My Story: The Ronald Weasley Story

My Story-The Ronald Weasley Story

My name is Ronald Arthur Weasley. I sit here in my bedroom in this quiet little house on this Muggle computer, prepared to tell my life story. My beautiful wife, Hermione, lays in the bed behind me, her rhythmic snores keeping the peacefulness in this house. Many people see me as a goof, a slacker, no one to take seriously. Oh, yes, I am, and I admit it. But Hermione has brought out the writer in me. She brought out a lot in me that no one recognizes. Even today, I am changing for the better.

I shall begin in the beginning, for there is no better place to start.

I was born to Arthur and Molly Weasley, my beloved mother and father. I love them a lot. Of course, don't all children? You can't hate your parents without hating yourself. I was the sixth child of seven. My brother Charlie was a terrific Quidditch player and grew up to work with dragons in Romania. Bill was the brightest one and went to work with the wizards' bank in Egypt. Percy became Minister of Magic, but more on him later. Fred and George opened a chain of magical joke shops, although later, Fred died. I shall speak of that later. Ginny married my worst enemy, Draco Malfoy, and became a fashion designer. I, however, married my best friend, (although it took awhile; but once again, I'm getting ahead of myself) and helped Harry Potter defeat the Dark Lord upon several occasions. Yeah, that's right. Helped. I wasn't that much of a major role.

On to Harry Potter. I met him in the train station on my way to Hogwarts. Mum had to explain to him how to get through the barrier. What can I say about that train ride? I met Harry Potter, and we became best friends. Oh, there is one other thing about that ride that I can mention. Hermione.

I met her for the first time that day. I have to admit, it wasn't love at first sight. To put it quite plainly, she thought I was an unintelligent prat and I thought she was an insufferable know-it-all. Things haven't changed much in forty-one years. Yes, I am fifty-one now. I am still as handsome as I was a nineteen. Or perhaps I am confusing my dreams with reality again. I must stop doing that. I also have to stop drifting off the subject.

My Hermione. Let me describe her, although no description in print could do her justice. She has frizzy brown hair that smells like strawberries at all times. She has almond shaped hazel eyes that kind of crinkle at the sides when she smiles. When she smiles really wide, you can see a dimple just to the right of her chin. She is about an inch shorter than me and when we're side by side her head fits perfectly into the space between my shoulder and neck. She has creamy white skin, but during the summer she gets slightly tanned. She is perfect in every way. She is my goddess, my beauty, my 'Mione.

She's always bugging me to be like the men in her Muggle soap operas. If only she were reading this now!