Written for the Once Upon a Time Character Prompt Competition (Prince Charming - write about a male member of the Weasley family)

Warning for character death

If Only

A gentle song sounded around the tent, music that reflected the mood and emotions of all who were there. Wizards and Muggles alike arrived in streams, sitting in plastic chairs without many words. Someone would say hello to another they recognised, but apart from the music, the only sounds were sniffling and crying.

Ron felt hands comfortingly brush his back as people passed, but he didn't respond. He couldn't even bring himself to look up where the coffin rested; a large smiling picture on top and white flowers. He sat in the front row, having not spoken a word since arriving.

It had been ten days, but it didn't get any easier. This was the worst day of all of them; the day he'd finally have to say goodbye.

A lot of tears had come from him in those ten, painful days and he wasn't ashamed to admit it. He'd cried in front of his family, his friends, and he knew that once the service started, he'd not be able to control himself. He didn't care. He needed to cry again.

The sound of more mourners arriving went unheard by Ron as he sat there, his eyes staring into his lap. It was only when he felt the gentle, loving hands of his daughter on his knee did he look up. She offered a pained smile, her face already covered in tear tracks. Try as he might, he couldn't even offer her a smile in return.

"How're you doing, Dad?" she asked quietly, squeezing his knee. Rose had been the rock in the family since it had happened; she'd been the strong one, the one to think logically in all situations. His daughter, looking after him. Shouldn't it have been the other way around?

He couldn't even answer her - an answer enough, he supposed. She gave his leg another squeeze and then took his hand, sitting on the seat beside him.

"I'm right here." She choked on her words. Of course. She was grieving too.

As they sat there, hand-in-hand, Ron couldn't stop his mind going back to that day. So many things could have been different had he just made a different choice. He hadn't needed to leave the house that day, he'd chosen to. What if he'd left at a different time? What if he hadn't taken Hugo? What if Hermione had come with him? What if he'd listened to Rose?

Just one thing different, and they wouldn't be here today. If he'd changed course in just one of those choices, a part of his heart would still be there.

…

"Dad, Mum isn't going to care if you don't get her anything." Rose looked up from her book. "You've been married for a hundred years; she'll be happy with a family dinner."

"This is important, though," Ron said. "It's twenty-five years, thank you. That's a long time to be married."

Rose stared up from where she sat on the couch. "I know, but she's not going to care. Trust me. She told me."

"That's beside the point. She says that and then she'll come back with some elaborate gift and make me feel guilty if I don't get her anything."

To that, Rose said nothing, which was enough to convince Ron that Hermione was indeed planning something elaborate.

"What are you planning on getting her for these twenty-five years?" Hugo came from the kitchen with a sandwich in hand.

"Well, I don't know," Ron said. "I was asking Rosie if she had any ideas."

"You can't go wrong with jewellry," Hugo said with a shrug.

"Yeah. Mum doesn't mind some of that," Rose agreed. "But it'd have to be something unique, because it is your twenty-fifth anniversary."

"You know I'm no good at jewellry," Ron groaned. "What about a book?"

"It's hardly personal," Rose told him. "I think a nice necklace would be good. An expensive one. Some diamonds."

Ron looked between his two now adult children with looming anguish. In their twenty-three and twenty-one years, he'd learnt to trust their judgement, particularly about Hermione. After all, she was their mother and they knew her well enough.

"Alright. A necklace. Rosie, do you want to come -"

"Can't sorry," Rose said. "I have work this afternoon."

"Great load of help you are then. Hu, mate, you're good with that stuff. You know what she likes. Do you want to come?"

Hugo said nothing for a moment. He stared at Ron. "I'm not good at jewellry. Who am I going to give it to? Lucian and I buy each other Quidditch stuff. We're blokes. Not really our thing."

"Yeah, but you're good with your mum," Ron said. "Please, mate? Just a second opinion?"

"You've known her longer than we have," Rose reminded him. "You should know this by now."

Ron ignored her, pleading with Hugo.

Hugo sighed. "Alright, I'll go with you, but I doubt I'll be much use."

Ron beamed. "Thanks, Hu. I knew I could count on you."

…

If only he'd listened to Rose that day. She'd been right; Hermione wouldn't have cared if he bought her anything. They could have had a nice family dinner celebrating their twenty-five years of marriage, however many years together and even longer being in love. That was all they needed. Nothing more.

But no, he'd had to try and outdo her. He wanted her to know that even after all this time he still thought she was the best thing to happen to him. Without her, he'd have nothing. His life was her: their kids, his happiness, everything. All because of her.

A tear rolled down his cheek and the service hadn't even started yet. If only he'd listened to Rose that day.

"Are you okay, Dad?"

Ron shook his head. "I can't… I just can't do this, Rosie." He stood from his chair, all eyes turning to him. Rose touched his shoulder, fresh tears forming in her own eyes. Harry joined him a moment later.

"You okay?" he asked.

Ron shook his head again. "I can't say goodbye," he said. "I'm not ready." And before either of them could stop him, he left the tent and headed down to the stream he'd played by as a child.

They'd decided to have the service here, for the Burrow was welcoming to both the wizarding the Muggle sides of the family. It was the most comfortable and it was the most homely - it was also protected by charms to keep out the media.

He sat by the stream, not even caring that his shoes were now wet, or his socks would be soaked through. What did a little discomfort matter on a day like today? It was nothing compared to the pain he was feeling right now. To lose someone… someone he loved more than anything else in the whole world was far worse than some wet socks.

How was he supposed to say goodbye? What was he supposed to even say? That his heart had been ripped from his chest, that their last moments together had been in his arms? The memories, the feelings, they were all so raw. And now - after the service - they'd expect him to move on. People would begin carrying on with their usual lives and the pain would soon lessen.

But would it? Would his loss be less painful in a year's time? That seemed insulting.

He shook his head. He couldn't do this. He couldn't face it. It was too much.

…

"Where are you two off to?" Hermione asked as Ron and Hugo prepared to head to the Leaky Cauldron via Floo, and then into Muggle London.

"Nowhere that concerns you," Ron said, planting a kiss on her lips. It was short, but after pulling away, something told him to do it again, this time for longer.

Hermione pulled away this time, looking up at him with amusement. "What was that for?"

Ron grinned. "I just love you," he said. "And in two days I can officially say you've put up with me for twenty-five years."

"And the five years before that," Hermione reminded him.

"I'm a lucky man." He kissed her a third time.

"Well, if you're going into Diagon Alley, can I come? I need to get a few things."

"No," Ron said. "You can't."

"So, obviously you're -"

"I love you and I'll be back soon." He indicated Hugo should go first. He followed shortly after and landed in the old pub. Hugo awaited him by a table.

"So, anywhere in particular you want to go?" Hugo asked.

"No idea, mate. I was hoping you'd tell me."

"Well, I do know of one place," Hugo said. "Follow me."

…

If only he'd let her come that day. She might have appreciated it more had she been allowed to pick the necklace out herself. Looking back, he regretted that now. He'd kissed her longingly then, because something had told him that when he returned, things would be different. He'd known subconsciously that that kiss would be the last one filled with happiness. He'd just wished he'd known exactly what it meant and had let her come.

The water lapped up to his ankles now. He watched its serene nature, ever flowing, ever running. It was peaceful, it was calm. It was a stream and it felt no pain.

He remembered the time he was six years old and Fred and George had thought to play a prank on him. It was shallow, but at six, he'd been convinced Fred was drowning. The fear of seeing his brother gasping for air had frightened him away from the water for two years. Typically, they had earned a verbal lashing from their mother and had been forced to apologise to Ron.

Now, Ron wondered just how much pain the stream could ease.

The music travelled all the way down and he knew that he'd have to make a decision soon. He either returned and grieved, or regret the decision for the rest of his life. It was surprisingly hard. He was already filled with so much regret that what harm could a little more do?

Another tear fell, and then another and another. His chest tightened at all the memories that were suddenly filling him. He'd never thought he'd be in this position. Loss and death had been apart of him for a very long time, but this was by far the most painful. He was supposed to go first. That was the way it worked.

He let the tears roll, allowing a loud sob to escape him. This wasn't right. He should have done something more. Anything.

The guilt continued to eat away at him as he sat there, crying with no shame. And then a hand rested on his arm, soft and gentle and loving.

The only person who really understood how he was feeling.

…

"I think she'll like this," Ron said, patting the small bag that contained the necklace. "You picked well, mate."

"I was merely here as support," Hugo corrected. "You chose it, remember?"

Ron grinned. "Right."

They were heading back through Muggle London to the Leaky Cauldron. Ron was feeling quite pleased with his efforts, though also knew he'd have to Vanish the evidence of how much he'd spent on her. Otherwise she'd murder him.

They were only a few streets over when a loud, fearful scream stopped them in their tracks. Instinctively, both men drew their wands as they turned to see a woman of about thirty being held at knife-point by a masked person. They were standing by another jewellry store as passersby moved away from what was happening.

Ron and Hugo, though, much more protected with their wands, hurried forward.

"Hey, you!" Ron called, pointing his wand at the attacker, "let her go."

They looked a sight, brandishing sticks in front of unknowning Muggles. In their eyes they were only making matters worse.

The masked person drew the woman closer, their arm around her neck, and pointed their knife at Ron and Hugo. "Come any closer and she'll die." They were male.

Ron gripped his wand tighter. He couldn't really do anything, but it was instinct.

"Let her go," Hugo insisted.

"No. She's my getaway."

It was then Ron noticed a bag full of what could only have been expensive jewellry attached to his back.

The woman had tears running down her cheeks, looking at Ron and Hugo pleadingly. In her eyes, they were the only ones willing to help her, no matter how ridiculous they must have looked.

A moment later, Hugo ran forward.

"Hugo, what are you -"

Not suspecting such a move, the man let go of the woman in order to defend himself from Hugo. She hurried towards Ron and stood behind him, sobbing.

It all happened so fast after that, that Ron had not seen it in full. He was half watching the woman to make sure she was okay that he only realised something was wrong when his son collapsed to the ground.

For a moment, the man stared at Hugo in shock, his knife glistening red.

"No!" Ron ran to where Hugo lay on the ground, a spot of red growing larger with every second between his ribs.

The attacker ran, dropping the knife as he fled the scene. Ron didn't bother chasing as he saw all colour drain from his son's face. People around had those mobile telephones out, perhaps calling a Muggle doctor to come to the scene.

But as the red spot grew larger and already Hugo was gasping for breath, Ron knew waiting would only kill him. Looking around at the hundreds of Muggles that had now gathered, he knew the consequences, but he didn't care. He could deal with that later. Right now, his son needed help and he wasn't going to find it here.

Gripping his wand in one hand and holding onto Hugo with the other, he Disapparated where he was, landing a moment later on the floor of St. Mungo's, frightening unsuspecting patients.

"What on earth - oh my!" A young witch hurried away, returning seconds later with another witch. Together, without speaking, they levitated Hugo with their wands and took him away. Ron sat back on his heels, his hands and clothes covered in blood. Only now did what had happened occur to him.

His son had almost died.

…

Hermione sat beside him, her own shoes dipping into the water. She smiled at Ron. "Rose said you left."

Ron nodded, but said nothing.

For a long while, they simply sat there in silence, watching the water run peacefully over the rocks. He'd not thought anything could have happened after reaching St. Mungo's. It was a Muggle injury, inflicted by a knife. Healers could repair anything like that. It was spells and curses which troubled them.

Hugo had been gone for ages. Hermione and Rose had arrived, hugging Ron with tears rolling down both of their faces. They'd wanted to know what had happened - how - and then they'd sat together, waiting for any news.

It had been a horrendous three hours. Weren't the Healers just glueing the spot back together, repairing the blood loss? Wasn't that a five minute job?

If only.

…

A Healer came out three hours later. He appeared dejected, defeated. He approached the three of them with a grim look.

"Is he okay?" Hermione asked, though she seemed to understand what that look meant. They all did.

"I'm sorry."

"What do you mean?" Ron demanded, searching for any bit of hope to hold onto, anything to stop the Healer from saying the words. Surely there was a mistake. Blood loss, a knife wound… it was nothing in the wizarding world. Home remedies could repair such inflictions.

"Your son had passed before we could treat him."

No one spoke for what felt like hours. It was as if the whole hospital had stopped. When Ron finally turned to his wife and daughter he saw silent tears running down their faces.

No. No. Hugo couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible. He was twenty-one.

"You can see him if you'd like," the Healer said. "Say goodbye."

Ron nodded. He needed to see if it was true.

…

It had been very true. The moment Ron had entered the room, tears had sprung to his eyes and they'd not stopped since. Every moment he was alone, it was quiet, he'd think about that day and everything he could have done differently.

There were so many ifs, buts and whys. So many should haves. But none of them were going to bring back his son.

"I shouldn't have taken him," he eventually said, breaking the silence. "He didn't want to go."

"We've been through this, Ron," Hermione said gently. "No one was to know." She wore the necklace they'd bought her that day, diamonds sparkling just above her heart. She picked it up in her hand.

"He chose it."

"I know." She covered his hand with her other one, squeezing it. "It's hard, but we have to do this. For Hugo's sake."

"I'm not ready to say goodbye to him. If I do -"

"It changes nothing," Hermione said. "He'll always be our son, and we were lucky enough to have had twenty-one incredible years getting to know him. We saw every moment of his life - his first smile, his first laugh, his first steps… everything."

Ron bowed his head. "I loved him so much."

"We all did. You can't feel guilty about it. He chose to do what he did, because it's how we raised him. He couldn't bear the thought of someone else being hurt under his watch. He was brave; a true Gryffindor."

The lingering thought still hung in Ron's mind; Hugo shouldn't have. It should have been Ron.

Hermione seemed to know what he was thinking, because she kissed his cheek. "You couldn't have stopped him anymore than I could have. You know what our children are like. Now, are we going to come back and say goodbye?"

Ron nodded, climbing to his feet. The pain was still so raw, so real. But he knew if he didn't do this, everything would be so much worse.

Hermione clutched his hand and smiled. "We'll do this together," she said. "For our son."

Ron swallowed. For our son.

Um, is it bad when I say this had been lingering in my thoughts for a while now? Ask my dear friend Amber? She copped some of the planning (by planning I mean - Hugo's gonna be murdered - and to her response 'bye Hugo'. )

Anyway, I hope you liked it. I am happy with the way it came out, truthfully. How I envisioned it.