So Like A Rose
Baby thinks he's dying
Hell it hurt. He wasn't some suicide obsessed weirdo, running around acting like a tragic lost soul, pretending to be deep and meaningful. Neither was he a useless fop, crying at the drop of a hat. After all he was the funny guy. The brave, loyal friend who kept everyone happy and light hearted. The prickly redhead, fiery tempered, who took offence easily. The 6th Weasley. The Weasley who was just coming into his own. The boy who was finally realising that money doesn't always matter and that there were worse things than being poor. That not having as much fame and attention as a best friend was nothing to worry about. Realising he had the best friends. Had best friends. Had...
Lost inside his bedroom
He looked around his room, The bright orange of his Chudley Cannons themed everything, made him remember that this year the Cannons had finally made it to a Quidditch grand-final. The game was on downstairs on the Wizard Wireless right now. He found he didn't care. His tattered Gryffindor flag hung on the wall nearest his bed, scarlet and gold. Scarlet faded and washed so many times that it so was more of a deep red. Red like his sister's hair, red like the ink on the Weasley Wizard Wheezes order form he had saved and kept without knowing why. Red like the burn on Charlie's arm, Red like Harry's Quidditch robes, a red that was nowhere near as beautiful as the red of Hermione's lips. Red like blood. Red like the fire that had consumed him inside the moment that he had realised they were gone.Hell it hurt.
Mummy won't stop crying
And daddy's always working
They hated him, the remaing Weasleys. He was the betrayer after all. Mrs Weasley was still in a deep period of mourning. Mr Weasley was too busy at work to grieve properly, too busy trying to save the world. Too busy to save his son. Maybe he just didn't want to. And that was wasn't teenage hormones propelled over-dramaticness, it was simple truth. Their apparently unconditional love was as tattered as his damn Gryffindor flag. What's worse he understood why. "Betrayer...."
There's no going back
There's no going back
There's no going back
On this one
There was no going back, no second chance to do things differently. Only constant replays of what had happened and what he had done, vivid replays every time he closed his eyes, their dead faces were imprinted on the back of his eyelids. He smelt only their burnt flesh and the stench of his cowardice, his evil , tasted only coppery blood and salty tears, and heard the word "Betrayer..." over and over again, whispered by the shades of so many voices he had known and loved.
Baby wakes up with the sun
While everyone is sleeping
He didn't sleep much, how could he? There was no relief there, no sweet oblivion to sink into. Besides sunrise was his favourite time, it spoke of new beginnings. For a little time at least he could sometimes delude himself into thinking that things could change or even that nothing had really happened, that it was just a dream the sun was here to chase away. Hope. Such a silly thing.
He thinks he's going crazy
This could be the big one
There wasn't much more he could take of this. Not alone
Sleeping with ghosts
It's such a lonely experience
It was hard to sleep with all these thoughts dancing like demented porcupines through his head, rolling around, prodding at unwanted memories and stabbing into old wounds again and again. Ghosts awoke that now only lived in his memory, ghosts looking like they had in happier times.
The stars are out tonight
Only they can hear you breathing
Ron finally finished what he had been working on. A complete record of his memories of himself, of others, loved and lost, even those he had hated. Happy memories with Harry and Hermione, with his family. All his family. Horrible memories of the deeds he had committed. His thoughts, why he had become the betrayer. The very essence of who he was and what he had done. All locked inside a Penisieve. His life and the lives of those he knew locked in the the swirling gray mist. It was finished. There was nothing left to do but climb out onto the little balcony outside the window of his sixth storey attic room, turn his face to the stars and say.......
You're so like a rose
I wish you could stay here
"Goodbye"
I wish you could stay here
Baby thinks he's dying
Hell it hurt. He wasn't some suicide obsessed weirdo, running around acting like a tragic lost soul, pretending to be deep and meaningful. Neither was he a useless fop, crying at the drop of a hat. After all he was the funny guy. The brave, loyal friend who kept everyone happy and light hearted. The prickly redhead, fiery tempered, who took offence easily. The 6th Weasley. The Weasley who was just coming into his own. The boy who was finally realising that money doesn't always matter and that there were worse things than being poor. That not having as much fame and attention as a best friend was nothing to worry about. Realising he had the best friends. Had best friends. Had...
Lost inside his bedroom
He looked around his room, The bright orange of his Chudley Cannons themed everything, made him remember that this year the Cannons had finally made it to a Quidditch grand-final. The game was on downstairs on the Wizard Wireless right now. He found he didn't care. His tattered Gryffindor flag hung on the wall nearest his bed, scarlet and gold. Scarlet faded and washed so many times that it so was more of a deep red. Red like his sister's hair, red like the ink on the Weasley Wizard Wheezes order form he had saved and kept without knowing why. Red like the burn on Charlie's arm, Red like Harry's Quidditch robes, a red that was nowhere near as beautiful as the red of Hermione's lips. Red like blood. Red like the fire that had consumed him inside the moment that he had realised they were gone.Hell it hurt.
Mummy won't stop crying
And daddy's always working
They hated him, the remaing Weasleys. He was the betrayer after all. Mrs Weasley was still in a deep period of mourning. Mr Weasley was too busy at work to grieve properly, too busy trying to save the world. Too busy to save his son. Maybe he just didn't want to. And that was wasn't teenage hormones propelled over-dramaticness, it was simple truth. Their apparently unconditional love was as tattered as his damn Gryffindor flag. What's worse he understood why. "Betrayer...."
There's no going back
There's no going back
There's no going back
On this one
There was no going back, no second chance to do things differently. Only constant replays of what had happened and what he had done, vivid replays every time he closed his eyes, their dead faces were imprinted on the back of his eyelids. He smelt only their burnt flesh and the stench of his cowardice, his evil , tasted only coppery blood and salty tears, and heard the word "Betrayer..." over and over again, whispered by the shades of so many voices he had known and loved.
Baby wakes up with the sun
While everyone is sleeping
He didn't sleep much, how could he? There was no relief there, no sweet oblivion to sink into. Besides sunrise was his favourite time, it spoke of new beginnings. For a little time at least he could sometimes delude himself into thinking that things could change or even that nothing had really happened, that it was just a dream the sun was here to chase away. Hope. Such a silly thing.
He thinks he's going crazy
This could be the big one
There wasn't much more he could take of this. Not alone
Sleeping with ghosts
It's such a lonely experience
It was hard to sleep with all these thoughts dancing like demented porcupines through his head, rolling around, prodding at unwanted memories and stabbing into old wounds again and again. Ghosts awoke that now only lived in his memory, ghosts looking like they had in happier times.
The stars are out tonight
Only they can hear you breathing
Ron finally finished what he had been working on. A complete record of his memories of himself, of others, loved and lost, even those he had hated. Happy memories with Harry and Hermione, with his family. All his family. Horrible memories of the deeds he had committed. His thoughts, why he had become the betrayer. The very essence of who he was and what he had done. All locked inside a Penisieve. His life and the lives of those he knew locked in the the swirling gray mist. It was finished. There was nothing left to do but climb out onto the little balcony outside the window of his sixth storey attic room, turn his face to the stars and say.......
You're so like a rose
I wish you could stay here
"Goodbye"
I wish you could stay here