A Hogwarts Romance: Ron Weasley (IN PROGRESS AND UNDER EDITING)

Chocolate Cauldrons

*Bella's Point Of View*

"So, remind me of the plan?" I ask Hermione, trembling a little as I lean over a steaming cauldron a few days later. We're both sitting in crisscross applesauce position on the stone floor of the Room of Requirement. 

"I'll spike these Chocolate Cauldrons here and you can give them to Pansy," Hermione explains, shaking the box of sweets. "We'll convince Pansy to give them to Draco. The Amortentia will get Draco to obsessively fawn over Pansy, and you won't have to worry about him anymore. All we need to do is convince Pansy to keep giving him spiked sweets when the potion wears off. Knowing Pansy and her obsession with Draco, she'll be stupid enough to do it, even if she finds out it's only the potion that's making him show interest in her." 

"But what if Pansy doesn't take the treats I give her for Draco, and then Draco never eats them?" I ask, a note of panic in my voice. "If she refuses to give them to Draco, or if he refuses to eat them, then we can't make Draco fall for Pansy. He'll continue to harass me."

"He'll eat them. I promise. No one can resist Chocolate Cauldrons," Hermione scoffs. "And there is no way Pansy can resist giving them to Draco. She will think that he'll appreciate her efforts. She won't miss an opportunity to suck up to him."

"But what if it backfires somehow? Are you certain this will work?" I ask hesitantly. 

"Positive," Hermione affirms, nodding her head eagerly. 

"I don't know, Mione," I say. "I don't want to be a skeptic, but I'm a little unsure."

"Don't you worry about a thing. We'll get Draco off your back, and then you'll be free to do whatever you wish. I don't care how many tries it takes. We will do this. Now, go. Do something to take your mind off this for a little bit, and then come back and find me here tomorrow. Meet me here again tomorrow, and then we'll get it done. Everything should be ready by then," Hermione says. I give her a nod of agreement, and she gives me a little thumbs-up. But before I get up to leave, I pause and look back at the cauldron with its mother-of-pearl sheen and spiraling steam. I can't believe this is really happening. I lean back over the cauldron and breathe in deeply. The pleasing aroma of vanilla extract and the fields of my countryside home greets my nose. And Ron. I smell Ron. The thought comes to me and I shake my head as if to deny it, jerking back from the cauldron as if I've been burned. My heart flutters as I lean back in again and take another sniff, just to be sure. It is. It's Ron. It's the smell of the cinnamon and pumpkin candles his nan burns, and the smell of his hair. As I inhale, images of Ron flash through my mind as if they're being flipped on and off by a projector. I see Ron at the Burrow, helping his mum cook bacon. I see Ron after Quidditch, stained with grass and dripping in sweat. I see Ron writing at his desk and then getting distracted by a butterfly outside the window. I see Ron sitting under the stars and admiring the world around him. 

Why didn't I see it before? Why have I been so stupid for so long? I cannot deny what I feel any longer. I love Ron, and he loves me. And no matter what happens, I'm going to do whatever it takes to be with him and make him happy and treat him with the love he deserves.

"Ron," I whisper to myself. "Oh, Ron." 

It's Ron. It's always been Ron.