Defining Secrets // Ron Weasley

Epilogue // Ten Years Later

Ten years later...

Ron's POV:

I thought I had grown to the chaos by now but I guess I was wrong. Everytime Fred whizzed by the air would flick my hair out of place again. George at least had the decency to walk. But he too, was starting to unnerve me.

I looked down at the bathroom sink as I forced back some choice words. If El could read minds, she'd be scoffing at mine. Releasing some of the tension by twisting my neck, I reached for the comb one last time. This was not an impression I wanted to mess up. I swept the hair away from my face one, two, three times until it stuck. I shook out the last of the hairspray just to make sure.

"Woahh. What's with the new hair do?" George grinned. "You don't have a girl to impress, do you?"

I scoffed. "As if."

Just like every other minute I breathed, my mind went back to her. Elise left only a day ago to travel half way up Scotland for a work meeting. She was going to have to stay another night before coming back - and it was killing me.

Strange how a person could make you homesick. But then again, this was El. She'd hum and all animals fell silent around her.

"Enough hairy spray?" Fred coughed, waving a hand through the smoke.

"Would you two buzz off?"

Fred and George shared a look, glanced back at me, then shrugged at each other. I wasn't sure what kind of twin telepathy that was but at least they'd left. I reached for my bag before they could complain about my outfit, also, and dashed out the door.

The rain was beating down by the time I made it. I thought about how waiting for their advice might've stopped my bones from chattering under my wool jacket. I parked the car around the corner and made my way through the squelching grass. Wrapping my jacket tighter didn't do a whole lot, but by the time I was face to face with his tombstone, the rain had settled.

My damp eyelashes blinked down at the planted pot of daisies growing by his name.

In loving memory of...

Micheal Abraham Hazelwood.

1951 - 1991

Loving son, husband, and father.
Always to be remembered.

She'd taken me here a couple times. Once, on father's day with her Mum. The second time, after a particularly bad nightmare. The stone was smooth and sleek from the rain and last year's clean. A tradition we started after we saw the moss start to grow around him.

I looked down at the bundle of sunflowers in my hand and placed them down flat. I paused, coughing into my fist. If anybody was watching this was about to get stupidly embarrassing, but...

"Hello, sir. I'm Ron. Ronald Weasley," I felt the need to clarify for some reason. "I'm not sure if Elise has mentioned who I am."

The echo of the wind through the bristles of the trees was all that answered. I imagined it to be Mr Hazelwood up in heaven, saying he'd heard a little.

"She talks about you a lot, sir. I wish I could have met you properly before asking this of you but..."

Suddenly, my throat felt thick and heavy. It was a bit ridiculous, I know, but I was worried a lightning bolt would come down and strike me if he disapproved of what I had to ask him. But it needed to be said.