Disclaimer: I don't own the following, please don't sue me. I'm not JK Rowling, though this is written in the utmost adoration and reverance to her. Rock on, JK.
A/N: Ok, so this is just a little thing that sort of came to me, set about ten years after Hogwarts. Mild reverences to R/Hr, though it's nothing major or important. Read on.
Golden
"Ron! Shut him up now or you'll find yourself sleeping outside for the rest of the night!"
Perhaps, Ron Weasley reflected as he wearily picked up the child, it had been foolish to give a baby coffee. A hastily made decision late that evening had proved to be catastrophic. Intent on giving himself and his wife, Hermione, some rest after almost a week's worth of disturbed nights, Ron had resorted to bribing their two-year-old son with the promise of any food in the kitchen (With the exception of Crookshanks' cat treats, though at this point Ron might have considered them). Unfortunately for him though, his son did not choose the Whiskas cat biscuits (A muggle brand favoured by Hermione), and instead pointed to the box of instant coffee by the sink, accompanied by enthusiastic squeals. Had Hermione been present, she would have no doubt intervened, but as she wasn't, Ron had decided it was worth a shot and made the aforementioned beverage.
Big mistake.
That was over four hours ago. Four hours of him bouncing off the walls, four hours of Ron standing there, tearing his flaming red hair out, trying to calm the boy down, of Hermione refusing to help and shouting various death threats from their bedroom at him at regular intervals. There was, of course, the option of casting a silencing charm on the future caffeine addict, but Ron and Hermione had both long ago vowed never to use magic against their own child, save for absolute emergencies. But Ron was, quite frankly, at the end of his tether, and decided that this counted for such an occasion. Sighing in defeat, he drew his wand from his pyjama sleeve.
Swish, flick, swish
"Silencio!"
The baby blinked bemusedly up at him, and then proceeded to giggle. Loudly. "Sensio, sensio!" He mimicked delightedly.
Ron groaned. He never had got to grips with that particular charm. It wasn't one he often felt the need to use. Silence, he had long since decided, was entirely unnatural. Growing up in such a chaotic, full household, there was usually some racket or another going on, whether it was Fred and George inventing some new creation, or Molly Weasley shouting at them, or the ghoul in the attic banging the pipes ceaslessly, or even Percy entertaining them with his cauldron-bottom reports. Now that would have been a worthy occasion for the silencing charm, Ron thought. He had been working on that report in his fourth year, he remembered, just before the...the incident the following summer. He winced. That was not a pleasant memory. The row between Percy and their parents had not been quiet by anyone's standards, but that had not been the worst part of it. The worst part had been after he'd left, the uneasy quiet that had descended upon the house, the awkard silences as everyone skirted mention of anything to do with Percy by some unwritten rule, for fear of upsetting someone. Harry's angry shouts upon his arrival had been almost welcome...
Swish, flick, swish
"Silencio!"
Harry. For all his temper outbursts, Harry hadn't minded silence, especially at the end of fourth year. After the third task, and all the horrible things had begun. Ron remembered vividly the night Voldemort had returned. That was the night any remaining jealousy he'd had of Harry had died, along with Cedric. Harry had looked like he'd been through hell and back, and that's when he realized, truly realized, that the fame and fortune he had been so jealous of came with a terrible price, and for once, Ron felt terribly glad that he didn't have Harry's life. It had changed him. He didn't want it, not if it meant he had to be tortured by Voldemort, or see people die, or if it made him have that haunted look and sit in silence for weeks afterwards....
Swish, flick, swish
"Silencio!"
"Daddy!"
"For pity's sake, Ron, it's a fifth year charm! You should be ashamed of yourself!"
Then again, some things never changed. Hermione was as verbal as she ever had been, save for the time in second year when she'd been petrified. For all that he had complained in the past about Hermione's nagging, the absence of her talking had disturbed Ron greatly. Though he hadn't admitted it, he had been scared to death that she wouldn't wake up. It had been almost a relief when people were banned from the hospital wing, because he didn't know how many more of those long, silent visits he could stand.
Swish, flick, swish,
"Silencio!"
That was why it had been much easier visiting his dad at St Mungo's, the time he was bitten by that snake. There was no absence of noise there, his mum made sure of that, and Ron could see for himself that his dad would be okay. They say the waiting is the hardest part, and that was certainly true then. It was unbearable, sitting in tense silence for hours, not knowing what was going to happen....
Swish, flick, swish,
"Silencio."
Sirius hadn't liked silence either. He had had to live at Grimmauld Place for a year without being let out, largely on his own, unless you counted that wretched house elf. No wonder he'd been so moody that year, cooped up in the eerie manor, full of silence, like a prisoner. Ron wondered if it had reminded him of Azkaban. Sirius had said that everyone went quiet in there, in the end. Dementors could do that. When dementors invaded the Quidditch pitch in third year, it had all gone so quiet, as if he'd just plunged his head in a pool of icy water...and then Harry, Harry had fainted and fallen off his broom, and Ron and Hermione had been unable to help, sitting in the stands paralyzed with shock and cold and silence, watching him fall, and it had been so awful...
Swish, flick, swish,
"Silencio".
Harry. That was the worst thing. Harry's silence. Ron closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories he'd been trying to forget for ten years. Ten years, but try as he might, he could still remember everything in devastating clarity. He remembered how cold the air felt that night, he remembered the stars sharp and bright in the night sky and the gibbous moon illuminating the battlefield, he remembered seeing his friend lying sprawled on the ground so still, and how an eerie hush swept over everyone as they saw that Harry was - that he wasn't - but Ron had refused to believe it, he had dropped to his knees beside his fallen friend and shook him and called his name and only when Ron listened and heard nothing - nothing - no sounds of breathing, no heartbeat, no movement, had he finally realized that Harry was going to be silent forever, and he had jumped to hsi feet and staggered blindly away, desperate to find something, anything, anything but this awful opressive silence and found himself in the arms of Hermione, and while the rest of the wizarding world were undoubtedly noisily celebrating the final fall of the Dark Lord, they had sat in silent mourning of their friend until sunrise...
Ron put down his wand. Why was he doing this? Why was he even trying? Silence always seemed to come with dark times, with bad memories, surrounded by negativity. Where there was sound, there was life, and where there was life, there was hope. He looked at his son, who had at last fallen asleep, grateful for the sound of his steady breathing.
"Goodnight, Harry."
A/N: Please feel free to drop me a review to give me your honest opinions. Quite frankly, I think it's awful, but hey, you might like it...er...maybe. Unfortunately I don't have any of my Harry Potter books on hand, so I can't check the details, so if I've got anything wrong, please tell me. Thanks for taking the time out to read this.
Blows out the candle
Blessed be,
PK