Antithesis

A/N: As my PC lay in the clutches of a deadly virus due to my outdated Norton, this little thing sauntered leisurely into my head. It’s my second fic, first oneshot to date, and took two weeks of longhand writing with a pen and paper –which I really don’t mind, I kinda like using a good pen. = ) Thank yous to my wonderful beta, Julie! So here it is, I hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I wish I DID own Harry Potter, that way I can buy Chucks in every single color and design, hah! But, turns out I don’t own anything, and therefore can’t buy anything…

Prompt: antithesis

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Antithesis. For some reason, the word had been stuck in his head ever since he came across it the day before in his search for the definition of antipasto.

The opposition or contrast of ideas, the direct opposite.

Black and white. Brave and cowardly. Short and tall. Smart and stupid. Loquacious and reticent. Cautious and reckless.

Ashley and Hermione.

He frowned slightly and wondered why that analogy came to mind, but the more he pondered on it, the more he understood.

Ashley had pin-straight, platinum blonde hair that on off days would look lank and lifeless. Hermione was a brunette, whose hair was soft, lush and wavy. Ashley had cold, blue eyes behind pale lashes, which made him feel a bit uneasy whenever they were fixed on him. Hermione’s brown eyes, however, radiated so much warmth and affection, especially when she smiled, that he felt tingly all over. Eyes that saw him for who he really was, an average guy who just happened to have a very colourful history, and not the superhero who rid the world of the worst sort of evil to ever walk the earth. A damaged soul who still had nightmares, who cried over those who had needlessly perished, not some fearless conqueror who had no emotions.

He and Ashley talked a lot, yes. Yet somehow, he found any sort of substance lacking in their conversations, which for the most part revolved around the culinary arts (he’d established his own restaurant) and clothes (she was a designer). With Hermione, he never needed to keep things interesting, they just were. He never had to cast around for anything to talk about. They would spend hours in conversation about everything from work, to times past, to global warming, to pet care... life in general, basically. He never tired of hearing her voice or watching her talk, particularly when it was about something she really cared about, - be it the rights of the oppressed, magical or non-magical (she'd decided to become a lawyer), or bashing the Ministry of Magic. She still had the tendency to nag though, especially when it came to keeping his apartment clean and inhabitable. But beyond that, she had greatly mellowed. He observed that yesterday's clothes lay strewn across the floor, leading to the door of his room. He smiled as he thought that if she came over at that very moment, he would certainly be getting an earful.

And then he realized that he had been comparing his girlfriend (the fifth one now. Somehow, with the other four, things stopped working out after the first month.) to his best friend. How evil of him. But then, why was he comparing them in the first place? How could he even dare? Ashley was everything he wanted in a girl. Beautiful, willowy, long hair, great smile, nice teeth... she was perfect.

Right?

Being non-magical, Ashley wasn't the sort of girl who worshipped the ground he walked on, or kept a shrine of him in her wardrobe. She wasn't disorganized, either. Everything was in its own drawer in its own corner of the room. She wasn't one to complain if she had to walk a few kilometres to the grocer.

And yet...

Ashley wasn't the one who stuck by his side when everyone else had turned him away. She wasn't the one who struggled to stay awake, spending hours and hours helping him to figure out how to finally vanquish the Dark Lord. She wasn't around at a time when he needed to be assured that there was still a reason not to give up.

She wasn't—

Something clicked inside his head, like a switch being flicked on, illuminating the dark recesses of his deluded mind.

She wasn't Hermione.

It wasn't much of a realization, it was more of...a recognition. It had been her all along; he was just too busy trying not to see it, trying to convince himself that he wasn't supposed to be thinking of his best friend like that. And in so doing, he had missed out on so much. He couldn't even remember if he had ever thanked her for being everything that she was to him. His comfort, his refuge, his strength. He wondered how he would have survived if it weren't for Hermione. She was the one thing that was constant in his world - never doubting, incessantly encouraging, keeping him afloat even when he himself wanted to drown.

He smiled ruefully. How stupid could he get? She had always been right in front of him, how could he have been so bloody blind?

He decided then that he couldn't live without her, not for another moment.

He got up off the couch and picked up the phone.