Ronald Weasley and the Greenish Temper

Chapter.2

Feeling like having dived into a Pensieve filled with his own memory, Ron sat on the floor, still thunderstruck. Those clear images flashed before his eyes as though somebody was poking him with a sharp weapon. It reminded him that Harry was undergoing the same pain, only ten times worse… perhaps even more.

Massaging both his temples with his right thumb and middle finger, Ron staggered to his feet. The fact that his little light-headedness had worsened into a migraine made him less remorseful. At least he was already being punished.

Having decided that he might as well leave Harry alone now, for there's no point arguing with someone who was determined to fight in silence ---It turned out that this had somehow become a cold war--- and maybe, just maybe, Harry would mercifully forgive him in the morning, like he always did.
When it comes to that, Ron couldn't help but feel lucky to have such a good-natured friend. He kept his fingers crossed while praying hard in his mind--- please make this time like all the other times.

As he turned away from the study, Ron couldn't help but keep thinking about how angry Harry looked and how firmly he wanted to push him out of that room.
He had never perceived so much rage in Harry's bright green eyes. Those emerald pupils always presented their owner as brave, clever and lenient, maybe daring sometimes, but never violent or temperamental. That, in fact, had scared the hell out of Ron, but he didn't dare express anything nor did he have time to have done so.

Ron went into the kitchen where the plates still lay unwashed. He waved his wand casually at the wireless, and frowned bitterly as Celestina Warbeck's voice came pouring out, filling the kitchen with a particularly cheerful number. Trained to find a bit of fun in Celestina's songs since about five, Ron rolled up his sleeves, not daring to let out any sigh of tiredness (somehow he believed Harry could hear him), and started cleaning the table.

"You come on a broom, landing on top of my roof.

Oh despite the snow, you open my window.

Tender, tender, touchching my cheeks;

Don't hesitate to kiss, for the chance will be gone if you miss."

"What a terrible song…" sniggered Ron, as he put away the clean dishes.
Securing a chance to kiss sounded like a behavior of a git. The time to kiss was supposed to be spontaneous and mutually agreed rather than some tight train timetable. How could anyone miss the chance to kiss? You kiss, when you feel like it. If the feel comes, you kiss! There's definitely something philosophical in it, thought Ron seriously. As he contemplated the lyrics of Celestina Warbeck's song, a fragment of thought came floating into his half occupied mind.

"You were the one who kissed me that night!"

"Oh kiss, just kiss my faithful lips!" sang Celestina, and broke into chorus with a group of passionate backup singers. Ron bounded up a few inches with shock at this sudden roar of choir, and waved his wand quickly to shut the fervent voices. "Don't reckon I'll need you anymore, thank you very much," mumbled Ron to innocent wireless.

With the room much quieter, he now gravely pondered on something he had consciously avoided thinking. He could almost feel his brain rejecting the very thought. Consequently, some minutes prior to now he had managed to subdue the guilt. However, he also knew that the effort would be in vain. Why did that bloody song must contain that effin' line!

Ron closed his eyes and let the relentless memory take over his mind once more like so many times over the fortnight.
He felt his chest burn, his heart racing fast, and eyes dreamy. But he knew it was deceiving him, even the hotness sprawled all over his body.
He could not have felt this way, and that was so, so indecent.

There was one thing he was sure of...he was lying to himself all the same.

Harry was, after all, provoked because he mentioned him moving out.
That alone could have sounded jesting, had he not made some very true and sincere promises to Harry.
That alone would even have become a convincing prophecy had Ron not tugged Harry's shirt that evening, and pulled him into a kiss.

That was a kiss he had never experienced in his entire life.

Ron felt his lips, and started recalling once more.

TBC.

Ha, second part!
Sorry it's not a very meaningful chapter, but it's used as a 'bridge'...if you want to keep reading.
I'm challenging my imagination!
Please R&R!