4Stereotypes
Humanity had always been bent on reliving life through stereotypes. The common belief that people are what they were seen as have given a great impact on others who were unconcerned, and eventually, led them to think that life would probably be the same as to how others see it.
And as unexpected as it may seem, I have been fooled by those stereotypical claims… on romance, nonetheless.
I threw another novel into the fireplace and I watched the as the flames hungrily devoured my only copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream. I bought it for her as a present for Christmas, yet, it seemed that Christmas with her would never come.
As you can see, she is very fond of romance classics… especially those who stereotypically claim that once you love and adore women to the brink of your existence, they will feel the same.
I poked the flame in annoyance, determined to burn the bloody book.
After all, I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, stupidly thought that she would be like those claimed characters. I always thought that she would wait for me, love me as I love her, and that she'd respond positively once I tell her my feelings.
Only, I found out that Hermione was real person with a real mind—not some imaginary bimbo made up through parchment and ink.
Harry once told me that she had felt the same way. I looked up in surprise and tightly gripped my broomstick polish as my best mate said everything I was dense enough to not know. He narrated the jealous looks she had given Lavender Brown during our sixth year and the secretive smiles she sent me during our younger years. Harry said that he also thought that she would wind up becoming another Weasley, until a look of defeat marred her face the night that she had seen me snogging Lavender after winning the war.
I reasoned that Lavender was the one who threw herself at me, yet Harry only smiled.
"There is no need to explain, Ron. I saw it coming, anyway."
I punched Harry on the face that day, and he let me.
Ginny came to my apartment the next night; watching me as I stoically threw picture by picture in the fireplace. It had been eerily quiet, not even a greeting uttered between us. I flipped each page of the humongous album placed on my lap until I landed on the part where her picture was.
It was a huge one, taking up the full page. Creevey took this during the Yule Ball and it was a good thing that I carried a few Sickles with me then. I traced her photo as she laughed heartily, as she tucked her loose hair...
A pair of warm arms encircled me and I leaned into them. The photo album lay discarded on the floor and the picture now rested in my calloused hand.
"Ginny, it's my fault, wasn't it?"
She stayed silent for a few moments and held me tighter, locking me in an embrace, afraid of letting go.
"Let it go, Ron. It's neither your nor Hermione's fault."
She held on the picture and threw it by the album. I cried.
Amongst all of them, George knew most of the hardships I've gone through with Hermione. He knew of my struggled effort to win her affection, the constant hints that she always pushed away and the continuous adoration I had for her even if I knew that it was futile.
He was the one who bluntly told me to stop, seeing that it would get us nowhere. Hermione has a strong head, and her decisions never wavered. George said that she might've decided to not let me be that person in her life.
Desperately, I asked him if I were not good enough.
"Listen, Ron. You may be good enough, yet, she might've seen the cracks of a relationship with you. Maybe, you're not meant to be."
I may be stubborn, yes. However, as I looked into the serious face of my brother, I knew that he was right.
Maybe, we really aren't meant to be.
Some may say that I have seen everything there is about Hermione Granger.
I have seen her flushed in anger; I have seen her immersed in Hogwarts: A History for the umpteenth time; I have seen her petrified; I have seen her with her buck teeth and bushy hair; I have seen her spouting deathly curses; I have seen her turn into Millicent Bulstrode's cat; I have seen her being a sucker in flying; I have seen her during the Yule Ball; I have seen her intent on finding the Horcruxes; I have seen her mourn for those people she loved; and I have seen her shed tears of anguish and anger.
Yet, this was the only time that I have seen her so happy.
And it was all because of him. Not me.
And I tried to relinquish to the fact that I had seen more sides of Hermione than he did; unfortunately, only to find out that he had also, albeit coincidentally, been there when those sides appeared.
He had been the cause of her childhood anger; he had called her adorable while reading, thus she continued doing so; he was, surprisingly, a regular visitor when she was petrified; he was the cause why her teeth became normal and her hair remained the same; he was the receiving end of those curses the moment he joined the Order; he had been the reason why we brewed the Polyjuice Potion in the first place; he taunted her flying skills and eventually taught her; he openly gaped at her during the Yule Ball and glared at Krum; he helped her with finding the Horcruxes, never leaving her side; he was the shoulder he leaned on when Sirius and her parents died; lastly, he was her source of comfort the moment she claimed defeat on me.
I never once thought that I would lose to him, of all people. I never thought that I would eventually call her the name that I detested for years.
"We're engaged."
She looked at me with her hazel eyes, waiting for my blessing.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Malfoy."
The wedding reception was being held downstairs. I took another swig of Ogden's Firewhiskey and relished the burning sensation in my throat. The chilly wind of December made my face paler than usual; even the firewhiskey wasn't able to bring back its original color.
I took another swig, only to find the bottle empty. I shook it once more, determined to have a taste of the fine wine. I was about to throw the bottle elsewhere, until a hand offered me another bottle.
"Thought you'd be right here." The bloke placed the bottle onto his mouth and took a long gulp. "I thought right." He offered it to me once more.
I took the bottle from his pale hands, chugging down a few gulps of the wine. We stayed silent and watched the merriment from above, constantly sharing a few gulps of the drink he brought.
"Why are you up here?" I finally asked.
Malfoy looked at me in amusement, taking another full swig from the bottle. I found it annoying how I was beginning to like him albeit the fact that he was the reason why Hermione wasn't able to love me back. I took the bottle from his grip and downed everything within one gulp, not minding the burning it did to my throat.
"Weasley, do you still love her?" I looked up, surprised by his question.
That moment, I wanted to shout it in his face that I do still love her. I wanted to tell him that the stereotypical romance I was inclined to have was destroyed the moment he came and showed her another path. I wanted to whine about the fact that I have loved her dearly, perhaps more than the love that he could ever give her.
In short, I wanted to tell him that I was way better for her. That she would be happier with me.
Only, I knew that it would be a fat lie.
"Yes."
Malfoy chuckled and faced the dark sky. I faced him and continued,
"However, I always knew that it was like turning on a one-way street."
I whispered something else until the door burst open and Seamus and Dean pulled the two of us away. Malfoy patted lightly on the shoulder and nodded his head in thanks.
I walked away from the others that night and watched as the newlyweds danced gracefully by the hall. Harry joined me as I watched them glide and smile… seemingly content of each other.
"Want some?" Harry offered me his drink; however, I turned it down.
I raked my hands into my messy red hair and grinned the moment Hermione waved at me. I knew that letting go was the right choice.
I walked past the deserted streets of Diagon Alley that night. I waltzed into the Joke shop, thankful that George did not bother me about my late night visit. I told him about my encounter with Malfoy, and he assured me that my decision was right, and perhaps, the best that I have ever made in my life.
"What was that you said to him again?"
"I said yes; however, I have always known that loving her was like turning on a one way street…
…I cannot give her what she wants. I cannot give her happiness."
"Yet, he did."
"Yeah, that blond git bloody did it."
I flipped through the pages of A Midsummer Night's Dream. The front cover was indeed charred, yet parts of the classic was still readable. I salvaged it from utter destruction, bent on having it displayed on my bedside table as a reminder that love does not work as they say in books and films.
I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, have broken that stereotype.
I always had this impression of what Ron might feel about Dramione. By nature, Ron is loving and easily jealous and I found his temper a very striking ingredient in an Angst fic. I wanted to depict him as someone who is hopelessly in love, who loved Hermione yet was not able to gain her affections.
This was a new side to love since most fanfictions are done wherein the girl languidly returns the feelings of the boy that fancies her. Even if I added a third party on the picture (or an alternative crash course for Hermione), it still reflects the fact that she wasn't able to accept Ron once more as someone she could love.
I hope you liked my interpretation of RonHermione Angst, after all, this is my first Canon pairing entry in Harry Potter fandom. :]