Ronald Weasley
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"Oh once there was a girl, who came from not too far from here
She wasn't satisfied at the rate that she applied
Herself, to the items on the shelf
She was a retail girl
It really has to do with nothing
All though she gave me something
A smile I'll rely on for a lifetime
I'll try on for a while
So now, why is she getting married on the 25th of April?
She believes, in higher energy
And better things for all the people
She's a charm of good luck
When she's sitting by your side
But I think my luck runs out on April 25th
Oh, Love oh love
Is all I'm looking for
Sitting in the corner in the dark
Oh hoping that she finds me
I'm looking right away
But I'll never find the right thing to say
Oh I'll never find the right kind of phrase."
'Right Kind of Phrase' Jason Mraz
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She was beautiful; the redheaded man could feel a solitary chill roll down his spine, even though fires in all of its three hundred fireplaces were carefully controlling the temperature inside the expansive castle.
He looked down at her, trying to figure out what he had waited so long to tell her. He bit his lip, as an empty draft slightly billowed the end of her bone white dress. Ron tried to fight back the crude thought of her selected color to wear for the special occasion. He could feel his hand rise to his shirt, as he struggled to adjust the vest of his lavish tuxedo. She had requested everyone, wizards too, to wear them.
"What's this about Ron?" her voice rang through his ears. He wished nothing more then to wrap his arms around her, and carry her off into the darkness. However, he remained frozen, staring down at her, in awe at her sheer beauty.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Ron asked, his voice trembling. He could almost feel Hermione's heart sink in disappointment. Had she expected him to pull her into that bathroom to tell her that she was making a good call? Had she expected him to smile at her, give her a hug, and congratulate her? Even worse, had she expected him to agree with her, and completely disregard, and forget the years they had spent together? She stared at him, eyes wide, but they remained dry. Her arms were outstretched as if she was calling out to the gods for some sort of modern miracle, for something to magically change his mind, for something to make him see what she wanted, and what she didn't want.
"To you?" she asked in a quaking, soft, but subtle tone. "I'm not doing anything to you Ronald." She muttered, Ron could feel his face contort into a sneer; she had dared to call him by his given name.
"Not doing anything to me?" he spat at her, he could feel his arms outstretch, as he bent down to look into her soft brown eyes.
"You're killing me with this! I've asked you time and time again to turn back, not to do it. To come back to me." Ron spat at her again. He could feel his heart lurch precariously in its small chamber within his chest.
"I made a mistake Hermione." He raised is hands, and placed them upon the soft skin of her cheeks. "Don't punish me, I couldn't bear another day like this." He said his voice barely above a whisper. She remained silent, her arms still outstretched, as she awaited her miracle, much to Ron's surprise, she stepped away from him, and looked up at him, a strange look of love in her eyes.
"Ron, it's been six years." Her voice was shaking, Ron was unsure if it was from jitters or from guilt. "It's been so long, I've moved on. Don't you think it's about time you move on too?"
He stared at her. Her eyes were wide, and still miraculously dry. He wished he could hammer into her head how much he loved her, and those six years were not enough. No time was ever enough; he couldn't deny the fact that he wanted her in her gorgeous bone white ensemble, and beautiful bouquet, by his side, and his side only. Ron bowed his head in shame, fighting to keep his sorrowful tears at bay.
"Please," she reached for his hand, but Ron pulled away, surprising her and Ron himself. He had never willingly pulled back from her, ever. Now he was doing it willingly. Ron rubbed his face, suddenly realizing that she would be a Weasley in a matter of minutes.
"Go," Ron whispered, his voice very hoarse. For the first time since she entered the small bathroom, she shed a tear. Unlike the tears that sat waiting to flow from Ronald Weasley's eyes, her's seemed to be tears of joy. She stepped towards him, her arms still outstretched, her fists clenched, she had caught her miracle. She brushed her soft pink lips across his freckled cheek and stepped back from him.
"You don't know how much this means to me Ron. To us." She smiled at him through her apparent tears of joy. Ron was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.
"Yeah well," Ron shoved his hands in his pockets, as she looked up at him in anticipation, waiting for him to give her a few kind words. However, Ron couldn't bear to bring himself to do it, all he could do was repeat his small command, in a low hoarse voice. "Just go,"
She looked up at him one last time, before stepping away, for what it felt like the final time. She kissed her index finger softly and blew him a final kiss, similar to the ones she used to blow to him when they were in love, but that was now in the past, far in the past.
He watched her leave, managing to keep his composure until he heard the heavy oak door slam. He felt his knees buckle as if he had been holding an entire castle upon his shoulders. Ron slowly slumped to the floor, his back up against his the cold stone wall. He hit the floor with a loud thump, his heart pounding in his throat, as he broke down into uncontrollable sobs. He had lost her.
She would be walking down the aisle, a grin on her face, and love in her eyes. The man that had loved her enough to ask for her hand in marriage would be standing at the end of the aisle, beside the alter in an uncomfortably stiff tuxedo. There under the alter, they will meet and be pronounced man and wife. And there, she will finalize the relationship that Ron could never bring himself to agree with. He still was in a semi-state of shock over the fact that Hermione would ever stray from him. However, she had. She had fallen in love, or so she said, and she had been swept off her feet, as she often told Ron candidly. He wiped his eyes bitterly as he rose to his feet, fighting the tears; his mother had begged him to be at her wedding, "If not for her, then for your brother. It means a lot to him, you being there." she would often preach. Ron stepped out of the bathroom and slammed the oak door behind him. A grinning Ginny Weasley stood outside the door in an elegant Maid of Honor gown.
"Hurry up Ron! The ceremony's starting!" she said excitedly. She grabbed his hand, as he forced a small smile on his face, even though he could feel his heart cracking open.
"Yeah," Ron quipped softly, "Can't be late to my own brother's wedding." He muttered softly. Ginny, too exited to take note of Ron's grim tone, continued to drag Ron down the hallway. The wedding march had already begun.
One by one, groomsmen, and bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. Ron hesitantly took the arm of an auburn haired Muggle by the name of Jessica. A small string quartet played a pleasant tune as the pair of them walked down the aisle. The girl gave Ron an uneasy smile; she knew perfectly well, who he was and his family connections to the groom. Ron could feel the eyes of the entire church upon him as he walked past the groom. He looked up at the person he had grown up with, fought with, played with, and learned with, his eyes were wide in joy, as he stuck out a hand for his little brother to take. Ron could feel himself hesitate, to stare down at the hand that were used to put mild hexes on him after an argument, or often picked him up from a fall only seconds later. The freckled man took it, and looked up into his brother's eyes. Ron watched his expression silently change into a low frown, perhaps it had registered in his mind how much he was hurting Ron by going through with the wedding. He looked up at him; Ron was five inches taller.
"I love her Ron," he whispered to him. Ron fought to hold back his tears, his hand still clenched on to his older brother's. "But, I love you too." He whispered again, Ron could feel his body tighten shortly before his brother finally reached him. He quickly took his place beside a somber faced Harry Potter, Ron wondered if it was the years of fighting and combating dark wizards that had wiped any lack of happiness off Harry's face, or perhaps it was his discrepancy of the wedding. Harry turned to look at Ron.
"That was wise of you, not to make a scene." Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. Ron turned away from him, his eyes dead set on Hermione as the quartet began to play the wedding march. Ron swallowed the lump in his throat; he couldn't hate her for falling in love. He turned to face George one last time, before quickly adverting his eyes, swallowing almost all compassion he held for his brother. He still couldn't deny the fact that he had felt betrayed by them both. Hermione Granger had fallen in love with George Weasley. This was not how Ron had pictured her future to be; he had never felt more abandoned in his life.
Ron closed his eyes shortly, wishing that he would wake up form his nightmare, but he opened then to find himself still in the church, hurting, and alone.
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That was the Prologue of Tangled Bonds, the sequel to The Warmth. The title isn't a song title Yay!
Any questions or comments, you can review, or e-mail me. I'm very friendly!
Alisha0715@sbcglobal.net