A/N: I actually wrote this as a Christmas present for my best friend, who just happens to be completely and utterly in love with Ron Weasley. I quite like how it turned out, and it might've been the little bit of squealing or the excess hugging that confirmed that my friend loved it. Please do your best to excuse any Mary-Sueness and the embarrassing cliches...The reason for which is stated above.

No Copyright Infringement Intended. I Own Nothing.

Enjoy.

For Jez

Rose

'What are you thinking about?'

It was a question she'd asked him often, and he supposed that, in her current state, she deserved a better answer.

'Nothing,' He told his wife, tonight just like every other. 'Nothing at all.'

But then again, he reasoned, at almost six and a half months pregnant with his first child, she probably didn't need to know that he was thinking about another woman.

The first woman he ever loved.

Rose.

He could still remember the first moment he'd laid eyes on her like it was only yesterday.

It was the first of September 1991, and his first day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He'd stood amongst the other first years, anxious, and waiting to be sorted into one of the four legendary houses. His entire family going back generations had been in Gryffindor, and he didn't quite know what would happen if he wasn't. His brothers would tease and taunt him about it, of course, Fred and George would be the worst, but even though his parents had told him they didn't care and that they would still love him regardless, he didn't know if he could live with the unspoken disappointment.

'Weasley, Ronald.' A stern faced Professor McGonagall summoned him from the line, and he'd promptly obeyed. Like the others before him, he would've been stunned as the faded and frayed hat placed on his head began to whisper in his ear, but he wasn't paying attention, not anymore.

He had seen her.

He didn't hear the Sorting Hat as it yelled out 'GRYFFINDOR!' and he wasn't thinking as his feet moved of their own accord towards the red and gold adorned table. Even the cheers of joy and excitement didn't register in his mind. With just one look, he was mesmerised. He couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from the vision so close to him, yet so far away.

She was truly beautiful.

A dark-skinned angel, fallen from heaven.

Her luscious midnight-black hair cascaded wildly down her back, pooling around her red Gryffindor robes. Her head was thrown back in laughter as she talked and joked with the friends around her. The grin that spread across her face was bright enough to illuminate even the darkest of nights, and it was then he realised that the moment that grin faded would be the day his world stopped turning.

She was a sight to behold.

But she'll never notice me. The thought echoed through his mind as he listened to the incessant chatter streaming from the mouth of the large-toothed Granger girl. He knew he shouldn't have been staring at her like he was, but he couldn't help himself. His heart almost stopped dead when she turned and caught his eye. Guilty of his offense, he glanced down at the plate in front of him, praying that she wouldn't think him strange, and when he looked up once more, she had moved on. But the smile in those penetrating brown eyes, he knew, would haunt him until the day he died.

The rest of the evening passed in a vague haze of unrequited adoration. She hadn't given him a second thought. As he lay in bed that night, part of him couldn't help but think it was unfair that he should be so plagued by her, and she didn't even notice him. How he was going to stand the pain, he didn't know. But somehow, he didn't mind it.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and the months faded into years. And he still knew next to nothing about her. Just that she was a year above him, and her name.

Rose

He had overhead her being summoned by a friend one evening, and he instinctively knew it was her, even before she'd responded to the call.

She was a flower, she was his flower.

Even if she would never realise it.

Of a day, he'd see her around the castle. Be it in the Great Hall at mealtimes, or in the hallways and courtyards waiting for class to begin. And each time she was flanked by at least two friends, her best friends, he'd concluded. A petite, but extraordinarily loud Hufflepuff, and a quiet, underestimated Ravenclaw. Of an evening however, she would reside in either the Library, surrounded by textbooks or the Common Room, where she would curl up in a chair beside the fireplace with either a novel of her choosing, or a generous gathering of friends. She led a peaceful existence, one he could only dream of as he ran around fighting trolls and trying to defeat Lord Voldemort, time and time again. What he wouldn't give to be by her side.

His first year came to a close in a mess of danger and destruction, then faded into his second. His second was much the same as his first, and the third was nothing new. Each day he would admire her from a distance, trying desperately to summon the courage to simply say "Hello", but he never could. It was only in his fourth year that something extraordinary happened.

He'd been fighting with Harry, the miserable, lying git, and was making his way back to Gryffindor Tower. He hadn't been watching where he was going, and collided into another body with a crash. As he'd bent to help her to her feet, his heart had almost stopped dead in his chest.

It was her.

Over time, he had taught himself to deal with the pain that came with unrequited love, and while it still ached in his chest, it had become a dull, bearable, ever-present thud. One that was always on his mind, but one he could live with.

The moment she'd touched his hand, the thud turned into a sharp, piercing stab, one that invaded his every pore, his very soul. It was if he was on fire.

'Thank you.' she had told him with her brilliant smile, the one he loved so very much. He couldn't speak; he was awestruck, reduced to nothing more than a blubbering mass of devotion.

He mumbled something that even he couldn't decipher under his breath, his eyes not meeting hers, and a terrible wave of red flooding his cheeks. As he watched her walk away, every single one of the words he'd ever wanted to say to her flashed through his mind, but he said nothing.

Those were the only two words she ever said to him, but they were the two he treasured above almost all others.

His fifth year finished, and the end of his sixth meant her last. The graduation ceremony was both breathtaking and heartbreaking. How was he supposed to survive each day without her? Though he would never admit it to Harry or Hermione, part of the reason why he didn't return to Hogwarts was because he couldn't stand being somewhere she wasn't anymore.

The next time he saw her, would be the last.

It was the Final Battle. Curses were flying, and Hogwarts was crumbling. Voldemort had called the hour of peace, and as he helped Bill drag another still-warm body into the Great Hall his eyes flickered over to where the Gryffindor table should've been, to where he had first laid eyes upon her, only to find that she was there once more.

Except this time, there was no grin on her beautiful face.

There was no light in her dark eyes.

There was no life in her body.

She was gone.

She had become just another casualty in the seemingly endless quest for the greater good. Was it really worth it anymore? He had lost so much already. He wanted to scream, to curse, to break down and give up fighting completely, but he couldn't. Not anymore. Not when there were so many people who depended on him, so much still to lose. Not when Fred was gone. He had to keep fighting, if only for them, so their deaths wouldn't have been in vain. It's what they would've wanted.

Sometimes, the price to be paid is to too high. And what was gained can't justify what was lost.

As he mourned the death of his elder brother, only he knew that those tears belonged to her as well.

He still loved her. She was in his heart every moment of everyday. Nothing could make the pain of her death disappear completely, but time had eased his suffering. He had to move on, and he had. He loved his wife more than words could ever describe, but some nights, he would lie awake and stare at the ceiling, simply wondering what life would've been like if she'd survived…

'Hermione,'

He trailed into their humble kitchen in search of her, thoughts of his first love still in his mind, though buried where they now belonged. When she heard his voice, she only looked up and smiled.

'I've been thinking.' She waited for him to continue as he leant forward and wrapped his arms around his loving wife and unborn child.

'If it's a girl,' he kissed the top of her head gently as he whispered the words in her ear. 'The baby, I mean.' He didn't quite know how to continue. Would she realise his motivation? He hoped she wouldn't.

'I think we should…' He paused to take a slow, deliberate breath.

'I think we should call her Rose.'