Rain

9. SCREAM

I scream your name
To the rain fallin' down on me
And I break the silence inside me

(Mindy McCready, Scream)

"Aren't you pretty?" I asked my wife as she slipped into the kitchen the next morning. There I was, sitting in my pajamas, harboring one of the worse hangovers known to man, and chugging down some disgusting tea that was supposed to make me feel better when she came in looking as perfect and amazing as a sunset on Mercury. (Heard it's really nice there in the winter.) She was wearing a navy blue dress that stopped at her ankles, revealing heels that looked nearly impossible to walk in. But gosh, was she beautiful!

Hermione blushed to the roots of her hair, but I suspected the reaction came out of surprise. Can't fathom why, though; I've paid her compliments before. "Thanks," she said.

"No, I'm lying," I told her. I waited for her face to fall before adding, "You look beautiful. Amazing. Wonderful." I sighed. "And I look just bloody awful, don't I?"

She gave me a small smile. "You've looked better." At least she was honest. "Ron, here." She handed me a small card. "His name is Dr. Adam Scythe. He's a muggle. He's really wonderful. I think you should see him."

"What for?"

"To talk."

That's when I glanced down at the card she had just handed me. "A psychiatrist?" I crumbled up the card and chucked it unto the table. "There's nothing wrong with me."

"No, there's not," she agreed in a very formal matter. If I didn't know better, I would think that I was suddenly her patient. "I just think that you wouldn't have hangovers like this if you talked to Dr. Scythe."

"He's invented some sort of anti-hangover potion?" I kidded.

She pressed her lips into a very thin line, as she was inclined to do when attempting to solve a difficult problem. "No."

"Then he can't help me." I rose to my feet in an effort to make a hasty retreat, but I was forced to sink back into my chair when an onslaught of pain shot through my body. I groaned and buried my head into my hands.

An instant later, Hermione was at my side, running kind hands through my hair and mumbling comforting tones. "Ron . . . just . . . for me? Please."

I scoffed. "I don't want to see Dr. Scythe." This time, in spite of the headache that pounded through my head, I made my way to our bedroom and loudly shut the door behind me.

Unfortunately, the small fact that Hermione Weasley was also a resident of the flat had escaped my mind. A moment later, she came rushing in after me, practically throwing the tea at me. "Finish it," she ordered narrowly.

"It tastes horrible," I protested.

"So is your behavior!" was her reply. "Now drink. You have a wedding to attend in a few hours."

"Do you reckon Harry and Gin would mind if I skipped?" I mumbled drowsily as I swallowed the remainder of the tea. I made a face filled with repulse and indignation.

Hermione frowned. "Yes, I think they would."

"But they'll forgive me," I decided, setting the glass on the floor and dropping into bed.

"You're impossible!"

"Yes, I am," I agreed. "No wonder you're leaving me."

She blinked at me in confusion. "What do you mean?"

I glanced up at her, knowing that I had caught her off guard. "The job in Transylvania. You're taking it, aren't you?"

She was still baffled. "I'm still considering . . ."

"Bloody rubbish," said I. "You're taking it. You had already decided before you told me."

"Ron, I--"

"--like vampires." I forced a chuckle. "I understand."

"Ron, I'm not completely sure what you understand. This job is something I've been waiting for my entire life. I've worked for it. I've earned it. I think I deserve to have it."

"I think so too."

If I had thought that Hermione was confused before, then she was far gone by now. She had prepared a reasonable speech, I supposed, to convince her very unreasonable husband to accept her decision. The last thing she had expected was that I would agree with her. "Wh--"

"You don't have to stay with me, you know." I said the words as quickly as I could, knowing that if I didn't get them out, I would never have the opportunity.

"What?"

"You don't have to stay with me," I repeated with newfound boldness. "You could leave."

"I don't understand."

"If you want to go to Transylvania, don't let me stop you."

"You mean . . . you want . . ." She swallowed so hard I could hear the gulp. ". . . a divorce?"

* * * * *

"Have you ever wanted to scream?"

"I'm getting married in a half-hour," was Harry's reply as he surveyed himself in the mirror. The groom and the best man (one Ron Weasley) had retired into my room at the Burrow to prepare before the wedding ceremony. After my tiresome morning, Harry was looking very dashing in his dress robes compared to me, I'll admit that.

"Yeah, to my sister," I voiced. "That's more than enough reason to scream." I threw my head back and laughed, knowing fully well that the laughter didn't reach my eyes.

If Harry had paid any attention, he would have known that too. Unfortunately, he had only one thing on his mind: his wedding. "Ron, listen. Ginny was really upset about the whole flower thing."

I shrugged as I fumbled with the flaps on my robes. They were too constricting. "Just because she didn't get her way . . ."

Harry swirled around so fast; I barely had time to look up at him. "It's her wedding! She ought to get it any way she wants."

"It's your wedding too!" I reminded him.

"But I want what Ginny wants."

"No, you don't. You just want Ginny to be happy."

"I love her! Of course I want her to be happy."

"But what if you're not happy?"

"I'm happy because she's happy. That's what love is. Selfless." His eyes were very firm when he said that, almost as if he believed himself and he would die to protect that belief. Of course, I couldn't blame Harry. He wasn't an authority on love.

"Stop bullshitting yourself," was my advice to him. "Love is the most selfish thing anyone can experience. The only reason you want Gin to be happy is because that makes you happy."

"That's a twisted point of view." He turned back to face his reflection in the mirror, who was apparently better to look at than I was.

"It's the awful truth. The truth is sometimes pure and never simple."

"Ron, if I thought that Ginny wouldn't be happy with me, I'd leave her in an instant."

I shook my head. For someone my age, Harry could be very naïve. "No, you won't. It'll hurt, but you'll stay with her. You'll try to make her love you back. And then one day, you'll realize that no matter how much effort you put into it, no matter what you do, she just doesn't want to be with you. And it's not your fault that you're not perfect. You just have to let her go."

Almost as if he could sense my current mood, or maybe he was giving my speech consideration, Harry lapsed into silence. I didn't consider the fact that he was more interested in glancing at himself than in listening to me. When he finally turned around again, it became obvious that he hadn't heard a word that I had just said.

"Ron, I'm your best mate," he said, "and in a half-hour, I'll be your brother. I love you." When I raised an eyebrow, he added, "in a very platonic kind of way." He cleared his throat. "If you cock this up, or if you even so much as think about doing something stupid at the wedding, I will kill you."

* * * * *

Contrary to popular belief, happiness is not contagious. To an unhappy person, happiness is nothing but a major flaw, a huge defect in the people around him. Every time he hears laughter or sees a smile, he pities everyone, because he knows that someday soon they'll be unhappy like him.

I watched Harry and Ginny's wedding at the Burrow with critical eyes: Mum was constantly dabbing her eyes, Dad was very interested in the hors d'œuvre, Hermione was keeping herself busy by acting as if everything would fall apart in a minute, Fleur was pretending to have a good time, George was ogling the pianist, Fred was ogling the pianist's wife, and Charlie, who had Flooed in, was wallowing in firewhiskey. The only two people who seemed somewhat content were the bride and the groom, who was oblivious to everything going on around them.

I was considering joining Charlie when someone nudged my ribs. I glanced up to frown at Fred, but he was nodding across the garden at Hermione. "Ask her to dance," he suggested.

Not in this lifetime, I thought to myself. But all I said was, "in a minute."

Fred nodded and disappeared on his quest to, no doubt, seduce the pianist's wife. After all, his twin had already captured the pianist's attention by seducing him into conversation.

And to think that I wouldn't have noticed all that just yesterday!

I dragged myself over to Charlie's table and dropped into a seat next to him. "Hey, you," I said.

"I don't want to talk right now, Ron," my older brother told me without so much as a glance in my general direction, "if it's okay with you."

"It's okay with me," I told him before grabbing the half-empty firewhiskey bottle from his hand. A large gulp was already down my throat before I noticed the glare Hermione was giving me. If looks could kill . . . Like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, my eyes fell to the floor before I quickly handed Charlie his bottle back.

There was no way I could get a good drink out here in the open, where Hermione's eyes could find me. As discreetly as I could, I slipped a few bottles of Ogden's under my robes and dashed for our Quidditch shed. Since we were all grown up and living on our own, the shed was now home to less than half the regular number of brooms, balls, and general Quidditch supplies that it once housed. There was more than enough room in there for a man to drink his troubles away, which was what I intended to do.

I felt almost at ease the moment I shut the door behind me. The room was so dark that I almost felt as if I had disappeared into oblivion. No one would find me here.

Delighted at my accomplishment, I sank to the floor and swallowed a swig of alcohol. It went down my throat in a rush, burning all the way down. But it hurt less the next time. And the time after that. And the time after . . . I think you get the point.

I don't think I realized that I was drunk until I noticed that I had relinquished the entire supply. That's when I tried standing. My head wobbled and ached as soon as I moved, but I was determined to leave the shed with all parts of me intact.

I spent at least ten minutes trying to find the door and when I did, I could barely push the door open. The lights came rushing in, bringing with it a straining headache. I don't remember screaming, but the sound couldn't have come from any other person. My last thought, before the lights went out, was that Harry would definitely kill me.