See It to Believe It
by Herminia

Rating: PG13
Ship: Ron & Luna
Canon: Books 1 - 6
Genre: Romance
Status: Complete
Length: 938 words in 1 chapter
Published: 10 Apr 2006
Last updated: 10 Apr 2006

An occurrence at Grimmauld Place during Harry, Ron, and Hermione's Seventh year...

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/5920/

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1. [ 1 ]

I never write in present tense or first person and this might just be why... and I've never written from Ron's point of
view... Here goes nothing...

A Nagging Doubt

It sounded good on paper. That's what she would say.

It sounded like built in double-dating with Harry and Ginny, and hand-holding in the Prefects compartment of the
Hogwarts Express. It sounded like I would have to accept that flat-faced, bottlebrush-tailed Crookshanks once and for
all -- despicable little hairball that he is, was, and always will be. At the very least, I'd have to stop kick—nudging
him out of the way with my foot.

A lot of things sound good on paper. That's what Hermione says. There's an apologetic smile on her face as she pats my
hand and tells me that it's “for the best, for all of us.” And it is. It's high time to call it off.

We kissed at the wedding - Bill and Fleur's, I mean - jostled by the rambunctious crowd of well-wishers and nearly
flattened up against the overgrown hedge. Spirits were high. It was supposed to be the beginning of something grand.
Fred and George - the gits - had just detonated an earsplitting round of Wildfire Whiz-Bangs and as the sky exploded red
and gold above us, we closed our eyes and found ourselves lip locked. All I remember are the fireworks - the ones in the
sky, that is - and the deafening blast that drowned out all sounds and touches and thoughts. And I remember George,
galloping over and clapping me on the back, and Ginny's triumphant shriek, and Fred emptying a tankard of firewhiskey
over our heads. The kiss itself was lost in the aftershocks.

We couldn't look each other in the eyes for days. We never spoke of it again, though the others did - giggling and
rollicking and labeling us an item. Only Harry seemed appropriately embarrassed for us, and now it all makes sense.

“We're - I'm - really sorry - things just haven't panned out the way we thought they should,” she says, looking
earnestly up at me. In the shadows, Harry lurks shiftily.

I won't lie. Falling out of love hurts. It hurts even more to admit that whatever “it” was we “had” may not have been
love to begin with. “It” was something we'd been squabbling over, shunting aside, and flat-out denying for years. It was
something that had kept us going through our Lavenders and Padmas and Viktors and Cormacs, and to admit that it wasn't
all it was cracked up to be would be to admit that we'd wasted all those years… Love is a promise that no one ever
keeps.

We were rocky from the start, torn in so many directions by forces beyond our control. It's easy to see where we
faltered, where it all went wrong. It's not easy living in close quarters with someone - with two someones. We saw each
other at our worst, our tiredest, our angriest, our damnedest. We screamed and skulked and muttered and hid, and every
which way we turned, Harry was there. Harry pouring over maps and ancient scrolls. Harry pacing the halls of Grimmauld
Place in the middle of the night. Harry accidentally tripping the wards as he entered the room where I'd almost - almost
- gotten her to put aside Quentin Trimble's The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. Harry needed her - Merlin, he
needed her so bad. Who was I to stand in the way? If we were to survive, he would have to be our savior.

What's more, she needed him. He was her momentum - her purpose. I was an occasional laugh in the Common room, a column
in her day planner, a pebble in her shoe.

Kneeling before me, it couldn't be clearer that she expects me to blow up in her face, and the fact that I'm not raging
and cursing unsettles her. We've always fought but the fight has gone with the passion. “Ron - Ronald - please don't be
mad,” she implores.

Ronald. Only Luna Lovegood - Loony to everyone else - calls me that. She's taken to writing me letters since we've been
apart, letters delivered by an assortment of odd birds, each one stranger and more wonderful than the last…

“I just need a little space, Hermione,” I grunt and she slips obediently back into the shadows, into Harry's arms, as I
make for the door.

Sometimes, Luna writes that we can't be everything to everyone, but if we can be everything to just one person that
makes life worth living. I learned a long time ago that I couldn't be everything to everyone. Dad couldn't be both
wizard and Muggle, though Merlin knows he'd like to be; Percy couldn't move up in the Ministry and still be one of us;
even Fred and George couldn't make everyone laugh.

It was the second bit that puzzled me. I didn't get it - not at first, anyway. I gradually came to the realization that
Harry and Hermione had it, whatever it was. Meanwhile, the letters kept coming and with every cheerful salutation and
soothing word of comfort, I began to figure it out for myself. There's only one way to explain it - it's like a
Blibbering Humdinger, love is. You can't believe it until you see it's so for yourself.
