Love is hard to comprehend, and even harder to control. Sometimes I forget
this, and sometimes, I just barely remember. My name is Ron Weasley, and
I'm going to tell you a story about love.
Anyone who knew me would find it strange, my intrest in love, simply because it has always been something I avoided, or ignored. My family was always pretty close, that is, until my sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That was the year my father died.
None of us knew dad was sick. That was simply because he never told any of us. "Us" being my mother, my five older brothers, and my little sister, Ginny.
My father, Arthur Weasley, once worked for the Ministry of Magic, and his income, however miniscule, was just enough to keep the family alive and pretty content. We had learned early on to ignore the taunts of those more fortunate that us (and I use that term loosley, for, as my mother frequently pointed out, "Fortune is not measured in gold, but in the strength of the heart.")
The only thing that really kept me alive durring those times was love. Funny, isn't it? That the one thing that I kept out of my life for so long would be the thing that saved me? I thought so. And that, perhaps, is where the story begins, a story of contempt, of betrayal, and of love.
I suppose I was just a bit depressed. I barely heard the professors as they spoke durring my daytime classes, and I never listened when my friends tried to comfort me. I didn't think I needed it.
One Saturday evening found Hermione, Harry and I sitting alone in the Gryffindor common room. Harry Potter was my best friend, and had been since our first year at Hogwarts. Everyone born into our world knew his name. This was probably his one flaw, in my eyes. Harry was excellent at Quidditch, something I'd never been very good at, and he seemed to attract attention wherever he went.
Though Harry was never pompous, which was rare for someone as famous as he. I admired him for that, but for that I also hated him.
I heard Harry clear his throat, turning his emerald eyes up to face Hermione and I. Hermione seemed to startle slighty. "I'm free for Hogsmede tomorrow," Harry said, almost sadly. It pained me to see my best friend like this. Especially now. The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was at the peak of his power. Harry barely even had time to sleep.
He hadn't said anything to Hermione or myself, but we both knew that the professors were working him hard at something. Probably preparing him for his 'inevitable death' as Draco Malfoy, Harry's arch rival, put it. I was never quite so pessimistic.
Hermione, my other best friend, and the only girl I'd ever had a crush on, glanced up at Harry with a light smile, muttering a quiet, "That's nice, Harry." Hermione had a soft spot, as far as Harry was concerned, and, truth be told, I really didn't mind that much. Not really, anyway.
It was then, luckily, that the portrait hole that served as an entrance for the Gryffindor Common Room swung open, and Ginny stepped daintily into the room. It's a good thing she did, too, keeping me from saying something really stupid. I know I would have, because I always do.
I glanced up half heartedly, watching Ginny as she peered over to the table at which we sat. She smiled at Hermione and Harry, a small blush dusting her cheeks when Harry smiled back. "Hi Ginny." Hermione said, absently turning the page in her Arithmancy book.
I watched her wordlessly, and numbly I stood, clasping my hands behind my back and approaching the window. I sighed silently. Every night was the same, cold and dark. Harry and Hermione were always exchanging glances every time I looked at them. I couldn't stand it. Running a hand through my copper-red hair, I peered back at them. Smiling. Talking. I felt so ignored.
"I'm going for a walk." I announced softly, and the warm conversation ruptured and broke instantly. Harry watched me for a moment, tugging his glasses absently down the bridge of his nose. "Want me to come with you, Ron?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. I smiled softly, yet I shook my head to decline. "No...no, Harry, I'll be fine." I replied.
Harry shot me a sad smile, and I bit my lip. It hurt me to see him in such pain. My best friend was hurt, and there was nothing I could do about it. I sighed and departed, half-hearing Hermione as she called to me. Something about Hogsmede tomorrow. I wasn't listening.
The corridors were empty, as it was late in the evening, and most of the Hogwarts students lay asleep in their beds. A dull sense of power rang through my bones as I walked, my ancient gray sneakers barely making a sound against the cool stone of the corridor floors.
My mind wandered back to Harry and Hermione. They had probably retired to their dorms, Hermione to lay awake worrying again about what tomorrow would bring for her beloved Harry, and Harry himself to lay awake and await my return.
It was almost every night now that they stayed awake to help me cope with my inevitable insomnia. I barely slept anymore, staring at the distorted crimson fabric of my four-poster's canopy, Harry's gentle breathing barely aubable from the bed across from mine.
I sighed again. Sighing seemed to become an unconsious habit, these days. A wry smile crossed my face as I turned a corner. I didn't know where I was headed, and frankly, I didn't care. I stopped in my tracks, the sound of echoing footsteps behind me sending an unwanted chill up my spine. I spun around, finding no one, and gradually, after pausing to catch my breath, I shuffled slowly into the empty, darkened trophy room.
The gleaming surfaces of the trophies and medals caught my prying eyes as I walked among them, sighing once more as I caught Harry's name shinging up at me from the quidditch cup. I smiled softly, running my fingers down the door of the locked glass case.
The gentle 'tink' of breaking glass startled me, and I stood rigid, suddenly not alone, shuddering and peering about like a madman, my eyes darting over every darkened corner. I gasped as a shadow stirred, and out from behind a case against the far wall came a boy. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the moonlight that filtered through the small window behind him, though they needn't have bothered. I knew who the boy was instantly.
"Harry?" I muttered into the darkness, greeted by the gleem of Harry's teeth as he smiled. "Ron." He whispered in response. "What are you doing here?" He asked, a little louder now. I looked away, over his shoulder. At least he would think I was looking at him. I ignored his question, and whispered, "What was that sound? The breaking glass?"
"Oh," Harry said softly, peering down at the ground. "I dropped my goblet," he replied, running a hand through his mop of black hair. I couldn't help but smile gently, kneeling as he did to scoop up the broken glass. "What are you doing here?" he asked again. "We aren't supposed to be out of the dorms after dark."
I forced a laugh, tossing my too-long copper coloured bangs from my face. "That's never stopped us before," I whispered, and Harry chuckled, picking up the last bit of glass between his fingers. I sighed again, glancing down, my hazel eyes catching Harry's emerald ones. His nervous laughter ebbed, and I quickly looked away.
"Ron, we really should head back," He said softly, and I nodded, though my head was reeling. What had he seen, when he looked into my eyes? Of course, I knew what I saw when I looked into his. I saw the love of a friend to another friend, one who cared much too much about others when he should be caring for himself. I sighed once more, only stirring when I felt Harry's hand on my shoulder, urging me to my feet.
"Are you alright, Ron?" He asked gently, stepping back and shifting the shards of his shattered goblet into his robe pocket to be dealt with later. I stood rigid, turning my head to face the door. Harry nudged me in the ribs, and I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. "What's the matter?" It took me a little while to respond before I finally whispered, "Someone's coming."
Anyone who knew me would find it strange, my intrest in love, simply because it has always been something I avoided, or ignored. My family was always pretty close, that is, until my sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That was the year my father died.
None of us knew dad was sick. That was simply because he never told any of us. "Us" being my mother, my five older brothers, and my little sister, Ginny.
My father, Arthur Weasley, once worked for the Ministry of Magic, and his income, however miniscule, was just enough to keep the family alive and pretty content. We had learned early on to ignore the taunts of those more fortunate that us (and I use that term loosley, for, as my mother frequently pointed out, "Fortune is not measured in gold, but in the strength of the heart.")
The only thing that really kept me alive durring those times was love. Funny, isn't it? That the one thing that I kept out of my life for so long would be the thing that saved me? I thought so. And that, perhaps, is where the story begins, a story of contempt, of betrayal, and of love.
I suppose I was just a bit depressed. I barely heard the professors as they spoke durring my daytime classes, and I never listened when my friends tried to comfort me. I didn't think I needed it.
One Saturday evening found Hermione, Harry and I sitting alone in the Gryffindor common room. Harry Potter was my best friend, and had been since our first year at Hogwarts. Everyone born into our world knew his name. This was probably his one flaw, in my eyes. Harry was excellent at Quidditch, something I'd never been very good at, and he seemed to attract attention wherever he went.
Though Harry was never pompous, which was rare for someone as famous as he. I admired him for that, but for that I also hated him.
I heard Harry clear his throat, turning his emerald eyes up to face Hermione and I. Hermione seemed to startle slighty. "I'm free for Hogsmede tomorrow," Harry said, almost sadly. It pained me to see my best friend like this. Especially now. The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was at the peak of his power. Harry barely even had time to sleep.
He hadn't said anything to Hermione or myself, but we both knew that the professors were working him hard at something. Probably preparing him for his 'inevitable death' as Draco Malfoy, Harry's arch rival, put it. I was never quite so pessimistic.
Hermione, my other best friend, and the only girl I'd ever had a crush on, glanced up at Harry with a light smile, muttering a quiet, "That's nice, Harry." Hermione had a soft spot, as far as Harry was concerned, and, truth be told, I really didn't mind that much. Not really, anyway.
It was then, luckily, that the portrait hole that served as an entrance for the Gryffindor Common Room swung open, and Ginny stepped daintily into the room. It's a good thing she did, too, keeping me from saying something really stupid. I know I would have, because I always do.
I glanced up half heartedly, watching Ginny as she peered over to the table at which we sat. She smiled at Hermione and Harry, a small blush dusting her cheeks when Harry smiled back. "Hi Ginny." Hermione said, absently turning the page in her Arithmancy book.
I watched her wordlessly, and numbly I stood, clasping my hands behind my back and approaching the window. I sighed silently. Every night was the same, cold and dark. Harry and Hermione were always exchanging glances every time I looked at them. I couldn't stand it. Running a hand through my copper-red hair, I peered back at them. Smiling. Talking. I felt so ignored.
"I'm going for a walk." I announced softly, and the warm conversation ruptured and broke instantly. Harry watched me for a moment, tugging his glasses absently down the bridge of his nose. "Want me to come with you, Ron?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. I smiled softly, yet I shook my head to decline. "No...no, Harry, I'll be fine." I replied.
Harry shot me a sad smile, and I bit my lip. It hurt me to see him in such pain. My best friend was hurt, and there was nothing I could do about it. I sighed and departed, half-hearing Hermione as she called to me. Something about Hogsmede tomorrow. I wasn't listening.
The corridors were empty, as it was late in the evening, and most of the Hogwarts students lay asleep in their beds. A dull sense of power rang through my bones as I walked, my ancient gray sneakers barely making a sound against the cool stone of the corridor floors.
My mind wandered back to Harry and Hermione. They had probably retired to their dorms, Hermione to lay awake worrying again about what tomorrow would bring for her beloved Harry, and Harry himself to lay awake and await my return.
It was almost every night now that they stayed awake to help me cope with my inevitable insomnia. I barely slept anymore, staring at the distorted crimson fabric of my four-poster's canopy, Harry's gentle breathing barely aubable from the bed across from mine.
I sighed again. Sighing seemed to become an unconsious habit, these days. A wry smile crossed my face as I turned a corner. I didn't know where I was headed, and frankly, I didn't care. I stopped in my tracks, the sound of echoing footsteps behind me sending an unwanted chill up my spine. I spun around, finding no one, and gradually, after pausing to catch my breath, I shuffled slowly into the empty, darkened trophy room.
The gleaming surfaces of the trophies and medals caught my prying eyes as I walked among them, sighing once more as I caught Harry's name shinging up at me from the quidditch cup. I smiled softly, running my fingers down the door of the locked glass case.
The gentle 'tink' of breaking glass startled me, and I stood rigid, suddenly not alone, shuddering and peering about like a madman, my eyes darting over every darkened corner. I gasped as a shadow stirred, and out from behind a case against the far wall came a boy. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the moonlight that filtered through the small window behind him, though they needn't have bothered. I knew who the boy was instantly.
"Harry?" I muttered into the darkness, greeted by the gleem of Harry's teeth as he smiled. "Ron." He whispered in response. "What are you doing here?" He asked, a little louder now. I looked away, over his shoulder. At least he would think I was looking at him. I ignored his question, and whispered, "What was that sound? The breaking glass?"
"Oh," Harry said softly, peering down at the ground. "I dropped my goblet," he replied, running a hand through his mop of black hair. I couldn't help but smile gently, kneeling as he did to scoop up the broken glass. "What are you doing here?" he asked again. "We aren't supposed to be out of the dorms after dark."
I forced a laugh, tossing my too-long copper coloured bangs from my face. "That's never stopped us before," I whispered, and Harry chuckled, picking up the last bit of glass between his fingers. I sighed again, glancing down, my hazel eyes catching Harry's emerald ones. His nervous laughter ebbed, and I quickly looked away.
"Ron, we really should head back," He said softly, and I nodded, though my head was reeling. What had he seen, when he looked into my eyes? Of course, I knew what I saw when I looked into his. I saw the love of a friend to another friend, one who cared much too much about others when he should be caring for himself. I sighed once more, only stirring when I felt Harry's hand on my shoulder, urging me to my feet.
"Are you alright, Ron?" He asked gently, stepping back and shifting the shards of his shattered goblet into his robe pocket to be dealt with later. I stood rigid, turning my head to face the door. Harry nudged me in the ribs, and I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. "What's the matter?" It took me a little while to respond before I finally whispered, "Someone's coming."