It ain't fair: you died too young,
Like the story that had just begun,
But death tore the pages all away.
God knows how I miss you,
At eight years old, Rose had the rest of her life, but was never able to live it. Not fair, thought Rose's father.
She was only eight. To be exact, three thousand and seventeen days old. Rose had hardly lived.
Ron reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a photograph. A black and white moving picture of him and his young daughter, just three days before she was cruelly taken from them.
She was sat on her father's knee, both of them happily laughing at something that only they knew. Who knew, that one week later, that man would be burying his little girl.
He had prayed every night since the day he had lost his daughter. Told God how he felt. His wife, Hermione, knew he was taking it hard, but she didn't know the half of it.
The pink roses he had put on her grave, blew in the wind. Pink, for the love between the father and daughter, and gratitude. He was grateful for the eight years of Rose Weasley.
Ron stood up, said goodbye, and walked away. He didn't want to leave, but he had to.
He opened the door to his home, and went inside.
"I'm back." Ron called.
"Hello, darling." said his wife, kissing him. "How was it?"
Mr Weasley didn't answer, and Hermione knew she should leave it.
"Hugo drew a picture in school today." The women held up a picture of a rather triangular looking girl with brown hair, a smiley face, and a blue top and skirt, like the day she died.
"His teacher called me in to say that he's been quiet and upset." Hermione sighed. "I still can't believe she's gone."
There was a pause in which both parents knew that they were both thinking of Rose.
"We've been invited to Harry and Ginny's for dinner tonight. Shall we go?" asked Hermione, trying to brighten things up, though she knew that an everlasting cloud of sorrow had come when Rose was taken from them.
"Hey, mate." Ron said to his son, Hugo, walking into his room.
"Hi Dad." said the boy, who was colouring a picture of a little girl which Ron knew to be Rose.
"Nice picture. Rose would be happy that you drew a picture of her."
"It's not Rose, Dad.Well, it sort of is." Hugo looked at the very confused face of his father.
"Who is it?"
"It's Rose Angel. Mummy said that Rose was an angel now, and that she was in heaven with God and Uncle Fred. She’s having a good time. She likes riding white horses."
That brought tears to his eyes, which he blinked back.
"Yes, son. She's happy." said Ron, hugging his young son.
"Hello. Come in, come in." said Ginny Potter, opening the front door and welcoming her brother's family into her home.
They walked up the hall. Harry popped out of the kitchen wearing a pink apron. But all of them knew that it was not the right time to comment on it.
They all exchanged hugs, ones of unhappiness, and sympathy.
"Kids! Come down! They're here!" Ginny called up the stairs.
James,9, Albus,8 and Lily,6 came down.
Dinner was served. Like it had all been since the terrible day, it was silent. Except from the sound of knives and forks. Until someone broke the silence.
"I wish Rose was here." said the small voice of Lily.
"We all do, darling." replied Harry.
There was silence once more, and a sad looking six year old girl.
"Don't worry,Lily. Rose is an angel in heaven. She’s with Uncle Fred and God and she's having fun, riding white horses and watching over us." said Hugo, reassuringly.
All of the adults smiled. And all of the children. Little Lily was glad to be told that her cousin was having fun and knew that she was going to be ok.
Author's notes -
Thankyou so much if you are reading this! I loved writing it, and it was great to be able to write a songfic to such a sweet song. Thanks again, Lauren xx
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