Stronger than Me

As I sit in the corner of the nearly empty Common Room trying to concentrate on the essay in front of me, I feel my blood boiling at the soft giggles coming from across the room. They don’t even realise I’m here, because I’m invisible to them.

Harry was the last person to leave and he went upstairs ages ago, just after midnight, barely giving me a nod goodnight. He left me to be unseen and unheard by the amorous pair sitting mere metres from me, fully aware of their activities, though they are completely oblivious to my presence.

My quill glides along the parchment and I let it dig in a bit, hoping the scratching noise will drown out the happiness seeping from them and sucking the life out of me. No such luck, as the scratching noise only serves to irritate me and goes completely unnoticed by the two on the settee. I suppose I could go up to my room to finish my work, but I don’t see why I should have to leave. After all, I’m using the Common Room for what it’s technically supposed to be used for- schoolwork, not just socialising, if you could call what they were doing that.

Hypocrite, I think with no malice, knowing I would most definitely be engaging in the exact same behaviour if I was the girl he had chosen… if I had been the girl he had chosen to stay with.

More soft giggles erupt from them and this time I can’t resist looking over at them. The sight breaks my heart in an instant. His long, slender fingers are dragging through her hair, his freckles a stark contrast against his fair skin. The image of them cosily sitting and cuddling together in front of the fireplace threatens to bring tears to my eyes, so I close them.

Her soft whimper interrupts the relative silence of the cracks and pops of the fire and I decide having my eyes closed away from the sight of them is just as bad, because I can let my imagination run away with me. Turning to look at them again, I see her fingers trace his long nose, over his cheek, and around to cup his face, pulling him in close to kiss her again.

I have the insane urge to vault across the room, pull on her hair, and tell her to get her hands off my man. But he never was mine- not really, I remind myself for what seems like the millionth time. He never specifically said it, but there had been so many signs, so many times that I had been sure he would always be mine. There had been so many moments when it was just the two of us and I felt like he was almost ready to tell me he loved me… Almost isn’t enough, I think sadly, wishing I could turn back time, going back to before I lost him to her, and convince him of how much I cared about him. I thought my actions had spoken loudly enough, but I realise now that I needed to do a bit more talking to prove it to him.

His lips softly kiss her nose before moving lower to linger against her lips for a moment and then rest on her neck, caressing the skin there. Watching his full lips touching her, I feel memory flood through me- memory of those same lips parted in that secret, maddening, and special smile, the one I had thought was reserved for only me.

I am having a difficult time understanding what I could have possibly done differently, what I could have done to not lose him to her. My mind has been through the endless possibilities, examining each before discarding it and moving on to the next one. I want so badly to understand, to know what I did that was horrible enough for him to run to her. I want to know what about me wasn’t enough for him.

Maybe if I had shown him how much he means to me, I begin to think, and then chastise myself for even beginning the thought. Not caring enough for him was never the issue, as I adored him and he knew it. There was never a question about how deeply I care for him.

Maybe if I was smarter or if I studied harder, I tell myself before I nearly snort out loud. My intelligence and grades have nothing to do with whether he wants me or not. Books and cleverness are clearly not the reason he wants her. I wish I could tell myself that was the only reason he wanted her more, but I know Ron isn’t shallow enough to dismiss anyone based on how smart they are.

I watch as he sucks and licks the crook of her pale neck and hear her gasps and his groans. I see his long fingers reach up to cup her breast and her fingers tug his hair, forcing his eyes to meet hers.

“Please,” he says huskily, “I want you so bad,” and he kisses her again. A sob catches in my throat as the angry tears begin their rise again. He’s never said those words to me and I can’t help but feel she has stolen words she has no right to.

“What about-” she protests as she drags her lips away from his, and I know somehow that she was about to say my name. His fingertips cover her lips in an instant, preventing her from saying my name, as though it’s a dirty word that should never be uttered.

“Not her. You. I want you- only you,” he says roughly, his voice full of emotion. Through the twinges in my heart, I find myself wondering if this was the first time he’s said that, because they’re just staring at each other, unmoving.

They come together again, slowly, gently, and I try so hard to suffocate the jealous urges rising in my body, reminding me he’s never said anything half that sweet to me. His lips once more travel down her neck, his fingertips over her breast and I watch in shock as her fingers loosen buttons from their slips. I didn’t think even she would let him go so far in the Common Room, though I shouldn’t be surprised, given the shows they’ve put on in the past. They've never been quiet about hiding their interactions from the rest of us.

From across the room, I can see his eyes light up as she’s exposed to him, and I muse that she is not so different from me. I refuse to go as far as to call her beautiful; even though it is easy to see she is, because I want to believe he wants her for another reason. Still, I can see why he finds her appealing and I don’t argue that while she’s my physical opposite, she’s lovely in her own right.

Maybe if I spoke up less or complained less, I think, still searching for why he wants her and not me. Again, I’m stumped, because she also complains and speaks her mind, even if I couldn’t care less for what she has to say. I can’t help it if she only seems interested in talking about things I’m not. Besides, Ron’s too fiery to want someone demure and even I know it’s not the amount I talk that’s kept him away from me.

“Ron,” she moans breathily as his lips close over the top of her breast and slide lower. I realise I have never hated her quite as much as I hate her in this moment. She’s getting everything I want, everything that should be mine, everything I have earned and I wonder if she knows what a gift she’s getting.

One glance back at her face and I see she does appreciate the amazing man in her arms, which both relieves and disappoints me. On the one hand, as angry as I am at Ron for not seeing how special what we had was, for it not being enough for him, I’m glad she’s at least giving him what I clearly didn’t- though I’m not exactly sure what that is. On the other hand, I’m disappointed that she fulfils him so much and makes him so happy that I’ve certainly lost my chance forever and I can never get him back.

"Mine," he practically growls at her and jealousy again surges through me. He's never claimed me as his, never made it clear what we were, and it saddens me that he never will. He's enthralled with her, I realise and I wonder what he is so fascinated with. I watch the open admiration crossing his face as she meets his gaze and smiles shyly at him. His hand rests on her neck, bracing her, while the other pushes her gently to lie back against the cushioned arm of the settee. He kneels over her, one leg between her knees, the other against the back cushions, and slowly leans down to kiss her again.

Maybe if I was a bit more modest, I think, pondering if he prefers a woman who is a bit more shy or reserved. I remember how loud and outgoing Ron often is and I seriously doubt he prefers a quiet girlfriend. Neither she nor I are quiet at all, though in completely different ways.

His lips place short kisses on her lips, whispering between kisses words I cannot hear, words that surely speak of love and passion and trust. Her eyes confirm what I already know: he loves her and the feeling is definitely mutual. I can't blame her for loving him- after all, I love him, too. I’m just glad I was never foolish enough to tell him that.

She appears to tire of passively allowing him to practically worship her, which makes me seriously question her sanity, and suddenly flips him over. The startled grin on his face and his awed exclamation of “brilliant” causes her to laugh whole-heartedly. Though she sits astride him, he re-establishes his control by cupping her bum and pulling her forward to kiss her hard on the mouth. She squeals with what I imagine is delight just before he covers her mouth and thrusts upward.

As his fingers flex around her bum and hips, I clench my quill so tightly that it snaps cleanly in half. I worry for a moment that they will look up and catch me, but a loud groan from him had easily covered the noise.

In the splitting of the quill, I’m struck with inspiration. She must be stronger than me, I think to myself. Seeing her flip him over quite easily, I know I would never have been able to accomplish that feat with the same ease. I am suddenly feeling an odd sense of admiration for this woman who stole my love away from me, because there is far more to her than meets the eye. She clearly has hidden strength within her, though I would never admit to believing that if questioned.

That thought, that one thought, is enough to trigger some understanding into my brain: he can’t help but love her. There is obviously something about her, something I just can’t see, that makes her the one for him. He can’t help but love her anymore than either of us can stop loving him.

She will always be “the one” and I can only hope I will always be a friend.

As sad as this thought is to me, it helps in a way, relives me somehow. I can stop torturing myself; I can finally stop analysing exactly what I could have done to make him love me. I can stop imagining the ruthless and cruel things I was sure she must have said to turn him against me. I can stop making up stories in my head about how she could have seduced him and convinced him that she was better for him than I am.

It’s not about me at all.

I still want to believe that she led him from me, that nothing but feminine wiles could have stolen him away from me, but I know it’s not true. Looking at the genuine love and admiration on his face, I see this has been building a while, whether I was oblivious to it or not. I suppose I must have been in denial that Ron would want a girl like her instead of a girl like me.

“Too fast,” he gasps against her lips. “We’re going to fast. Don’t want to mess this up,” and he pushes her into a sitting position on his lap. He scoots back against the arm of the settee and attempts to catch his breath, his hands shaking as he holds the two sides of her blouse.

She is looking down at her hands, a flush rising on the skin of her chest, and she bites her lip softly, pulling it between her teeth. I do that too, I think, marvelling that I had never really noticed our similarities before. How she manages to look demure while straddling him between her thighs, her shirt gaping open, I’m not sure I’ll ever know.

He leans forward to kiss her again, his fingers replacing her blouse buttons in their slips. I admit I am more than confused- this is not the behaviour I expected from Ron Weasley. She must be confused as well, because she pulls back and looks at him quizzically, as though she can’t understand what he’s doing.

“Ron, what-”

“I don’t wanna go too far and not be able to take it back. I respect you,” he says and that is the final step I need to take towards acceptance. Whatever he may have felt for me, it obviously pales in comparison with what he feels for her.

“I know you do-”

“No, let me say this. Hermione, I.” He takes a deep breath and tries again. “Hermione, I love you.”

It’s funny, I dreamed of the day I would finally hear him say those three words, yet this is as far from my vision as possible. Somehow, it seems right that I should witness this moment between them, despite them being unaware of my presence. It seems right that he should profess his love for his best friend, while I sit hidden in the shadows. It seems right that he should finally tell her he’s in love with her while I listen in with a broken heart.

I may have borrowed him for a while, may have made him mine, but he never truly made me his.

Without hearing his declaration to her, I don’t know if I ever would have been able to stop myself, to stop trying and dreaming and planning ways to make him mine again. But I can clearly see it would be a useless pursuit; he’s smitten and so is she.

“I love you, too.”

This is how it’s meant to be, I think, as I hear her response. I never really had the chance to be happy with him, never really had his heart, despite giving him mine. When I kissed him in the Common Room after that Quidditch match, I had told myself he wouldn’t kiss me back if he wasn’t interested. Apparently, I had been wrong- another casualty in the war leading them to this point. He had always known he would come back to her and I suspect deep inside she knew the same.

I pick up my wand, whisper a quick Reparo over my quill, and dip it lightly into my inkwell. Merlin only knows how long I’ll be stuck down here before they go to bed and I can sneak up to my room. I might as well get some work done. I sign my name on the top of the parchment, Lavender Brown, and try to remember what it was I had been trying to write.

A loud giggle again interrupts my thoughts, but this time I merely shake my head and promise my heart that I will have what they have someday.

Good for them.

*****

Fin.

Thank you for reading!  I would love to hear your thoughts!  ~Risie