Poisoned Flowers - Ron Weasley x OC

Chapter 16

Now, though, you found yourself rooted in place. Were you supposed to follow Ron, or were you supposed to help Draco? 

You glanced at him for a moment, looking upon his pallid figure, and yet you felt for him not. Where normally a fret would have entailed, there was nothing. Instead, your mind lurched in another direction, inwardly pulling you down the hall. It seemed that in this moment Draco really didn't exist. Maybe that was wrong of you- it almost certainly was- but a whisper in your conscious told you not to linger, and you listened. Slowly, your feet took forwards, ignoring any words of protest or worry that came from Harry or Hermione. You needed to follow Ron, the light at the end of the tunnel, and make sure he was okay.

The walls of the castle, though usually a tawny warmth, seemed rather grey. He was far ahead of you now, and you'd lost sight of him as he turned a corridor. Your heartbeat hammered in your throat, foreseeing your confrontational anxiety. You tracked his path, feet striking the floor in quiet pursuit.

A minute or so passed before you found him. He was sitting upon the shelf of an archway in the courtyard, hands flexing upon his knees. You hesitated, eyes locked on his back, and approached timidly. 

"Ron," you whispered, reaching forwards your arm.

For a moment he tensed, not meeting your eyes, and even so you walked before him slowly. He looked to the frayed fabric upon his robes, chest rising and falling as he calmed his fiery breaths. You gently grasped his fingertips, looking down upon his head of red hair with concern. It only mattered if he was okay, though you weren't entirely sure what had taken place.  

You bent, shoes folding as you placed your knees on the dirt as to kneel before him. Now, he met your eyes, and with this came a twinge of unfathomable guilt. He adverted his gaze upon your halting expression. His eyes were glossed over, and the whites seemed slightly less vibrant, instead enhancing the beautiful blue they always held. Your palm extended rather quickly, catching his turning cheek.

"Ron," you said again, determined to care for his wellbeing. He squeezed his lids at your touch, wincing with a draw of air through his teeth in an unexpected manner. You recoiled slightly, fingers bending so that now only the tips were able to feel his beatific warmth, yet you didn't remove them. There was another hushed second where the both of you remained rather still before it was melted away by the returning press to your palm. Your hand was now filled with his cheek, and he looked into your eyes with a great vigor and the purse of his full lips.

Now, he stood, taking your hand from the side of his smooth face and interlacing it with his fingers. He held out his other arm, which you took, standing with him. His eyebrows knit, and he began to search your eyes desperately. It seemed that he wanted to find something more, something further. He was nearly looking behind them, his own dilating behind his evident disquiet. 

Words became relatively evasive.

Instead, you found yourself falling into his gaze. As of late it seemed you had engaged in a rather large amount of woolgathering. It was almost as if you'd found something that had never existed to you before. Something strong lingering behind the air. And now, as he considered your soul, you felt it again. 

Each breath you took seemed an immeasurably strong pull, his scent clouding your mind and lungs. Even now, as he suffered this conflict, he seemed so beautiful. The curves of his lips rivaled those of the sun and moon, and his skin seemed to glow with a porcelain geniality. 

He was your comfort.

"Tabitha I told him. I told him to... protect you."