Better Now Than We Were Before (1/2)
Title: Better Now Than We Were Before (1/2)
Author: coquilleon
Summary: It's the typical story. Boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, girl cheats with best friend, boy finds his own piece of heaven. What? That's not how it goes?
Characters/Pairing: Ron/OC
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort
Rating: NC - 17
Notes: I always thought Ron got a raw deal. Also, slight Hermione and Harry bashing. Drug use and hints at a mild undiagnosed mental disorder. It's not as bad as all that though. Promise.
The argument starts the same and ends differently, finally tipping and hurtling off of the edge. It's hardly a surprise when she collapses onto the edge of the sofa, elbows on her knees and fingers gripping her hair, gritting out "This isn't working." It's hardly a surprise, but it still hurts, makes Ron's heart scream in his chest.
The times of defeating villains and laughing under the night sky are over and done with. Real life has set in and Hermione is "making a name" for herself in the field of research while Ron "has no ambition." He "doesn't live up to his potential" and damnit all to hell she "can't stomach it anymore." Can't- can't look at him like she loves him anymore because she doesn't, not when he isn't passionate enough. Not when she's "in love with someone else-"
"What?" The word is sharp, like a gunshot in the small room, and he can see her shoulders hitch.
"I- Ron..." she raises her head, runs her fingers through her hair and down over her face, only to let them fall, the sound that they make when they slap down onto her legs loud and resigned. "I didn't mean for this to happen. Neither of us did-"
"Us?" His face burns. "Us? I didn't- Who's us?"
Magically straightened teeth tug at a pink bottom lip and she better answer right now before he looses it-
"Ron..." The word is pleading, begging for him to understand. And he does. It clicks into place and breaks something inside of him.
As he turns to gather his coat and wand, he can't help but think it's a nice change that she actually had enough faith in him to think he'd catch on so quickly.
o o o
"What are you going to do now?" The words are quiet and serious. A tone that used to be so rare is now the base of George's being, running through the parts deep inside of him that no one can reach.
"I. I don't know. I need to stay here until she's out. Can I?"
His brother nods. There's always room empty here now.
Ron sleeps on the couch anyway.
o o o
THE COUPLE THAT WAS 'MEANT TO BE' SPLITS. RON WEASLEY AND HERMIONE GRANGER OVER.
Read how Hermione Granger, a third of the Golden Trio, has sacked Ron Weasley for The Boy Who Lived. How is Weasley handling it? And how does Harry feel about breaking up this century's It couple? PLUS: Ginevera Weasley Speaks. Page 15
o o o
He's gotten better. A lot better at controlling his temper and mood swings. The testimonial of such the very fact that Harry isn't lying face up on his living room floor.
"Ron." And it's said in the same pleading tone as Hermione's but it hurts more, cuts deep to the quick, because this is Harry. His best friend. The one Ron almost died for more times that he can count. The one he followed into the darkness, and laughed with late into the night, and the reason why he endured how it felt to have Voldemort tangling with his soul, reaching in through his mother's knitted sweater to fester in his chest. Harry who could have anyone.
It hurts more than anything.
But Ron is tired and frustrated. He's standing in the middle of the flat, now half empty, and he's so tired. So when he tells Harry to get out, the statement snaps and floats in the air like a blanket on a line, threatening to smother. And when the fire flares, and the room is empty, Ron is relieved.
o o o
His mother is worried. His father too. Ginny, and Charlie, and Bill. God, even Percy gets a furrow in his brow when he looks at Ron, and Percy doesn't give a shit about anyone besides himself.
"Everything alright?" Bill asks, hushed and strained. They're sitting in front of the fire, and Ron can hear his mother bustling around the kitchen behind them.
"Yeah, of course." It's a lie, one that comes automatically. They all know the answer, proof of such in the fact that neither Harry nor Hermione have been by the Burrow, the threat of mum's thinning lips and flashing eyes enough to keep them away.
Bill stays quiet, eyes concerned, but Charlie jumps in and answers for him. "You look like shit, little brother. You've lost so much weight. When's the last time you ate? When's the last time you slept?" He leans in, elbows on his knees.
The minutes tick by and Ron doesn't answer.
He doesn't know.
o o o
He sees her in a pub, in Ireland. England was a prison and he needed to escape, so this is where he ends up, in some nameless pub, nestled in a town surrounded by hills of viridian.
It's been two months and he can breathe a little easier.
The place is loud, raucous and cheerful like any respectful pub on a Friday night. He has his ale (dark, rich, bitter enough that the first few sips made your forehead wrinkle) and is sitting alone in a corner booth when he spots her sitting at one of the high tables scattered about the place.
Her skin is light, like coffee that is five sixths milk, as if somewhere down the line some one darker than lily white had woven themselves into her family tree. The mahogany of her long, thick hair spills wildly down a slender back in waves, and makes the light aqua green of her slanted eyes stand out vividly. As he watches, she slides off of her stool and he notices she was a tiny thing, barely higher than the very table she's just vacated, but even from across the room she seems larger than life, smile clever and wide.
But the thing that gets Ron the most, the thing that blows the bitter thoughts of Harry and Hermione out of his mind, makes him want to put down his tankard and take this girl into his scarred arms, are her freckles. They're everywhere, cinnamon powder held in a cupped palm as the wind blows gently. They're scattered across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, down onto her bare shoulders and trickling down her back. Ron wants to kiss every one of them, has the sudden, primal urge to bury his face against her throat and hear her gasp.
A practiced, familiar hand gesture and the barkeep is going over, eight shot glasses balancing in the air. Four before her and the rest before the burly man who sits with her.
The group around watches, grinning and cat calling as she holds up her fingers counting, one two three, and the race begins. She downs all four mini glasses with ease, the clear liquid disappearing quickly. Slamming the last one down, she throws those thin freckled arms into the air and gives a laugh of victory.
As Ron watches, she laughs and slaps the loser's arm playfully, gentle teasing evident along with affection. The crowd disperses somewhat and for the rest of the night, she and the man talk and laugh, and her eyes glitter in the darkened light, and Ron watches.
She reminds him of someone.
o o o
The owl isn't a surprise. What is, is how long it took to finally arrive.
Not that it matters.
Once he sees Hermione's quick scrawl on the envelope it goes straight into the fire of the room he's currently renting, filling the small space with the smell of charred ink and parchment.
He feeds the owl a few treats before it shows itself to the open window.
o o o
It's his third night at the same pub by the time Ron strikes up enough confidence to approach her. It's all for naught, because she gets to him before he can get to her. She slides into his booth, lithe and graceful, and Ron's beer goes down the wrong pipe.
"Hi." Her voice is high, little, and charming. It fits her perfectly.
Coughs. "Hi."
They stare at each other, the buzz of the place not quite loud enough to push away the awkwardness creeping in.
"I'm Ron," he says. "Ron Weasley."
She nods. "Siobhan Finnigan."
The resemblance strikes him when the surname hits his ears, and even though he's sure there are hundreds of Finnigans in Ireland Ron asks anyway. "Related to Seamus by any chance?"
She nods, laughing, eyes shining. "Yeah. Oh Lord, he's infamous ain't he? What'd he do this time 'round?"
The smile pulls at Ron's mouth, feeling out of place after being away for so long. "Nothing lately. That I know of anyway." Haven't been around much."Nah, we used to go to school together. Roommates."
"Falling asleep to the dulcet tones of him pulling one out, I'm sure."
Even as he laughs he feels the flush rip across his skin. "Some nights, yeah. Forgot the Silencing charm."
Another laugh like wind chimes and then she's leaning forward, hands wrapped around her bottle, eyes warm. "That's Seamus for you. But enough about my inappropriate cousin. Tell me about yourself."
Ron doesn't know why the request is so startling. Maybe because he can't remember the last time anyone wanted to know him and him only. No questions about his life followed up with the phrase And how does Harry feel about that? "What? Like what?"
"Anything." She grins. "It's the reason why I came over here, isn't it?"
Ron shrugs. "Not much to tell."
She looks at him for a long moment. Says softly, "I doubt that."
o o o
Siobhan Finnigan is one year younger than Ron at twenty one years old. Her exact height is five feet one inch. Her parents decided to send her to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts because they felt like she needed more culture, only to have their dreams of a poised young woman shattered when a hellion came back in her place. She can hold her liquor better than someone twice her size and has a truly wicked sense of humor. Her favorite color happens to be the same shade of blue as Ron's eyes and she works at an animal hospital for magical breeds. She dances ballet and has cat named Sadie. She can't walk in high heels and has a penchant for putting flowers in her hair.
Ron finds most of this out in the booth at the bar. The rest as they lay breathless on the bed in his room, sweaty and tangled in the sheets.
There's something about her though, something fragile and delicate, something that already has Ron thinking that he has to be careful with her. It showed in the way she trembled when he kissed her softly, and the sound she made when he whispered I've got you into the shell of her ear as he pushed inside.
He knows that she wants something real.
Ron figures this out when she whispers the words against his mouth, sugar sweet tongue running underneath the edge of his lip, sending shivers down his spine.
And maybe it's a little soon, but Ron wants something real too.
o o o
Another owl, this time from Harry.
The parchment sits on the bedroom dresser for three hours before it's thrown into the fire.
o o o
They're sitting on the grass, and everything is so green. The wind rushes past, sweetly, and Ron closes he eyes for a moment. He looks at her, barefoot in her little blue dress and hair fluttering in the wind. Siobhan doesn't look at him when she speaks, choosing instead to pull the grass from the dirt. "You helped saved the world." The words are quiet.
Ron shrugs. It's the first time in the three weeks that they've met that she's even mentioned anything about what he's done, despite the fact that she gets the Prophet every morning. "Nah, that was all Harry."
She wrinkles her nose. "I don't think I like him very much. I'm on the fence really."
"And why's that," and Ron can't help but be a little amused, not when her nose scrunches like that.
"Well, what he did was really shitty. What both of them did really." She tugs at the grass, again and again, slender fingers diligent. "But if they hadn't been awful, I wouldn't have met you."
"You might have."
"I wouldn't have been able to have you."
He doesn't contradict that statement. It's probably true. "Good thing, then." He says it low and she still doesn't look up, but he can see the small smile that quirks her lips.
o o o
He has a meeting at the Ireland branch of the Ministry and she needs to let out some tension. She'd been tense and snappy the entire morning. With an apology kiss, she asks him to meet her at the studio on the corner of Grande and Shippings when he's all done.
When he arrives she's not outside, so Ron slips in. The sound of music muffles his steps as he walks down a short hallway, following the melody that echos in the space. He stops in the doorway and watches.
She's flying. Twisting and leaping, hair wild. She hasn't seen him yet, and she's lost, smiling as she twirls, toes pointed, arms and legs extended, both graceful and fluid. The music crashes and swells, something wild with violins and pianos that Ron has never heard before, and every move she makes blends seamlessly, as if she composed the piece herself with every motion in mind. The violins fade and then it's just the piano, rising and rising, keys banging and she's spinningspinningspinning, perfectly on one foot like those ballerinas in the music boxes mum always kept out of reach. A laugh bursts forward, a sound of such pure joy that it seems to make the room brighter. When the music ends suddenly, she takes a final leap, arms raised and back arched, legs extended, and Siobhan falls - doesn't bother to land on her feet, choosing instead to collapse onto the floor in a breathless, heap, staring up at the ceiling.
Ron watches as her chest heaves up and down, hands coming up to brush the damp hair away from her face. She lays there for a few minutes before shaking out her shoulders and rising to her feet in one fluid movement.
In the mirror he can see that her expression has changed, eyes sad and expression aching. She roughly brushes away the few tears that have fallen and Ron feels the sudden urge to kiss her senseless. It's mixed with the same urge he felt that same night, to be careful so that she doesn't break. There's something going on there, but he doesn't know what.
She bends to gather her bag and its when she straightens up that she catches sight of him in the mirror. The aching expression leaves, and another grin, this time entirely for him, lights up her face.
"Hey," she says quietly when she stands in front of him, skin dewy from sweat and neck a little flushed. "Thought you were going to wait outside."
When he gathers her face in his hands, cradling her skull gently and bends to kiss her lips softly, Ron hears a small sound get stuck in the back of her throat. She squeezes her eyes shut as she grips his wrist tightly and presses her body closer.
Part 2
Author: coquilleon
Summary: It's the typical story. Boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, girl cheats with best friend, boy finds his own piece of heaven. What? That's not how it goes?
Characters/Pairing: Ron/OC
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort
Rating: NC - 17
Notes: I always thought Ron got a raw deal. Also, slight Hermione and Harry bashing. Drug use and hints at a mild undiagnosed mental disorder. It's not as bad as all that though. Promise.
The argument starts the same and ends differently, finally tipping and hurtling off of the edge. It's hardly a surprise when she collapses onto the edge of the sofa, elbows on her knees and fingers gripping her hair, gritting out "This isn't working." It's hardly a surprise, but it still hurts, makes Ron's heart scream in his chest.
The times of defeating villains and laughing under the night sky are over and done with. Real life has set in and Hermione is "making a name" for herself in the field of research while Ron "has no ambition." He "doesn't live up to his potential" and damnit all to hell she "can't stomach it anymore." Can't- can't look at him like she loves him anymore because she doesn't, not when he isn't passionate enough. Not when she's "in love with someone else-"
"What?" The word is sharp, like a gunshot in the small room, and he can see her shoulders hitch.
"I- Ron..." she raises her head, runs her fingers through her hair and down over her face, only to let them fall, the sound that they make when they slap down onto her legs loud and resigned. "I didn't mean for this to happen. Neither of us did-"
"Us?" His face burns. "Us? I didn't- Who's us?"
Magically straightened teeth tug at a pink bottom lip and she better answer right now before he looses it-
"Ron..." The word is pleading, begging for him to understand. And he does. It clicks into place and breaks something inside of him.
As he turns to gather his coat and wand, he can't help but think it's a nice change that she actually had enough faith in him to think he'd catch on so quickly.
o o o
"What are you going to do now?" The words are quiet and serious. A tone that used to be so rare is now the base of George's being, running through the parts deep inside of him that no one can reach.
"I. I don't know. I need to stay here until she's out. Can I?"
His brother nods. There's always room empty here now.
Ron sleeps on the couch anyway.
o o o
THE COUPLE THAT WAS 'MEANT TO BE' SPLITS. RON WEASLEY AND HERMIONE GRANGER OVER.
Read how Hermione Granger, a third of the Golden Trio, has sacked Ron Weasley for The Boy Who Lived. How is Weasley handling it? And how does Harry feel about breaking up this century's It couple? PLUS: Ginevera Weasley Speaks. Page 15
o o o
He's gotten better. A lot better at controlling his temper and mood swings. The testimonial of such the very fact that Harry isn't lying face up on his living room floor.
"Ron." And it's said in the same pleading tone as Hermione's but it hurts more, cuts deep to the quick, because this is Harry. His best friend. The one Ron almost died for more times that he can count. The one he followed into the darkness, and laughed with late into the night, and the reason why he endured how it felt to have Voldemort tangling with his soul, reaching in through his mother's knitted sweater to fester in his chest. Harry who could have anyone.
It hurts more than anything.
But Ron is tired and frustrated. He's standing in the middle of the flat, now half empty, and he's so tired. So when he tells Harry to get out, the statement snaps and floats in the air like a blanket on a line, threatening to smother. And when the fire flares, and the room is empty, Ron is relieved.
o o o
His mother is worried. His father too. Ginny, and Charlie, and Bill. God, even Percy gets a furrow in his brow when he looks at Ron, and Percy doesn't give a shit about anyone besides himself.
"Everything alright?" Bill asks, hushed and strained. They're sitting in front of the fire, and Ron can hear his mother bustling around the kitchen behind them.
"Yeah, of course." It's a lie, one that comes automatically. They all know the answer, proof of such in the fact that neither Harry nor Hermione have been by the Burrow, the threat of mum's thinning lips and flashing eyes enough to keep them away.
Bill stays quiet, eyes concerned, but Charlie jumps in and answers for him. "You look like shit, little brother. You've lost so much weight. When's the last time you ate? When's the last time you slept?" He leans in, elbows on his knees.
The minutes tick by and Ron doesn't answer.
He doesn't know.
o o o
He sees her in a pub, in Ireland. England was a prison and he needed to escape, so this is where he ends up, in some nameless pub, nestled in a town surrounded by hills of viridian.
It's been two months and he can breathe a little easier.
The place is loud, raucous and cheerful like any respectful pub on a Friday night. He has his ale (dark, rich, bitter enough that the first few sips made your forehead wrinkle) and is sitting alone in a corner booth when he spots her sitting at one of the high tables scattered about the place.
Her skin is light, like coffee that is five sixths milk, as if somewhere down the line some one darker than lily white had woven themselves into her family tree. The mahogany of her long, thick hair spills wildly down a slender back in waves, and makes the light aqua green of her slanted eyes stand out vividly. As he watches, she slides off of her stool and he notices she was a tiny thing, barely higher than the very table she's just vacated, but even from across the room she seems larger than life, smile clever and wide.
But the thing that gets Ron the most, the thing that blows the bitter thoughts of Harry and Hermione out of his mind, makes him want to put down his tankard and take this girl into his scarred arms, are her freckles. They're everywhere, cinnamon powder held in a cupped palm as the wind blows gently. They're scattered across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, down onto her bare shoulders and trickling down her back. Ron wants to kiss every one of them, has the sudden, primal urge to bury his face against her throat and hear her gasp.
A practiced, familiar hand gesture and the barkeep is going over, eight shot glasses balancing in the air. Four before her and the rest before the burly man who sits with her.
The group around watches, grinning and cat calling as she holds up her fingers counting, one two three, and the race begins. She downs all four mini glasses with ease, the clear liquid disappearing quickly. Slamming the last one down, she throws those thin freckled arms into the air and gives a laugh of victory.
As Ron watches, she laughs and slaps the loser's arm playfully, gentle teasing evident along with affection. The crowd disperses somewhat and for the rest of the night, she and the man talk and laugh, and her eyes glitter in the darkened light, and Ron watches.
She reminds him of someone.
o o o
The owl isn't a surprise. What is, is how long it took to finally arrive.
Not that it matters.
Once he sees Hermione's quick scrawl on the envelope it goes straight into the fire of the room he's currently renting, filling the small space with the smell of charred ink and parchment.
He feeds the owl a few treats before it shows itself to the open window.
o o o
It's his third night at the same pub by the time Ron strikes up enough confidence to approach her. It's all for naught, because she gets to him before he can get to her. She slides into his booth, lithe and graceful, and Ron's beer goes down the wrong pipe.
"Hi." Her voice is high, little, and charming. It fits her perfectly.
Coughs. "Hi."
They stare at each other, the buzz of the place not quite loud enough to push away the awkwardness creeping in.
"I'm Ron," he says. "Ron Weasley."
She nods. "Siobhan Finnigan."
The resemblance strikes him when the surname hits his ears, and even though he's sure there are hundreds of Finnigans in Ireland Ron asks anyway. "Related to Seamus by any chance?"
She nods, laughing, eyes shining. "Yeah. Oh Lord, he's infamous ain't he? What'd he do this time 'round?"
The smile pulls at Ron's mouth, feeling out of place after being away for so long. "Nothing lately. That I know of anyway." Haven't been around much."Nah, we used to go to school together. Roommates."
"Falling asleep to the dulcet tones of him pulling one out, I'm sure."
Even as he laughs he feels the flush rip across his skin. "Some nights, yeah. Forgot the Silencing charm."
Another laugh like wind chimes and then she's leaning forward, hands wrapped around her bottle, eyes warm. "That's Seamus for you. But enough about my inappropriate cousin. Tell me about yourself."
Ron doesn't know why the request is so startling. Maybe because he can't remember the last time anyone wanted to know him and him only. No questions about his life followed up with the phrase And how does Harry feel about that? "What? Like what?"
"Anything." She grins. "It's the reason why I came over here, isn't it?"
Ron shrugs. "Not much to tell."
She looks at him for a long moment. Says softly, "I doubt that."
o o o
Siobhan Finnigan is one year younger than Ron at twenty one years old. Her exact height is five feet one inch. Her parents decided to send her to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts because they felt like she needed more culture, only to have their dreams of a poised young woman shattered when a hellion came back in her place. She can hold her liquor better than someone twice her size and has a truly wicked sense of humor. Her favorite color happens to be the same shade of blue as Ron's eyes and she works at an animal hospital for magical breeds. She dances ballet and has cat named Sadie. She can't walk in high heels and has a penchant for putting flowers in her hair.
Ron finds most of this out in the booth at the bar. The rest as they lay breathless on the bed in his room, sweaty and tangled in the sheets.
There's something about her though, something fragile and delicate, something that already has Ron thinking that he has to be careful with her. It showed in the way she trembled when he kissed her softly, and the sound she made when he whispered I've got you into the shell of her ear as he pushed inside.
He knows that she wants something real.
Ron figures this out when she whispers the words against his mouth, sugar sweet tongue running underneath the edge of his lip, sending shivers down his spine.
And maybe it's a little soon, but Ron wants something real too.
o o o
Another owl, this time from Harry.
The parchment sits on the bedroom dresser for three hours before it's thrown into the fire.
o o o
They're sitting on the grass, and everything is so green. The wind rushes past, sweetly, and Ron closes he eyes for a moment. He looks at her, barefoot in her little blue dress and hair fluttering in the wind. Siobhan doesn't look at him when she speaks, choosing instead to pull the grass from the dirt. "You helped saved the world." The words are quiet.
Ron shrugs. It's the first time in the three weeks that they've met that she's even mentioned anything about what he's done, despite the fact that she gets the Prophet every morning. "Nah, that was all Harry."
She wrinkles her nose. "I don't think I like him very much. I'm on the fence really."
"And why's that," and Ron can't help but be a little amused, not when her nose scrunches like that.
"Well, what he did was really shitty. What both of them did really." She tugs at the grass, again and again, slender fingers diligent. "But if they hadn't been awful, I wouldn't have met you."
"You might have."
"I wouldn't have been able to have you."
He doesn't contradict that statement. It's probably true. "Good thing, then." He says it low and she still doesn't look up, but he can see the small smile that quirks her lips.
o o o
He has a meeting at the Ireland branch of the Ministry and she needs to let out some tension. She'd been tense and snappy the entire morning. With an apology kiss, she asks him to meet her at the studio on the corner of Grande and Shippings when he's all done.
When he arrives she's not outside, so Ron slips in. The sound of music muffles his steps as he walks down a short hallway, following the melody that echos in the space. He stops in the doorway and watches.
She's flying. Twisting and leaping, hair wild. She hasn't seen him yet, and she's lost, smiling as she twirls, toes pointed, arms and legs extended, both graceful and fluid. The music crashes and swells, something wild with violins and pianos that Ron has never heard before, and every move she makes blends seamlessly, as if she composed the piece herself with every motion in mind. The violins fade and then it's just the piano, rising and rising, keys banging and she's spinningspinningspinning, perfectly on one foot like those ballerinas in the music boxes mum always kept out of reach. A laugh bursts forward, a sound of such pure joy that it seems to make the room brighter. When the music ends suddenly, she takes a final leap, arms raised and back arched, legs extended, and Siobhan falls - doesn't bother to land on her feet, choosing instead to collapse onto the floor in a breathless, heap, staring up at the ceiling.
Ron watches as her chest heaves up and down, hands coming up to brush the damp hair away from her face. She lays there for a few minutes before shaking out her shoulders and rising to her feet in one fluid movement.
In the mirror he can see that her expression has changed, eyes sad and expression aching. She roughly brushes away the few tears that have fallen and Ron feels the sudden urge to kiss her senseless. It's mixed with the same urge he felt that same night, to be careful so that she doesn't break. There's something going on there, but he doesn't know what.
She bends to gather her bag and its when she straightens up that she catches sight of him in the mirror. The aching expression leaves, and another grin, this time entirely for him, lights up her face.
"Hey," she says quietly when she stands in front of him, skin dewy from sweat and neck a little flushed. "Thought you were going to wait outside."
When he gathers her face in his hands, cradling her skull gently and bends to kiss her lips softly, Ron hears a small sound get stuck in the back of her throat. She squeezes her eyes shut as she grips his wrist tightly and presses her body closer.
Part 2