the Hogwarts Express, in all its scarlet, steaming glory. It was an amazing site, and even now, in my sixth year at Hogwarts, I'm still filled with awe every time I first see it for the year.
It was after the initial excitement and rush to get everyone on the train that I truly first met Ron Weasley. We got along rather well in the train, and I'll admit that I was hoping to make friends with him while we were at school. We both got put into Gryffindor, whose colors gave yet another meaning to red for me, and I knew that we'd just have to make friends if we were going to be living together for the rest of our school lives.
Well, as everyone at the school knows by now, that's just what happened. Ron and I quickly became friends, best friends, in fact. We got into all sorts of mischief that first year. And the year after that, and the year after that, and so on. Through four years of school, and I'm certain we'll do the same this year as well.
Poor Hermione. She had to watch us get into trouble at first, worrying about us. Then she started getting into trouble herself, much to our surprise. Wonderful girl, really; I'm only surprised that her heart hasn't given out yet, what with all the stress that Ron and I put on her, and that she puts on herself with her schoolwork.
So red quickly became a color I associated with friends; Ron, George and Fred, the Gryffindor house and the people in it. Even Percy, and later on Ginny. And, of course, the Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, both of whom seem to adore me for some reason.
Somewhere during my fourth year here at Hogwarts, though, red earned one more meaning: love. Not just because everyone says that red is the color of love, but because of what I'm in love with.
I peek out from behind the curtains of my bed and peer over at the bed next to me. The curtains are only half drawn, and I can see a head covered in flame red hair.
Flame red, the color of my love.
____________________________________________________________________________ ___
Before my eleventh birthday, red was just an ordinary color. It held little meaning for me, save the thoughts of the blood that comes from cuts or scrapes or bloody noses caused by Dudley, or the color my uncle's face turns when he's angry at me.
My eleventh birthday was the day that changed all that, and for the better.
It didn't happen all at once; in fact, it didn't happen until I reached Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Or, rather, didn't reach it.
I'll admit that I was confused; what Muggle wouldn't be? After all, I was at King's Cross Station, just as I was supposed to be, but there was no sign proclaiming my desired destination's whereabouts, no long line of children and parents waiting for the train to arrive, so what was I to think? It was then, as I was walking about trying to find the bloody platform, that my view of the color red changed.
"--- packed with Muggles, of course ---"
Muggle? I hadn't heard that word from anyone but Hagrid, so perhaps. Perhaps the person talking knew something about Platform Nine and Three Quarters?
I spun around to see who was talking, and was greeted by the site of a woman talking to four boys. Four boys with flaming red hair. And they had trunks like mine, and, more importantly, they had an owl.
Well, my mind was made up; I followed them, hoping to watch them and see what to do to get to my destination. They stopped to talk for a moment, and I caught site of girl holding the woman's hand; the girl had red hair the same color as the four boys.
I don't think I'd ever seen so much red all in one spot before, especially not sprouting from people's heads. It was actually pretty interesting, but I had more important things to do than stand around thinking about hair colors.
I watched three of the boys disappear into a wall, the rest of their family just watching calmly, and I still hadn't figured out how they were doing it, so I asked the woman. She explained how to get onto the platform, for which I was very grateful. I did as she said and ran straight into the wall between platforms nine and ten.
And was through the wall, and greeted by yet another life-changing red site. There in front of me was the Hogwarts Express, in all its scarlet, steaming glory. It was an amazing site, and even now, in my sixth year at Hogwarts, I'm still filled with awe every time I first see it for the year.
It was after the initial excitement and rush to get everyone on the train that I truly first met Ron Weasley. We got along rather well in the train, and I'll admit that I was hoping to make friends with him while we were at school. We both got put into Gryffindor, whose colors gave yet another meaning to red for me, and I knew that we'd just have to make friends if we were going to be living together for the rest of our school lives.
Well, as everyone at the school knows by now, that's just what happened. Ron and I quickly became friends, best friends, in fact. We got into all sorts of mischief that first year. And the year after that, and the year after that, and so on. Through four years of school, and I'm certain we'll do the same this year as well.
Poor Hermione. She had to watch us get into trouble at first, worrying about us. Then she started getting into trouble herself, much to our surprise. Wonderful girl, really; I'm only surprised that her heart hasn't given out yet, what with all the stress that Ron and I put on her, and that she puts on herself with her schoolwork.
So red quickly became a color I associated with friends; Ron, George and Fred, the Gryffindor house and the people in it. Even Percy, and later on Ginny. And, of course, the Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, both of whom seem to adore me for some reason.
Somewhere during my fourth year here at Hogwarts, though, red earned one more meaning: love. Not just because everyone says that red is the color of love, but because of what I'm in love with.
I peek out from behind the curtains of my bed and peer over at the bed next to me. The curtains are only half drawn, and I can see a head covered in flame red hair.
Flame red, the color of my love.
