A Rose Petal Fallen

If Only...-Chapter 2

Ronald Weasley

I awake to darkness. Not that this is unusual, as--that is--what I awake to every morning: darkness. All of my light has diminished long ago, taking me along with it. Now I am just an empty soul left to live a life I might have had. The life I could have had. If only things were different...

My life is far from how I dreamt it would be, missing the two most critical things: my two best friends. And the funny thing is, that it is my entire fault that they are lost to me.

Now, when I say funny, I really mean ironic in a life-devastating sort of way. I never thought that I would end up screwing up so many lives, including my own. I always thought Voldemort would be the sole cause of my problems, but I suppose it is because of him that I lost it all. He was the underlying factor to my loss, though I repeat that I truly am the one to blame. To this day I do not know what I could have done differently, but there had to have been something.

I slowly drag myself out of bed, unaware of the time. My whole decrepit apartment seems oddly blurry and out of focus. Finally, once I push myself up into a standing position, I check the clock.

"I'm late," I mutter, my voice echoing around my empty room, making it obvious just how alone I really am.

My eyes widen slightly as my brain takes in that I should have been at my Auror training twenty minutes ago. I mutter a few curse words and begin to frantically get dressed.

After a few minutes I finish and rush towards my fireplace with some Floo Powder in one hand and toast in the other. After much spinning and turning, I find myself in the Ministry of Magic. I quickly step from the emerald green flames, trying not to think who the color green reminds me of. A myriad of mixed emotions come spilling towards me, reminding me just how lost I really am. A sole tear falls from my eye, but I force the memories to the back of my brain while I run down the hall towards my destination. I quickly wipe my tear from my face, turn left and dart down another passage. I arrive to my classroom door after a few minutes, but wait a second until I stop panting, and attempt to wipe the sweat from my face.

I inwardly groan trying to prepare myself for Mr. Moterburg's wrath. He is a teacher so strict that he almost makes Snape look friendly...almost. He is a man of a considerable height, at least two heads taller than myself. He is completely bald, except for his great black walrus mustache. His broad build makes him seem to have strength almost equal to Hagrids. He has this aura of power about him, which makes me feel small and insignificant. I have heard many of his students refer to him as looking like he was a member in the Mafia, although I never knew what the "Mafia" was. Nevertheless, he is not someone you want to trifle with. But of course, I am his least favorite pupil.

Slowly, with mounting trepidation I open the door hoping Mr. Moterburg does not yell at me for being late...again. I walk into the classroom aware that every trainee's eyes are upon me. Trying to appear nonchalant, I make my way towards my seat. The whole room is silent apart from my shoes scuffing the ground. I can sense rather than hear Mr. Moterburg making his way towards me, ready to attack.

"WEASLEY!" Mr. Moterburg's voice pounds through the room and despite myself, my feet leave the ground out of shock. I can feel his hot breath on my neck and know nothing pleasant could be coming.

"MR. WEASLEY!" he shouts again, almost blowing out my eardrums.

"Yes sir?" I ask as politely as I can muster, which in all truth is probably not very politely at all. Mr. Moterburg has treated me like a scumbag since the second he met me, and in turn, I am never very pleasant to him. Perhaps having him think of me as a scumbag would not bother me as much, if I did not know that I am indeed a scumbag in many ways. I am always trying to hide from my past, but it always seems to catch up with me. This is just one of many perks of my wonderful life.

"Why are you late?" Mr. Moterburg asks, his breath smelling strongly of fire whiskey. His eyes flash dangerously, and out of cowardice I avert my eyes to the floor. I immediately feel ashamed to have done so, but keep my gaze downwards. Perhaps the courageous me from my past would not have met a conflict with averted eyes, but confronted it face on. But the present me has forgotten my past heroism amongst so many other things. I am so different from my past self that sometimes I wonder if the past Ron Weasley really existed at all. I believe he only lived amongst his friends, and he is someone else I lost long ago.

"I, uh--overslept, Sir," I respond, sounding a bit less respectful than I had planned. As much as I hate Mr. Moterburg, and love to irk him, I really am in no mood for a quarrel.

"You over slept, did you? What, are you too dense to even read a clock anymore, Weasel?" he growls, bits of his spit flying towards me.

I return my gaze to his and glare back at him, perhaps some past courage returning to me. The term "Weasel" echoes through my brain arousing more than one bad memory. I have taken enough of his snide remarks over the past two years; it is time to defend myself.

"No sir, I just wanted to delay seeing your ugly face as long as I could," I reply with sarcasm coursing through my voice. I savor the comment letting it slip from the tip of my tongue and out into the open air that has gone suddenly silent. There is a sharp intake of breath throughout the room, and I know immediately that I have gone too far. But I suddenly find that I do not care very much.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" Mr. Moterburg yells, so loudly that I am sure that the entire ministry can hear him.

I am overcome with certain recklessness, as so many years of animosity pulse through me. I am angry with so many people, but no one more than myself. It feels oddly satisfying to relinquish some of my anger onto another.

"What? Did you not hear what I said? Does all of your hair prohibit you from hearing? Oh wait, I forgot; you're bald!" I chuckle victoriously to myself knowing that Mr. Moterburg has always been self-conscious about his hair or lack thereof.

However, shortly after my comment escapes my lips, I find myself slammed up against the wall, the bulk of Mr. Moterburg threatening to suffocate me. I let out a small cry of pain and feel some warm blood trickle down my face. The whole room sways around me and I feel lightheaded and dizzy. I wonder briefly if the Ministry knows how abusive Mr. Moterburg could be. Perhaps this is why Moody always was so insane.

"WEASEL! You will pay for what you just said," he proclaims in a soft voice, his breath constrained from his fury. "I think it is time you left us...permanently. I am afraid I am forced to expel you."

At this point I have had enough. My enthusiasm for becoming an Auror has been obliterated long ago and I have merely stayed, as I have no idea what else I could do. And now, my fury of many years is still boiling inside me and I want nothing more than to leave this place of suppressed dreams.

"Fine!" I spit at him, miraculously pushing him out of my way and pulling out my wand. "It's not like I want to be in this hell hole anyway."

I am still slightly dizzy but manage to steady myself long enough to run to the door and pull it open. Despite my pain, I smirk slightly seeing the incessant anger in Mr. Moterburg's face and wave him a quick goodbye.

"I'm sure I won't be missing you," I yell and walk out of the classroom slamming the door behind me. I run away from the classroom as fast as I can, yelling out in frustration. I sprint all of the way to the main foyer, until I realize I have no idea where I plan to go, or what I plan to do. Hostility still pulsing through my veins, I quickly Apparate out with no place in mind for a destination.

I find myself in a small alley of what I hope was still England. I quickly walk out onto the main street and make my way towards a nearby park. I plop myself down onto a nearby bench and fall into silence. My body is still shaking slightly from the recent events and my head throbs horribly. The hostility in me has finally subsided and is replaced by doubt. As much as I abhorred Auror training, it was the one solid thing left in my life. I have thoroughly messed everything up over the last five years, and this is just the icing on the cake. Perhaps Fred and George would let me work in their shop like I had for the three years before I started Auror training. Or perhaps I will be lucky enough to just disappear and leave my life forever.

I sit in silence as the world before me begins to blur, my eyes filling with tears. In what seems like another life, back at my years at Hogwarts, I never cried. But in the past five years it seems to be all that I do. Sometimes I cry over Harry's death or the degradation of everything around me, but most of all I cry over my loss of Hermione. At times like this I look at one of the things I have left of the both of them: a picture of the day we graduated.

The three of us are standing together, great smiles on all of our faces. Harry stands towards the left. His untidy ink black hair falls in his face, covering his emerald green eyes. His legendary lightning bolt scar flicks in and out of sight, partially covered by his hair. Then, Hermione stands in the middle, her Head Girl badge contrasting with her black robes. Her hair flows in sheets of brown velvet, brown eyes shining with vivacity. Her skin itself glows, extruding happiness like none other. Her white teeth peak out from her beauteous pink lips, her smile extending across her whole face. And then there is me. When I look at myself in this picture I see how much I have changed in the past five years. I looked so alive and joyous with a genuine smile on my face. I stand tall and proud ready to face the world head on. My arm is wrapped around Hermione's shoulder, and her face rests gently upon it. I would give anything to go back to that place and time. Anything to just see Hermione one last time.

It seems unreal to think that five days after that picture was taken, was the day I met with Lord Voldemort. Perhaps "met" is not completely the right word for the incident but I cannot think of what else to call our little "meeting." But I try to stop myself from thinking about it. I can not allow myself to think about. Some things are best left forgotten. If only I could forget.

As much as I try to force myself not to think about the incident, somehow my brain always lands upon scenes of that horrid day. As I sit upon the small bench in the park, I begin to relive exactly what happened, after my meeting with Voldemort.

At the time I was Harry's Secret-Keeper and knew the consequences of what I had just done: condemned Harry to death. I was in such a state of fear, pain, confusion and disbelief that I remember little of that time. I just remember knowing that I had to tell Dumbledore...

In a dazed stupor, I managed to find my way to Dumbledore, who happened to be in his office at Hogwarts (which was empty as it was summer.) I traipsed up the spiral staircase, my mind racing yet oddly numb. I was clearly in a state of shock, yet I knew if I could just get to Dumbledore, everything would be fine. Dumbledore could fix anything, or so I thought. I arrived to his door and opened it unceremoniously. I found Dumbledore; his back turned to me, staring blankly out of the window.

Through strained tears I whispered, "Dumbledore, I just--, I just--"

"I know, Ron, I know," Dumbledore replied, his back still towards me, eyes still staring at something unseen.

"You know?" I gasped, uncomprehending. "But how?"

There was a long silence in which Dumbledore appeared to be thinking. Finally after some time he answered, "I am a very powerful wizard Ron...I have my ways." He left it at that, intending to remain ambiguous.

Again, another silence filled the room in which I tried to articulate what I needed to say. I opened my mouth several times but closed it unable to explain. For a brief second I thought Dumbledore might attack me, and felt a sudden need to explain everything. "I--"

"You made a choice, Ron," Dumbledore replied, interrupting me. "You were faced with a choice and you were forced to make a decision. Whether or not that choice was right, I cannot say," he trailed off for a few seconds but continued. "I would not have done what you did but perhaps that would have been foolish of me. I would have tried to resist, but alas, it may not have done anything. I fear that in the end it will not matter much."

The walls seemed to be closing in upon me, as I stood lost and deserted in my own corner of the room. "But--can't you...do something?" I whispered, which seemed to reverberate around the room uncannily.

Dumbledore finally turned around to face me; his blue eyes seemed to penetrate into my skull. But for the first time, I noticed just how weary he looked. That magical twinkle that was always present in his eye was gone and was replaced by an icy cold. Deep lines of age were etched into his face; his skin hanging limply as it never had before.

"I cannot reverse what you have just done, Ron, no. But I will do my best to thwart him for as long as I can," he said in a voice that clearly portrayed his doubts.

I shrank back from his gaze, feeling even worse than I had previously. He must have thought that I was a detestable person and loathed me deeply for what I had done. Actually, that was exactly what I thought of myself at the moment.

"I understand, Ron," Dumbledore stated simply, as if he had just been reading my mind. "Voldemort has tricked wizards with far more knowledge than yourself. When he wants something he will undoubtedly receive it."

I stood silently, my mind still not fully comprehending the situation. I came here thinking that Dumbledore could make everything better, and now that I had found that he could not, I felt as if the ground had been taken from under my feet. I was left floating and unsupported with nowhere left to go but downwards. But even then I had never imagined just how far I would fall.

Dumbledore continued with a slightly apoplectic look, "I just thought that, well...that Harry meant more to you."

My heart shrank as tears threatened to obscure my vision. Everything seemed so much more real now that Dumbledore had voiced the repercussions to my decision. Harry meant more to me than Dumbledore ever could have imagined. I would have easily died for him, as Voldemort had been well aware of. When I became Harry's Secret-Keeper I had readied myself to loose anything for him...almost anything.

"Dumbledore, I just had to, he--" I stopped, choking on my words. I was unable to articulate the wide array of emotions, which were currently residing in me. I just stood blankly, shaking my head in numb disbelief.

"Yes, I know Ron and I am sorry. I did not mean for that to sound so hurtful." He looked at me sadly in the eyes. "It's just--I grew to love Harry as a son and now...well, I always thought that Harry would outlive me. But perhaps he will..."

He broke off into another silence and I remained, not quite comprehending of what he was saying. My misery slowly seeped towards me clouding my view of reality. Everything seemed unreal, as if I was dreaming and if only I could pinch myself hard enough then I would wake up to find that this horrid day had yet to be lived.

"I have a certain business to attend to, Ron. Do not tell anyone what you have done; it is not necessary information that will only worry the others. What's done is done, and if I know Voldemort revealing your meeting could lead to something dangerous. Oh, and please tell Harry goodbye for me," he muttered, and walked across the room, swiftly disappearing through the door. His dark blue robes flickered out of sight and he was gone.

I have no idea how I found myself back to the hideout in the state that I was in. Half of me willed myself to return to Harry and Hermione, so that I could enjoy my remaining time with the two of them. However, the other half of me wanted to prolong the dreaded moment until I had to face reality and see Harry face to face. Eventually, I staggered through the doorway of our hideout, trying my best to conceal my emotions. The second I walked through the door I came face to face with Hermione who looked a bit perturbed.

"Ron, where have you been? We've been so worried. I thought maybe you--" stopped looking pleased to see me but still a bit frustrated.

I averted my gaze, not daring to look her in the eyes. I was feeling something of relief and pain and felt as if my emotions were about to surface. I mumbled something not cohesive and was spared making up an excuse for my absence by the entrance of Harry.

I dared not look up at Harry, and turned away to leave. I was halfway to the door, when I heard Hermione's comment that made me stop in my tracks.

"Harry, what's wrong?" she asked with a sudden fear in her voice.

I whipped around, unsure of the sight that would meet my eyes. For a few seconds the horror of the recent day dispersed as I surveyed my friend. Harry was holding a piece of parchment, which I assumed was a letter. He was shaking his head as if in disbelief, and silent tears were falling from his eyes.

"It's--it's from you dad, Ron," he said in a voice only slightly louder than a whisper. "It's about Dumbledore. He's dead".

For a few seconds I stood in dumb shock, my mind seemingly incapable to process anymore information at the time. Then, as my brain kicked back into gear I realized what Harry had just said.

"WHAT?" I yelled. "That can't be, I was just with him, he just told me--" Then I realized what Dumbledore had been telling me. His last attempt to fix what I had done was to kill Voldemort himself. That was the business that he had to attend to, and that was why he had asked me to tell Harry good bye. A tear fell from my eye as I realized that Dumbledore had died to save Harry, and I was the inadvertent cause of his death. Dumbledore had been my last hope to save Harry, and now I knew the situation was completely hopeless. I turned towards Hermione, who was now reading the letter. I did not dare look at Harry.

"It says here that Mr. Weasley thinks Dumbledore attacked Voldemort," Hermione said attempting to steady her voice. "But that doesn't make any sense, Dumbledore knows that the prophecy said that you were the only one who could kill him, Harry. Why would Dumbledore go picking a fight with someone that he has no chance of winning?" She gazed at Harry and me, a perplexed look upon her face. Harry gave a half-hearted shrug, and I remained silent.

Though I knew the answer to her question...

The next few days passed in a blur of pain and confusion. I had no idea when Voldemort planned to attack, and every second of my day was spent worrying about his arrival. I tried to cherish every moment I had with Harry, although it was hard for me to act normally around him and even try to enjoy myself. I loathed myself for what I had done and part of me just wanted everything to end. However, when the long dreaded moment came, I would have given anything to delay it just seconds longer.

Hermione happened to be out at Diagon Alley at the time of his arrival. All I remember is hearing the cold and merciless laugh of the Dark Lord and a muffled yelling that sounded like Harry. I dashed into the room farthest towards the back of the house, and the scene that I had been dreading, for what seemed like an eternity played before my eyes.

Voldemort stood before me, his wand pointed at Harry. It took everything I had to control myself. Inside, my mind was screaming and I was numb with pain. Not physical pain, but mental agony. Voldemort's pierce voice filled my ears as I willed myself to keep my composure.

"This will be your end, Potter. Finally, after all of this time, I will kill you. And do you want to know how I found you here? You should thank your dear, best friend, Ronald Weasley, for that, Potter. It was very kind of him to reveal that certain information to me."

For a fraction of a second Harry just stood uncomprehending, staring blankly at Voldemort. Then, after he realized that Voldemort spoke the truth, he turned to face me giving me a look showing so much contempt and hostility that it made me shiver. I could not avert my eyes from Harry, knowing it would be the last time I saw my best friend alive. It broke my heart to see so much pain and hatred in my best friend's eyes. I could plainly see his doubt and it killed me that he would never know the truth. I knew that he would die thinking that I was a traitor. Well, I suppose I am a traitor...

Of course I knew Voldemort would be coming prior to the incident. I had tried to prepare myself and compose myself. But I could have never prepared myself for the look of unbelieving confusion upon Harry's face before he died. He had this expression of utter hopelessness and hatred upon his face. We both knew that he would no longer be the boy who lived.

And then it happened. Voldemort performed the final Killing Curse that proved to be the ending to both hero and villain. I'm not sure how it happened, or why it happened, but I knew that finally the inevitable had happened. I was knocked off my feet from the final blow and lay on the floor for a few seconds. I knew that my best friend was dead, but as long as I stayed where I was I might be able to convince myself that he had survived, that despite my betrayal, he lived. For a few glorious seconds I made myself believe that my best friend was still alive.

But he wasn't. As I slowly rose to my feet again I saw his empty body lying on the wooden floor of our hideout. His blank green eyes seemed to be staring up at me, boring a hole into my skull. I shook my head in disbelief not wanting to believe what I had caused. Everything was just too horrible, and I remained uncomprehending. My sorrow was beyond tears and so deep that it threatened to consume me and everything around myself. My vision begun to sway and everything was darkening. That was when I noticed Hermione. I had been so enthralled with the horrendous events before me that I had not even been conscious of her arrival. But now, her presence meant that she knew what I had done. I had been hoping to keep that certain fact from her, until I could sufficiently explain myself. I could not lose her as well.

But I did.

I placed my hand on her shoulder just to feel her touch once more. Touching her was bliss that I have never found again. In that one moment all my pain was washed away from me. I felt that I could deal with Harry's death if only I had Hermione. But I ended up losing her, too. The second my hand touched her, she whipped around her face mimicking that of Harry': one of complete hatred and confusion.

"You bastard. How could you? You killed Harry! You betrayed him...I thought you were his best friend! Look what you did! He is dead because of you!" Hermione shouted at me. She had pulled out her wand and was pointing it towards me, as if she was scared I would attack her as well.

My mind went completely blank. She was completely right. Harry was dead because of me. I had done everything she said I had and the reality of it all was slowly eating me from the inside. I looked up at her, feeling nothing but sorrow and grief. I needed to make her understand.

"Hermione! Wait--I had to...It's not like you think. It--"

"IT'S NOT LIKE I THINK IT IS?" she bellowed at me. Her entire body was shaking and her face portrayed just how much she hated me. Tears streamed down her pale skin as anger rose inside her. "I know exactly how it is, Ron. And it all makes sense, too! Voldemort could never have come here had you not told him where it was! I hate you, Ron. I can't believe--"

She had stopped and I knew it was my chance to tell her the truth. Yet her last statement echoed through my head causing me even more anguish. She hated me. I took a step nearer to her and as I did so, Hermione seemed to regain her voice.

"Get away from me, Ron! You...you..."

I never knew what I was because Hermione broke off and ran away from me. She broke off from the entire magical community, performing complex spells to keep herself hidden forever. Despite my constant and obsessive attempts to find her. That was the last time I saw Hermione Granger...

Gradually, I am brought back to reality, and my tears begin to subside. I just wish that I could tell her how much I love her. How much I have always loved her. I have just been too afraid to tell her of my real feelings. Now she will never know. I may have done some appalling things in the past but all I wanted to do was keep Hermione safe. I did not want to loose both of my best friends. But on that day, we all lost each other. Not only did I lose my two best friends, I lost myself.

I check my watch and realize that I have been sitting on this bench for quite some time. It is about midday and the sun is beginning to shine and heat the world around it. Begrudgingly, I stand up and slowly make my way back to the still busy street. My forehead has finally stopped bleeding. The remaining blood is dry, the same color as my hair. I make my way through the park, eyes on the ground focusing on nothing in particular. I stroll along thinking deeply. If only I could see her just one more time, if I could tell her the whole story. If only I could tell her that I loved her...