See It to Believe It

Herminia

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Ron & Luna
Book: Ron & Luna, Books 1 - 6
Published: 10/04/2006
Last Updated: 10/04/2006
Status: completed

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

Chapters

1. [ 1 ]

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.

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