A Wishing Star
By Olivia Frost
Chapter 1: A Dream Left Behind
The front door slams
behind me. I stalk out of the house, past the pigpen and a few chickens heading
to bed, and run toward the cluster of trees across the road. I come close
to stepping on one of the chickens, but I donít care. I hate life. I hate me. I
hate being a Weasley. I stand in the middle of the road, kicking at the dirt
and plants growing from the ground. The road isnít used often. Mostly by passing Muggles, but they never see my
house; it is invisible to their eyes.
Thatís like a lot of
things in my life, really.
I sit down next to my
tree Ė the tree I carved my name in a few years before. My fingers trace
the shoddy carving of "Ron" in the bark. We each have a tree out
here. Mum and Dad did theirs with magic, but I was only a little kid then, so I
really donít remember. The carving Ė the tree Ė is like a lot of things in my
Itís rubbish, but at least it's my own.
The tree is mine and
But it is just a
stupid tree. I let out a sigh, kicking at the dirt below my feet. I hear Mum
calling for me to "Come back this instant!" She sounds quite angry
with me. Why shouldnít she be? I did kick Ginny and throw a fit.
That happens a lot lately. Iím always angry with my family. It isnít fair!
Bill is training with Gringotts, and he bought a new
wand! Charlie is Prefect and Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor and Mum
and Dad bought him new broom! Percy is, as usual, being annoying and stuffy Ė
the apple of Mumís eye. Fred and George are at Hogwarts Ė second years.
Ever since they left
for Hogwarts, Iíve been stuck here with only Ginny and Bill for company. But
Bill is ten years older than me, and he is always
working. Ginny is the only company I have and, frankly, I am tired of her.
I have her all to myself for a whole year! Day in and day out, all I hear is
"Ron! Come play with me!" or "Do
you want to swim in the pond? Iím hot!" or "Ron? Can I play with your broom? I can be
Chaser, you can be Keeper!" "RON, PLAY WITH ME! IíM BORED!" I
used to always go to Mum when I want to get away
from Ginny, but I donít do that any more: she makes me do chores.
I hate chores Ė
especially de-gnoming the garden.
COME BACK HERE THIS INSTANT! I KNOW YOUíRE IN THE TREES! DONíT MAKE COME
GET YOU!" I heard Mum scream from the front door.
Iím not ready to go
back. I donít want to apologize to Ginny. I donít want to go back there ever
I run through the
small forest as fast as I can, to get away from Mum. I just run
and run and donít stop for a while. I donít know where I am, but this
little patch of trees isnít very big, so Iím not going to get lost. I finally
stop when I come to a clearing at the top of a hill and sit down to catch my
breath. The stars are bright in the country, and soon they'll dot the sky
by the thousands. The view below me is almost better. In the distance is the town of Ottery St. Catchpole and the Otter River. The town lights
spread along the English countryside, and I see the sun setting. A few
fire pixies fly out into the clearing to see me, a giant intruder onto their
dancing grounds. I donít pay the little flying people any mind. Dad tells me
theyíre our ancestors. With fiery red hair and tempers to boot, yet a
compassion for all living things. I learned a long time ago that the
Weasleysí relation to the fire pixies was all a tale. How can I be related to something so small? I believed it for so
Fred and George
thought I was daft and laughed at me.
I look out at the town
again, which resembles the stars above me. The town so far
Iím not sure where the lights end and the sky begins. I see smoke rising
from some of the chimneys. I smile and wonder: Iím living in that house
with a younger brother; Mum, Dad, and me are all sitting around the fire
Just like the
Gryffindor Common Room.
Or so I've heardÖ.
Sometimes, Mum gets so
angry with me because I donít have any patience for Ginny anymore. I havenít
just spent a few months with her; I spent almost my entire life with
her! Thatís what happens when you have two brothers who are
too old to play with you, one whoís too bossy, and twins. Iíve always been put out from my brothers,
even when I was younger. So I played with the only person I could.
But now that I'm ten,
Iím tired of her. I want friends of my own - not just older brothers and a
tagalong sister. I want good things and not rubbish. I want attention. I
want money. I want to get away from the Burrow. I want to go to Hogwarts.
I also want to be
Separate, you know?
I shake away my
thoughts and look at some of the cars - yes, cars - driving
through the streets. I canít make out much but I do see some things. I see some
, who are no bigger than the stars above me. I went into the town
once to get new clothes Ė Muggle clothes. I did
get clothes, just very worn, used ones. They
were ugly, and so was I.
Iím ugly and always
have been. Any boy my age with red hair, freckles, long nose, clown feet, large
hands, and taller than normal is. I hate it. I will always hate it. I
will die ugly with red hair, freckles, and an out-of-proportion body.
I want to live like
the townspeople. I want to be able to afford a proper house in town and not
live in a former pigsty. I want to be famous! I want people all over the world
to know me! Ron Weasley! I want that so much and for so long it hurts. I want a
place to call my own, a bed of my own, a broom of my own, a
life of my own.
Is that too much to
My blood is boiling
again. I want to run. Run anywhere! Run to that town! Run to London! Run to Hogwarts! I want to run and
never come back. I want to run to a different life.
I want to be smart, I
want to afford things, I want that real house on a street in a town, I
donít want a legacy to live up to, and I want to be handsome. Bill is handsome
but I can never look as good as him.
I see a star shoot
across the sky like in old stories Mum, Grandmum
and Great-Grandmum told me when I was really young.
They told me of wishing stars, that they appear when the wisher is in peril
or in need of hope. I believed their stories because I was small and gullible.
I look up at a bright, twinkling star and for a brief moment it gives me
something I never thought a small star would.
It gives me hope, and
I wish for something right then and there.
I wish for the one
thing nobody can give me: to be my own person and not just the sixth Weasley.
The night suddenly is
colder and Iím sure Mum is worried so I head back.
The one thing
I always wanted, and always will want, is far behind me in a memory
of what can only be a spectacular dream or a tiny star in a sky of thousands.
The star is a bunch of
bollocks, just like the pixies. Stars canít grant my wishes. They are only
balls of gas far, far away. They arenít magical! They donít have a guarantee!
They give the bloody wisher a hope all right. A false hope. I canít understand why anyone ever trusts
something so foolish. They are gullible and daft, just like me. Stars are only
objects in fairy tales for little children. They are nothing to me. Nothing at all.
My dreams will never
I left them behind me,
at the top of that hill.
Thanks to my three
wonderful betas: Liberty at checkmated, Eleena Thea, a good friend
of mine, and mostly Gwynne, who really helped me with the tense in this story.
You are amazing, thank you so much!
This is a two-part
story. One from Ron's POV and a second from another
character's POV. Iíve written the second, now I just
have to give it to my beta. It is only two, though. Sorry.
Oh, for all those
newbie writers out there, don't attempt first person. It gave me the hardest
time. But that's what betas are for. ;-D
Olivia Frost 0:-D