A House That Might Have Been

I had a chance to love you. I had a chance to make you mine, to make me yours. I had a chance to be with you forever and for always. But you aren't here now, so we all know which chance I took. Now my only chance is in my dreams, to wander through the house that might have been.

I mistook the warnings of wisdom

From so called friends quick to advise

Though your touch was telling me otherwise

Somehow I saw you as a weakness

I thought I had to be strong

Oh but I was just young, I was scared, I was wrong

Ron Weasley sat at his kitchen table and poured himself a cup of coffee. His kitchen lacked all the warmth and coziness of his parents' house, though not for lack of trying. Ron had filled the kitchen- and, indeed, the rest of the house- with all the knick-knacks and other such objects he could find. The whole time he had done this, of course, he had known the reason the house was not inviting, and it had nothing to do with a lack of fuzzy bunny slippers or home made picture frames. It was because she wasn't here. Ron sighed heavily and poured himself another cup of coffee. He wondered for the hundredth, thousandth, millionth time what Hermione might do if he sent her an owl. But no, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He had heard (through Harry) that Hermione was currently engaged to Viktor Krum. He had been so close to having her- right after their last year at Hogwarts, all his dreams had seemed to come true at once. They had been at Percy and Penelope's wedding, and Hermione had asked him to dance. It had been a long slow waltz, and after about half a minute of minor chitchat, Hermione broke the ice by saying, "Ron, I think... I think I love you. " She looked up at him, hopefully, expectantly, as all the feelings Ron had harbored so secretly for her came rushing to the surface. But he didn't say anything. He just stared at her, shocked, until, after a time, Hermione blushed and looked away. He could have said those three simple words- just three simple words- anytime during that dance, and everything would have been all right. But he did not. He let his pride and fears get the better of him, and he said nothing. He had said nothing and it had cost him everything. She had walked away after that dance, and he never saw her again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not a night goes by

I don't dream of wandering

Through the house that might have been

And I listened to my pride

When my heart cried out for you

Now every day I wake again

In a house that might have been

A home

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Guess I did what I did believing

That love is a dangerous thing

Oh but that couldn't hurt anymore than never knowing

Ron shook his head darkly and drained his mug, then filled it for a third time. He had been so scared of what might have happened if he'd said he loved her, but he knew now that it could never have been half as bad as how he was feeling now. He had been afraid of love, thinking somehow that it would hurt him, turn against him- but how was he supposed to know what love was like, or what it would do, if he had lost his chance with the only one he'd ever loved, and was still too afraid to pursue it? And he guessed that the only answer to that was that he would simply never know- and that knowledge hurt him more than anything possibly could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not a night goes by

I don't dream of wandering

Through the house that might have been

And I listened to my pride

When my heart cried out for you

Now every day I wake again

In a house that might have been

A home

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A home

Four walls, a roof, a door, some windows

Just a place to run when my working day is through

They say home is where the heart is

If the exception proves the rule I guess that's true

Ron wondered briefly as he emptied yet another cup of coffee whether it was possible to die from a caffeine overdose. Hermione could have told him. She was constantly on his mind, with him in every way, except physically. That was the one way Ron wanted most, and that lack was the reason he did not live in a home. He lived in a house, that was true. A rather nice house, in fact. But it was not a home. As the embroidered wall hanging (yet another of his attempts to make his house friendly) across from him read, 'Home is where the heart is'. That made his house, his place of residence, whatever one wished to call it, all but a home. If Ron had any heart left at all, it resided with Hermione, who, for all he knew, was in Bulgaria. So, Ron thought wearily, his home was in Bulgaria. Well, at least he would have a place to stay if he decided to head north. He couldn't even laugh at his own jokes anymore, how depressed he was. Maybe I will send a letter to Hermione, he thought, fiddling with his empty coffee mug. Then again, he thought, as he remembered her face when he hadn't said anything at the dance, maybe not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not a night goes by

I don't dream of wandering

Through the house that might have been

And i listened to my pride

When my heart cried out for you

Now every day I wake again

In a house that might have been

A home

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had a chance to love you. I had a chance to make you mine, to make me yours. I had a chance to be with you forever and for always. But you aren't here now, so we all know which chance I took. Now my only chance is in my dreams, to wander through the house that might have been a home.