Carve Me A Grave With My Name On It

If only the tower wasn´t so far away, thought Ron angrily. He had been hiking up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower in a fowl mood in light of recent events during his walk. As soon as he left the Great Hall, and bumped into Dumbledore without even apologizing, things seemed to spiral downward for him. Never had a trek through the corridors of the castle been so exasperating.

The hallways were not crowded as they´d be between classes, but nor were they as empty as one would like. Ron had trudged through the hallways only to be barricaded by a bunch of foolhardy Slytherin first-years. They really asked for Ron to give them a true whipping as they deserved. First, the rowdy group seemed to be gathering around for something. As hard as he could he tried yelling at them.

"Excuse me, but the corridors are for walking not blocking," he called out, towering over them. It finally registered, what he had just said. That mirror was right; I am a prat.

The irritating first-years wouldn´t budge. For a couple minutes he stood there, trying to understand what was going on. At last, Ron had had enough of these children and he decided he might as well take matters into his own hand, by the use of his wand. With a swish and flick of the wrist, the crowd of Slytherins parted, almost the way Moses had parted the waters on his escape to wherever it was he was going. Some of the kids were shoved into the opposite sides of the hall, while others squeezed against them. They left a nice space for Ron to walk through.

As he strode through, Ron looked at the faces of the first-years. The buggers deserved it, he mulled over bitterly. After he passed them, he glanced back at them. Surely someone would relieve them of the hex. He couldn´t help but feel guilty that he had just manipulated them like that, Slytherin-demon children or not. He sighed. So much for my fun.

"Finite incantatum," he said wearisomely, pointing his wand at the group of children pressed against each other. Watching the little first-years stretching out their pressured muscles from the hex, Ron laughed inside. Some looked back at him, glaring. Others seemed to regard him with fear and rushed to get away in the opposite direction. One little boy even had the nerve to threaten him, Ron, a more experienced wizard in his sixth year.

"When Draco Malfoy gets a hold of you, you´ll be sorry!"

Ron laughed at this. Replacing his wand in his robe´s pocket, he gave the young boy in front of him a deadly glare that could match that of a basilisk´s. "The day Malfoy gets a hold of me will be the day he gets a hold of that thing up his..."

"My what?" came a drawling voice.

Damn it, Malfoy, Ron yelled mentally. "Don´t push me, ferret boy, I´m not in the mood to tango. You saw what I did to your little house mates, did you not?"

"Empty threat, weasel. You´re all talk."

"Oh, am I?" Ron roared back fiercely. He could feel his face reddening out of anger and frustration. When the Weasley said he wasn´t in the mood, he had really meant it. All over again he whipped out his wand, pointing it straight and steady at Malfoy´s head. Maybe it was the fact that the boy had never seen such an insane look on Ron´s face for him to almost cower back in fear. For a moment the two older boys stood there, unaware that the first years were gazing at them. Malfoy seemed to regain his control, for he was fumbling to get his own wand out. Ron only pushed his wand into the blonde boy´s forehead. "Tempt me, and I swear I´ll hex you so badly, it´ll take Pomfrey weeks before you can function, no, even think properly again. Now get out of my sight."

With that Ron pushed the Slytherin out of his way and continued on his path. It was interesting though, as he had expected Malfoy to curse him with his back turned to get revenge. But all he had really done was turn his attention to his own trip to the Great Hall. Putting the boy out of his mind, Ron slowed his pace, and sauntered on. He grinned to himself. Never, ever, enrage a Weasley.

The journey sustained for several long minutes. Passing by numerous, empty, silver plated faces that had not belonged to the Hogwart´s resident ghosts, Ron felt as though he were racing through the Dark Forest, only it was filled with surreal, dreamlike creatures. All the students he passed seemed to look at him with amazement, as though Ron was an animal running around the lengths of a cage, struggling to get out. All they´d do was turn their heads to gaze at him quickly, and then return to whatever it had been they were doing. Minutes seemed to last for hours as Ron quickened his pace, in panic.

At long last he reached the steps that led him to his safe haven. Everyone knew it was forbidden to wander up there, to the Astronomy Tower alone. But it hadn´t mattered, since classes there were only held during the night, mainly on Saturdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It was Tuesday morning. Ron could sneak up there and stay for as long as he wanted. He spun around in sudden, almost violent movements to see if there were stray students or teachers around. Of course they wouldn´t be, they´re at the Great Hall, he reminded himself. And as swiftly as he could, he hurdled up the stairs, skipping three steps at a time. The faster I get there, the longer I have.

Reaching the platform at the top of the tower, Ron pulled his wand out of his sleeve. He determined that it would be safer for him to keep it close at hand, in case, anyone was to do anything to him. Placing his hand on the handle, he gave the oak door a firm push, only to find it was locked. As it always is... He pointed his wand at the lock and racked his brain for a helpful charm.

"Ugh. Now what was that spell... Oh yeah. How can I forget," speaking to himself as fond memories of their - Hermione´s, Harry´s and his--first year attending Hogwarts flooded the depths of his mind. The crew, himself, and Neville were out for a Midnight Duel against Malfoy and his thuggish cronies. It ended being a trick to be caught by Filch. Lousy coward, he thought bitterly as Malfoy entered his mind. They were almost caught, when Hermione heroically unlocked the door, after muttering a word, and they safely were in. Or so they had thought... But that had been a thing of the past. Ron felt a smile on his face appear as he remembered the good old days when they had all been friends. Or so I thought...

"Alohamora," he spoke gently and with a clicking sound, he replaced his grasp on the knob, turned it, and found himself in a dimly lit room.

The only light making the surroundings visible came from the two arched windows, on opposite sides of the room. There were desk and chairs scattered around the room. But the most prominent feature of the room was the large, circular table made of a rich mahogany lying in the center of the tower platform. This was where the star charts were assessed, and where lesson charts were used to map out the activity of the sky. Though Ron had slightly disliked this class, he couldn´t help but appreciate the beauty of the room. Anyone in the right sense could see what splendor this room had held.

Ron searched for his usual spot to sit. He would venture here, the tower, often, during both day and night. Ever since fourth year, he sought refuge in this gloomy, but precious room. With each break from class of the day, he´d come up here to collect his thoughts. At times when Ron was really desperate he´d bring parchment and quills, and just write whatever kinds of feelings bleed out of him. In the end, the poor sheet, dripping with human emotion, would be flamed, and its remains were defenestrated of. And not too far the window, he´d usually sit, Ron. His regular chair, just outside the lines of light, was still there. Ambling over, the young man sat down.

His mind was wild activity. Ron closed his eyes to try and settle down the uprising of mental commotion. Soon enough, he could feel himself teetering between the worlds of subconscious and reality. A jostle of the upper body, and Ron was finally calm. He had lost his memory of why he came here in the first place. Putting his head in his hands and taking long breaths, he set his mind free to think. It was not long till he had remembered breakfast. Oh yes. It was because he couldn´t face the people he had once considered friends. The fact that they had almost found out about his letter had disturbed him. He wouldn´t let those people ruin his plans. Ron sighed as he let his mind flow elsewhere.

The light streaming from the arched windows suddenly attracted Ron´s attention. Taking it as a sign, he peered out looking skyward. Clouds. Sun. Birds. Yes, just how the Great Hall´s damn ceiling had depicted it, all together spiffing. But then, glancing westbound, he noticed a new marvel. The full moon was still up. As though it were instinct, his eyes shot toward the forest. Werewolves. His mind began to race again. (Perhaps he should´ve tried to sleep that night. He grimaced, as he remembered why he didn´t.)

It was their third year. Harry had gotten his Firebolt mysteriously during Christmas and Ron had been ecstatic about it. But Hermione had other plans. She had told McGonagall about it, how it might´ve been from Sirius Black, who at the time was thought to be a dangerous convict. The old dingbat of a professor took the broomstick away, crushing both Harry´s and his happiness. Ron remembered the way the both of them treated her, and painfully, Ron regretted ever handling her in such a manner. The way she broke down crying, her tears staining the porcelain perfection of her skin, it all stabbed him in his heart. Hermione never deserved that.

He searched more into the corners and depths of his mind. It all came back to Ron. The way Hermione had helped him so much. He remembered the way she had been there to play chess and study with him during all those Quidditch practices Harry was at. She never seemed to mind when Harry was away. Those were the glorious moments they had together. Ever so smart the witch was, and so beautiful. Ron couldn´t remember when it was that he fell for her. All he could recollect was the sudden realization of it in fourth year.

The Yule Ball was announced and everybody was enthralled by the news. By the time Christmas had come around, everyone had dates. All except for Ron and Harry, that was. Even Hermione had a date, but she never told anyone who it was. Well, she told Ginny, but she was so trustworthy that she wouldn´t tell even a soul. It only came as a shock when Ron heard of the news that she was already taken. It broke him, but he never showed it. He only continued to ask whom this mystery man was that had swept Hermione off her feet. It was at the Ball that Ron had actually seen her with him.

Ron looked for his Quidditch hero, Viktor Krum, and as he found him, he saw her. The most gorgeous sight, in pale blue dress robes that looked like they made her float, Hermione came in, escorted by Krum himself. He remembered feeling the boiling rage inside of himself. Just the remembrance of that night had made him turn red with anger and pain. The row that the he and Hermione had had that night wasn´t quite pleasing either.

Ron snapped out of his memory as he heard a sudden hoot of an owl out side the window. It was carrying a note, so he figured he might as well let it in. As he pushed the pane open, the brown barn owl rushed in, dropping the note into his hands. As quick as it had come in, it flew out with out even stopping for a treat, though Ron didn´t have anything. He watched the bird soar out of sight, feeling guilty for not being able to show his thanks. He frowned at his feelings. What is wrong with you? he pondered to himself. With out another thought, he proceeded to open the message that was sent to him.

Dear Mr. Weasley, ― Loopy handwriting, no doubt it was from Dumbledore―

Please remember what I had said to you earlier. Come when you need. Also, I believe you should get to class, as you seem to be considerably late.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Late? Ron fumbled in search of his pocket watch. He finally found it sitting in his slacks pocket. Standing up, he pulled the watch open. The hands were aligned in the form clearly stating that he was incredibly late. Ugh! And what day is it? Tuesday. Shit! Potions! Ron panicked not for the first time this morning. Throwing his watch into his bag, he grabbed all his stuff and ran out the door, nearly crashing into the center table. Snape was going to kill him. He nearly tripped as he made his mad dash down the stairs. Ron made it into the corridors, where he stopped to take a quick breath. Surely, if he didn´t kill himself, the insufferable Potions Master would. Hey, it´d save me the trouble, he contemplated, as he started a brisk walk through the corridors leading to the dungeons.