Ahh, the final chapter to Be Like That. It's been written for a bit over a week, but I've ben trying to improve upon it and not make it so cheesy... Unfortunately, it didn't work all too well, but it's acceptable for now. I'll revise it at a later date, if it gets bad enough. :o) Feel free to review... I cleared up the whole thing about non-registered users not being able to review. I'm so sorry about that! I didn't realize it was like that until a friend pointed it out... I'm sorry!

Aimée




Even when you've been dead for fifteen years, you still haunt us. You are now, as of December 13th, 2015, the most written about wizard in history, surpassing Voldemort himself – congratulations.

You have over seventy-five biographies out, thirty books written by your friends, over two hundred about the Dark Arts, and eleven about Ron Weasley – who's being executed today.

Perhaps executed isn't the right word. Perhaps 'kissed' is – although I'm sure he'd prefer to be executed. After all, what's the point of dying if your soul can't enjoy an afterlife?

Albus Dumbledore, the reason Ron wasn't Kissed sooner, died last month. He and Hermione – my wife – were the pillars in Ron's survival. She's devastated, but understands there was only so much she could do. She was given the Head of her department – Muggle Affairs – a little over two years ago, and she's tried her hardest to keep Ron's soul alive.

She finally lost.

We were granted permission to watch the Kiss taking place, to say a last goodbye to him. Really, I can't understand why anyone would want to watch such a thing, seeing a man's entire existence being taken for one mistake? It's widely known Ron was under some form of curse, but he pleaded guilty, and that's all that matters to the Wizarding community. He's someone to take the blame for the fall of their beloved hero; the Boy Who Lived.

You're not alive, you haven't been for quite some time, but you're still referred to as that horrid nickname by a generation of witches and wizards you've never had the chance to see, let alone meet and befriend. If you had, they'd know better than to call you the Boy Who Lived. You were destined to be famous, Harry, but no one's immortal.

All throughout our schooling years, I didn't know whether I hated you for being you or hated myself for not being you. You always had the last laugh – always. Powerful as I am and was, you always managed to up me, either by defeating Voldemort or one of his henchmen by sheer luck. Gryffindors are brave, yes, but as you and your friends have proven, they're also the stupidest of the lot.

I get the last laugh this time, Potter. I'm the one breathing, I'm the one standing, I'm the one with the beautiful wife – your fiancée. We've been married for ten years now, with two children; twins, James and Lucy. James after you and your father, of course, and Lucy after mine; He died immediately after Voldemort's downfall, trying to protect my mother from Aurors. He succeeded, but what heavier a price to pay than his life?

We walked into the chamber where Ron was to be Kissed, both with heavy hearts. Hermione begged me to stop this, to let Ron live out his life, perhaps to even be tried once more – with the evidence that he was under the Imperious Curse. We both knew it'd be enough to set him free, but our experience from Sirius Black's escape, trial, and final release told us the things she denied. Sirius Black hadn't made it in the Wizarding World – his reputation was tattered, and many witches and wizards still believed he killed Pettigrew, even though Peter was captured and given the Kiss. We lived in an irrational world – we still do.

"Minister," one of the guards bowed to me as Hermione and I started to seat ourselves. "So glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I said half-heartedly, my eyes set on the pair of double doors where Ron would be coming in momentarily. "Ronald Weasley is the source of pain for many people, the least of whom being myself. I came for closure."

He nodded, fingering his wand and eyes shifting over towards Hermione. Her head was held proud and high, eyes dead set in the space beyond the stone wall that indicated the end of the chamber. She was trying her very best to keep calm, to rationalize all of this out, but I knew she'd break down the moment she saw him. Her life had been destroyed the moment Ron brandished his wand on Harry, and she had yet to find peace.

I myself had an internal battle raging inside my mind and soul. I had the sole power to stop this, to allow Ron to live out his pathetic excuse for a life, but I was far too cowardly at that moment to indulge. My position would be risked, my family could be in great danger, and I risked my own life if I did such a thing. No Weasley had ever done a damn thing for me, and I wasn't about to show any shred of kindness towards the lot.

The moment Ron was brought into the room, shackled and chained, I saw a tear slip down Hermione's cheek and I knew it was over. His eyes, his expression, were dead and haunted. His face was pale, waxy, and gaunt, his red hair matted and well past his shoulders. He gazed intently towards Hermione, as if mentally pleading with her to help him. She couldn't do anything, however, except squeeze my hand tightly and fight the tears that were coming down her cheeks.

"Please." She whispered one last time as the guards positioned Ron in a sitting position, one on each side. "Do this."

My heart broke as I saw her lose complete control, tears now streaming down her cheek and her hands shaking terribly. I sighed, closing my eyes tightly and forcing myself to think.

She'll be yours forever – she'll be alive – she'll be happy – she'll be human – you'll go down in history – Ron would be forever in your debt - Harry would have wanted you to.

I stood up slowly, legs shaking so much I feared I wouldn't be able to hold myself up. I vaguely heard the click of the lock to the door holding the Dementor, and ever so slowly the door creaked open. Before I could breathe another breath, think another thought, rationalize all of this out, I pointed my wand directly at Ron.

"Aperio Verum!"

Immediately, a radiant glow of red surrounded the man's body, dazzling everyone in the room. I heard the door the Dementor was entering through slam shut, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I waited a moment before I spoke, my voice as strong and proud as it had ever been.

"Gentlemen, Ladies, I'm Draco Malfoy, Minister of Magic. Hopefully, you all know who I am, or else I question your loyalties to the Wizarding world. I am the top government official in the British Wizarding community, and I am also a Malfoy – a name connected constantly to Lord Voldemort's league of Death Eaters, all of whom have been captured or dead for quite some time now.

"I am the Minister, you all seem to trust me enough to lead you, and you all seem to believe the man standing before us, Ronald Weasley, deserves to be relieved of his soul today. You say, because he bears the Dark Mark, he should be killed. You chatter amongst yourselves on how this man deserves to die for having part in killing Harry Potter – his best friend. But most of all, it all comes back to the Dark Mark burned forever on his arm, a souvenir of the Dark Days. You all think because he has this mark, everything he says is a lie; everything he does is not to be trusted."

I looked down at Hermione for a split second, almost smiling as I saw her eyes wide with hope. She knew what I was about to say – something that should have been assumed, but wasn't, when I was elected Minister.

"I'm a Malfoy. In the Dark Times, it was expected of me to join the ranks of my family – to become a Death Eater. Unfortunately, I was too young and too impressionable to make up my own mind, so just as Mr. Weasley here, I was branded before I left Hogwarts."

I felt the comfortable weight of satisfaction settle into my mind as the crowd, made up of no more than twenty of the witches and wizards most willing to empty their Gringotts account for a seat that afternoon, rippled with surprise. I chose that moment to pull up my sleeve and show the gleaming skull with the serpent protruding out of its jaw, watching as one of the older woman grabbed hold of her husband's sleeve for support.

"The spell I just performed on Mr. Weasley was one he and I were trained to use, affectionately called the Leap of Faith. It was to assure Lord Voldemort our loyalties were in the right place; it had been performed on Mr. Weasley twice and on me once. The day it was performed on me for the first and only time, I had been exiled from the Death Eaters; disgraced, beaten, and as close to death as they come.

"There are three colours the spell can reveal; one, green, shows the cowardly at heart, the ones whose true loyalties lie within the person who has the most power. They have greedy souls, are ready to kill at the drop of a hat, and hate everyone that is unlike them with a passion. This colour was the only one Lord Voldemort would accept from his most faithful servants.

"The other is gold, symbolizing the medium crowd. The ones who go about life without questions, answering only to themselves and their loved ones, the ones who stray away from danger at all costs. Unfortunately, for many of you, this is the case. I pity you all.

"The last colour is scarlet, which you all have just seen here. Scarlet, true to Gryffindor form, is for the brave, the trustworthy, and the rare hero who is worthy of your admiration and love. Ronald Weasley, when in Hogwarts, was a Gryffindor. He helped many students overcome their troubles, including the one and only, Mr. Potter."

I took a deep breath once more, eyes glazing over the stunned crowd. Hearing that the enemy for all years was a hero – was worthy of their children's admiration? Never.

"And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is why today, December 13th, 2015, Ronald Weasley will walk away from this room with his soul intact. He will have another trial, with evidence of the Imperious Curse being cast, and he will have an impartial jury. Once freed, he will be welcome back into the Wizard World with open arms, and he will be given reprimands for the damage, both mentally and physically, we have caused him for the past fifteen year."

I smiled vaguely as Hermione burst into tears and stood up, walking over to Ron but not daring to touch him. My smile escalated when Ron reached out and touched her face in a disbelieving manner, brown eyes attempting in vain to blink back his tears of happiness.

"If anyone dares to second guess me, then please, speak now." I crossed my arms and glared at the crowd, all of whom wisely kept quiet.

That's really it, Harry… That's why Ron's now a free man, that's why Hermione's now as happy as I had ever seen her, and that's why you can finally rest peacefully, knowing only one man took the blame for your death – Voldemort. You were a hero to us all, in more ways than one. For me, it was that even fifteen years after you spoke your last word, you still managed to keep your memory alive. The happiness that surrounded you and followed you every where you went is still alive and floating among your friends. I wasn't your friend, Harry, not by any means, but after you died, I saw that even people I hated – either you or myself, for not being you – were just as human as I.

We all wish we could have been like you: a war hero, a great friend, an amazing person. However, there is only one Harry Potter, and I'm standing six feet above him, trying my hardest not too fall back into the habit of insulting the one person that didn't deserve it.

Potter, I hope you're happy.

He's spent his whole life being too young
To live the life that's in his dreams
At night he lies awake and he wonders
Why can't that be me?
Cause in his life he is filled with all these good intentions
He's left a lot of things he'd rather not
Mention right now
But just before he says goodnight
He looks up with a little smile at me and he says

If I could be like that
I would give anything
Just to live one day, in those shoes
If I could be like that, what would I do?
What would I do?

Now and dreams we run

She spends her days up in the north park
Watching the people as they pass
And all she wants is just a little piece of this dream
Is that too much to ask?
With a safe home, and a warm bed
On a quiet little street
All she wants is just that something to hold onto
That's all she needs

If I could be like that,
I would give anything
Just to live one day, in those shoes
If I could be like that, what would I do?
What would I do?

I'm falling into this, in dreams
We run away

If I could be like that
I would give anything
Just to live one day, in those shoes
If I could be like that, what would I do?
What would I do?

If I could be like that
I would give anything
Just to live one day, in those shoes
If I could be like that, what would I do?
What would I do?

Falling in
I feel I am falling in
To this again*

*3 Doors Down, Be Like That