You Rival the Rose

YOU RIVAL THE ROSE

It was a Friday. The sun tried to be cheerful over the hills of gray. Darkness circled and thickened the day. The sun, a snow-blown sight, sank into the snowdrifts, as night entered the land. The ghostly fingers of snow grabbed at the walls of the castle. The snow and wind outside pounded on the castle windows and doors. The bitter wind unheeded blew, blew, and blew. Blow high, blow low was the snow. The whirl and the swirl of the snow made wondrous shapes of domes and towers. The wind blew east and roared and roared. It was a hard, bitter cold in the icy air of night that even Hagrid's thickest robe couldn't keep out the cold, cold, cold. The light sifted snowflakes fell, fell, and fell.

In the Gryffindor common room, the fire roared up the chimney's throat. The red logs sputtered. The fitful firelight paled and shone. The warm fireplace blazed free. After dinner in The Great Hall, Ron and Hermione walked to the Gryffindor common room. They both decided to go to their dorm rooms and change into their jammies, night robes and slippers. After they changed, they met in the common room and then they went to the over stuffed couch and snuggled close to each other, enjoying the warmth of the blaze in the fireplace.

Before she went to change, Hermione had placed a large mug of apple cider near the fire to heat up so that she and Ron could share the sweet taste of the hot cider later in the evening. After a bit of snuggling, Hermione decided that she had better test the cider for its readiness. She approached the mug and with a spoon in hand began to stir it. She stirred it counterclockwise and then she added a clockwise stir after every seventh counterclockwise stir. She began to hum as the cider slowly simmered. Then she began to recite a rhyme.

"Under a tree, when fire outdoors burns merrily,

There the witches are making tea."

"Or in our case apple cider," as she turned and winked at Ron. She had determined that the cider was not just right yet. She then stretched her hands toward the fire enjoying the warmth. She returned to the couch and nestled next to Ron. He wanted to know where she learned the rhyme. She told him that she had read it from a gray wizard's conjuring book. He kissed her on her forehead and said, "You and your books."

As they gazed into the fire, Hermione began to call up her girlhood memories. She told Ron that as a little girl, she loved to lay her head on her mother's lap and her mother would gently stroke her hair with her hand. She told him how safe, secure, and warm it made her feel. Ron gently lifted her head and by doing so looked into her large, sweet, beautiful eyes. He asked her if she would like to lay her head on his lap. She smiled and told him she would like that very much. So she lay her head on his lap.

As he began to stroke her hair with his hand, virgin fancies of a girl's heart began to dance in her head. Her mind began to rest from all of her thoughts of schoolwork and things, even her daily planner. She found her peace in Ron's love for her and his unselfishness in wanting to make her happy. She began to hear a voice in her head telling her she was the luckiest girl ever. Ron kept stroking her hair. Her mind was adrift along the winding paths of her memories. Ron looked down at her as he stroked and stroked her soft hair. He thought to himself that he was the luckiest wizard alive to have such a lovely lady as his Hermione. After a while, someone in the corner of the common room began to play a violin. The sound of the violin playing its slow melody brought her back from her dreams. She could still feel Ron's warm hand stroking her hair. She slowly lifted her head and gave him a dreamy smile. She gave him a light kiss on his nose and then told him in a soft voice that she should check the mug of cider.

She got up and went to the mug. When she touched the cider with her finger, she decided it was ready. She brought it back for she and Ron to share. They each took turns in sipping it. The warm sweet liquid flowed wonderfully through their bodies. It made them feel flush, but wonderful nonetheless. When they had finished the cider, Hermione set the mug aside. She again laid her head on his lap. He again stroked her hair with a slow-pace. She smiled. In her mind she once more went down the winding paths of her memories and thinking of the days that are no more. As she treaded the pleasant paths of her childhood, she had another reminiscence

She began to tell him of another memory. As a little girl, she loved to pick flowers from her mother's flower garden. She would fashion them into a bouquet and give them to her mother. Her mother would give Hermione a hug and tell her how beautiful the flowers were and how sweet Hermione was for giving them to her. They would go into the house, get a vase, pour water into it, and then place the bouquet into it. They would often use them as the centerpiece on the table when she, her mother, and her father would have dinner. Sometimes her father would bring flowers home after work and present them to her mother. Then he would see the bouquet of flowers on the table and give a pout to her mother. They would laugh and laugh. Many times he would give Hermione flowers too. Hermione told Ron that she especially loved to pick the brier-roses that blushed and bloomed with their beauty and their air of sweetness. A thought came to Ron's mind. He wanted to say something, but he held the thought in his head.

After some time passed, Hermione turned her head up toward Ron and asked him if he would whisper sweet nothings into her ear. Ron smiled at her. He told her that he would love too. I love your tenderness he told her. He said that her hair was fine-spun and delicate. Hermione coughed a little and then smiled. She moved her head slightly and then listened again. He said that she was pretty in great measure, precious, unsurpassed. Her loveliness knew no bounds. She was strikingly foremost, unrivaled, beyond comparison. Hermione snickered a bit, but she loved what he was saying to her. She didn't know where he was getting these expressions from, but she loved them nonetheless. He told her she was matchless, without parallel. She was elegance at its height and constant as the northern star. She was sensuous and rapturous. Mouth watering, and a feast for the eyes. She was adorable and tantalizing. She was enchanting.

She slowly sat up and gave him a smile. He smiled back. She wanted to know where he found all of these descriptions. He gave her a slight snog on her cheek and told her that he had been reading a lot of poetry lately and that these various descriptions came to his mind. She slowly shook her head and told him he was too much. She then gave him a broad grin and asked him to say more. She laid her head on his lap again. He again stroked her hair. He began to tell her that she was the sunshine of his mind, the bright side of the picture. He continued to tell her that she warmed his blood and exhilarated and enlivened him. Hermione thought to herself that maybe the blood warming came from the hot apple cider, but she said nothing because she was totally enjoying herself. Ron then looked at the fire in the fireplace and added that she stirred the embers of his heart.

As Ron continued saying his sweet nothings to her, the warmth of his hand stroking her hair, the dreaminess of their cozy situation slowly lulled her to sleep. Ron stopped the sweet nothings to listen. He heard a slight purr from her and realized she was indeed sleeping. He was kind of happy because he was starting to have troubles coming up with sweet nothings to twinkle her ear. He kept stroking her hair. He lowered his head and gently kissed her once more on her cheek. She moved her head slightly. As the time passed, Ron's eyelids became heavy. He laid his head back and he too fell asleep.

He began to dream. His thoughts took him back to summer. He could feel the softness of summer, the gurgling sounds of the streams. He saw himself lying in a field of grass, the blades swaying from a soft gentle breeze. He was then looking up into a brilliant blue sky with the clouds gently floating by. At this moment, Hermione, began to stir. Her movement woke him from his sleep. He lifted his head and looked down at Hermione. He began stroking her hair again. This continued stroking of her hair also woke her up. She slowly rose from his lap and then yawned. She smiled at him and he smiled back at her.

He placed his fingers under her chin and told her that although he didn't want this night to end, he knew that when morning arrived the sun would not be their friend. He told her he wanted to say one more sweet nothing before they would retire to their dorm rooms and beds. He told her that as they grew closer over the years that he was certain that someone had put a gorgeous charm on her. She gave a slight giggle. He then told her that after he really got to know her that a gorgeous charm was not necessary, that she was already naturally gorgeous. She turned pink, but she loved what he told her. With this final sweet nothing expressed, they hugged and kissed and couldn't wait to see each other the next day.

Saturday morning came early. He still felt good about the night before. It was a wonderful way to spend a Friday night. He got up from his bed and then got dressed for breakfast. He put much effort in not missing any meals. If he would apply this attitude to his studies, he would far exceed Hermione in grades. He left his dorm room and went out to the common room. To his disappointment, he did not see Hermione. A girl came out from the girl's dorm so he asked her if Hermione was up? The girl went back in and checked. She came out again and told him that she was still sleeping. Ron decided to go to breakfast any way. While he was eating, a plan had formulated in his mind. The thought he held back from her the night before, came back to him. The plan involved Hermione's childhood memory of picking roses. He quickly ate and then left The Great Hall. He wrapped his robe round himself and stepped outside of the castle into the brisk, cold wintry day. Visions of the warm fire in the fireplace came to his mind very quickly. However, with determination he went forward, braving the cold wind and snow whipping at his face. He plodded along into the crusty deep snow; each step took great effort. He made his way to the snow covered vegetable patch and finally arrived at his destination, the green house with magical plants.

He entered the green house. The warm air felt very good. He began to shout for Professor Sprout, hoping she would be there. After some loud inquiries, he heard a response. Professor Sprout came around the corner and to her surprise saw Ron standing there with a bit of a shiver. She asked him what on earth he was doing outside on such a cold day. He told her he was on a mission of love. She raised her eyebrow and told him that no doubt this mission of love had something to do with Miss. Granger. Ron told her that her what she said was making him blush. She told him that boys don't blush. Ron told her that when a girl as pretty as Hermione came about any guy would blush. Professor Sprout let out a laugh and then nodded in agreement. She then asked him what part she would have to play in this mission of love. It was then that Ron told her about Hermione and roses. He wanted to know if there were any about. She told him that there were indeed roses about in the green house.

She took him into another room in the green house. They both stepped in, and to his delight there were many, many roses of various colors. She brought him to inspect them, to see which one he would choose. He loved the yellow ones, and the blue ones were incredibly beautiful. However, he set his heart on a red rose. He told Professor Sprout that the reds ones were the ones he wanted to choose from. To her surprise he only wanted one. Professor Sprout took him to one in particular and told him that this rose was the prettiest and best of the lot. She reached for it and said out loud, "I pluck the rose and love it more than tongue can speak." Ron said that maybe he should select another. She shook her head no. She told him that Hermione was her pet. She was her finest student and that nothing but the best should be given to her. Professor Sprout then pondered and said that she wished more of her students would study like Hermione. With that she winked at Ron. She cut the rose and then placed it in a protective wrap and gave it to him. He took it and put it inside his robe. He thanked Professor Sprout and left.

He arrived at the castle cold and exhausted, but happy that his mission of love had been successful. He went to the Gryffindor common room and with delight he found that Hermione was still sleeping. He took some parchment and a quill and wrote a note to Hermione. He waited for a girl to come. Ginny came into the common room. Ron convinced himself that his sister was indeed a girl. He asked her if she would place the rose and note on Hermione's nightstand. She looked at him like he was up to no good. Living with Fred and George made her very cautious. She finally agreed to do his bidding.

Ginny went in to the girl's dorm and placed the rose and note on Hermione's nightstand. She then left. After some time passed, Hermione, awoke from her blissful sleep still smiling about the sweet dreams of the night before dancing in her head. She sat up in bed, stretched, wiped the sleep from her eyes and then turned toward her nightstand. She was going to reach for her daily planner, which is how she normally started her day, which was now approaching noon. As she was reaching, she noticed the rose and note on her nightstand. She took the rose and smelled it. The delightful aroma instantly brought her back to her childhood. She then laid it down and took the note. A smile came to her face as she read the note. The written words were so beautiful.

Dear Hermione:

Last night was so very wonderful. Thank you for sharing your childhood memories with me. By your sharing those memories I learn more and more about you. This is very important to me. Your memory of the roses touched me deeply and that is why I had one placed before you on your nightstand. Professor Sprout told me this one is the best and prettiest of them all. However, I want to tell you that,

"YOU RIVAL THE ROSE".

Love Ron.

The rhyme that Hermione quoted is from John Greenleaf Whittier's poem "Barbara Frietchie."

Dedicated to, Emma Watson, who truly does, Rival the Rose.