About You, Ron Weasley

I. Green Eyes

ABOUT YOU.

I. Green Eyes 

        "Make sure that you write every day," her mother's voice – outpouring with love and tenderness as she cusped at her daughter's scarred cheek. Her thumb grazed over the fresh cut that was etched into her tan and round cheeks. Though she had a young face – with her dark brown hair, she was similar to her older-looking father – who had flecks of grey in his hair. Because of the suffering they both endured being a werewolf, they both tended to look tiresome and worn, and her father's face had lines to it. Remus often wore shabbier clothing – and Helena, her mother – with dark hair that went just past her shoulders – similar to her daughter, with her narrow eyes and high cheekbones – wore dragon-hide gloves and dark robes with entanglements of faux scales and patches sewn over the seams. Rue, on the other hand, opted for changing into her uniform before stepping onto the train – and wearing her black cloak overtop – the excitement getting to her.

"She can't do that, Fox." Remus chuckles, kissing their daughter on the head. "But, if anyone gives her trouble, she'll write, yes?" Rue nods her head, smiling at her father with a grasp of sweltering love and a figurativeness of memories burned into the back of her eyes – brimming with tears – a reminder of her mother's and father's expenses to bring her to where they stood today.

"I promise," she reassures them both, her hoarse voice in similarity to her father's, yet higher in pitch. "I will," she reassured again, and kissed them both on their cheeks – her usual sign of affection that was so narrow, yet so visible in their eyes. "I have to go, but I will write soon, I promise. C'mon, Ivan." She coaxes the dark, inky coloured creature – the one that was a reminder of her home life, and that resembled a variety of creatures – with his bill, and thick, stumpy legs, and his feathery soft fur, and his short nub of a tail.

Ivan – the creature – followed her onto the train, and there were whispers from her peers as they ducked into the first empty compartment they could find. "Settle down, Ivan, we won't be long," she tells him, rummaging through her case as she sinks down into the compartment floor next to him. She lays a few beetles and flies onto the napkin, and Ivan spends a majority of the train ride nipping at them and chomping away at the deceased, slimy insects – while Rue flips through the copy of the Daily Prophet her father had given her before they boarded the London Underground from their stay at the Leaky Cauldron.

With her half-shut, tired eyes began to skim through the flier as she listened to Ivan's snorting, and the rain tapping against the windows as they passed the rolling, wildly green and overgrown fields of the Highlands. Ivan rolled over onto his back, now situated on the bench next to her, and she scratched at his belly – her bag down on the ground next to her – nose buried into the copy of the newspaper after unraveling it. The train jostled them both on occasion as it rolled down the tracks – but she paid no mind to this. Instead, she'd occasionally roll her eyes at an article given to her by the prophet – and munch away on a half-eaten chocolate bar that rested on the seat next to her – situated in a foil wrapper.

A bushy-haired girl, and a taller, stout boy – resembling the shape of a tea-kettle – arrived at her compartment – the boy's face red and blotchy as he wiped at his eyes with the cuffs of his robes. It was then, did she realize she needed to assist them with whatever had occurred. Ivan, the magical creature, takes note of her hand pulling away – and nips at the collar of her uniform sleeve – refusing to let go momentarily. Though, he pulls away when she reaches over and passes him a dead bug.