He Was Yours by FloatingBallofLight
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All credit goes to Jo and WB. But that doesn't stop me from wishing on shooting stars…..or maybe airplanes. See what I did there?
A/N: This story just came to me while I was going through my e-mail today. I wrote what I guess you could call a quote the other night, so I'm basing it around that quote. Hope you enjoy!
He was beautiful, really. Even though you are…WERE….the only person who thought so. The way his hair seemed to shine in the sunlight when you walked to Hagrid's; the way his greenish eyes sparkled when he laughed and turned a dark azure when he was sad; the way his pale lips turned upward on one side and stayed straight on the other. You could sit here all day making a list.
Granted, Ron Weasley was indeed, a beautiful person.
But now someone's noticed. And she isn't you.
He was exceptionally smart and talented; when he applied himself, that is. In this case, you probably ARE the only one who's sure of that.
Without much thought, you could say that he was perfect.
But apparently, so could someone else.
You aren't sure exactly where the turning point from friends to enemies happened. All you know is that it did, and now there's no going back.
They had always been friends in theory. Sure, maybe they hated each other's guts and were only sparing Harry, but that's what friends do. They drag you along to someplace….like, a mall, for instance. They've been shopping for HOURS and they finally see the dress they want and they're at the checkout, but then this other girl shows up wearing a different dress and pounces on your friend and she buys it because it's a good kisser.
I mean, except for the fact that Ron probably won't be buying a dress, wouldn't kiss one, and that Hogwarts wasn't exactly a mall.
Look, you're so hopeless, you've made a metaphor. A METAPHOR! What is the world coming to?
Well, besides certain death and destruction because of a certain dark wizard with a nose that's been run over a few times.
No worries, though. You've taken it before. You'll be fine. You're not going to die. You're going to smile like everything's just dandy and won't give Voldemort the satisfaction of knowing he's gotten to you.
There's another one. You've always hated metaphors. They don't even make sense.
…at all.
Well, you had him. He was yours. You were at the checkout. Now he's hers.
And she cried. Not for the first time, not for the last time, but the tears still meant just as much as they ever would.
He was worth the tears to her. And he was worth the 400,000,000 others that would fall because of him in her lifetime.
And she made sure that she was the only one who knew that.