Disclaimer: Jo Rowling owns Harry Potter and the characters that come with it. I borrow.
Author's Note: Reviews really help, so if you could take some time to just leave a review, I'll be extremely, EXTREMELY appreciative. (:
People think it's so easy writing a book. Please, just because Hermione managed to churn out THREE memoirs in ten years doesn't mean I can do the same. Besides, THREE? Why can't she just update the first one? How much is there to write about?
Yeah alright, I'm a bit jealous. Wouldn't you be? Best friends for thirty years and from half the book in the first memoir, I've been relegated to a chapter in the third. A Chapter? One measly chapter? Sure her children are important. I mean, I love Hugo and Rose with all my heart, I really do. And of course, her failed marriage with Ron is a huge thing. I mean, the public wants to know all the juicy details, right? Who broke whose heart and all that jazz? You'd think that the Daily Prophet have better things to do than to wonder over the relationship of forty year olds, but even now, years after The Defeat (I only put it in capitals because apparently that's the way it should be referred to; people need to realize that I'm not the hero they think I am), people still want to know about the trio – Potter and his two best friends.
We don't see each other much anymore, which I know sounds really sad, but the truth is, after thirty years and our own individual families, among other things, we've drifted apart. Never mind that all three of us work in the ministry. I've not seen Hermione for months, but I did hear that she continues to bury herself in legislative work. I drop by Ron's office once a week to catch up, but he's been dating this nice lady from Muggle Relations, and so he has been AWOL for awhile now. He may look more like Arthur Weasley each day, beer belly and all, but after the divorce, Ron found himself with no lack of suitors.
It's hard for me to look at my best mate that way, but if I were a girl (no, I do not want to be a girl, not that there's anything wrong with being girl.. see, this is why I hate writing a book, you have to be so damn politically correct), I'll probably go for him as well. His red hair is thinning, but it's still as brilliant a red as ever. Women dig his sense of humour, and Ron is the most easygoing man I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Yes, sure, we had our problems in our youth, but he's really grown into his father in that aspect.
It's not in my place to talk about their relationship, or the demise of it. After all, it's their business, and I have no right to talk on their behalf, but I'm really quite sick of the tabloids blaming me for their marriage. I am not the centre of the universe, contrary to popular belief. Also, my wife and I have recently decided to separate, and the last I want, for the sakes of my children, Ginny and myself, is more inaccurate speculating from the media.
I'll just say this. All of us married really young, and I'm not saying that people who marry young don't last. For Merlin's sake, my parents were married right after school, and I can safely say with much certainty that if they had lived, they would still be together. But that's not to say that they wouldn't have their fair share of problems. I suppose, it all boils down to how much you want to keep the relationship.
Ron and Hermione were always a volatile couple. One day they'd be up there on cloud nine, and the next, they would be in one of their (very very vicious) fights. Oh, I remember back in school, all those years ago, when Hermione canary-attacked Ron because… That's another story for another chapter (or if I take a leaf out of Hermione's book, no pun intended, another book). Anyway, I've digressed. Ron and Hermione shared a lot of love, but their personalities clashed too much. They stuck with it until their kids, sweet Rose and brave Hugo, my two nephews, grew older and understood that just because two people loved each other dearly, it doesn't always mean that they'd go well together as a couple.
As for Ginny and I, well, that's another matter. I take full responsibility for our divorce. Ginny has been, in our years of marriage, nothing short of extraordinary. If Ron has inherited his father's good-natured personality, Ginny has her mother's maternal instinct. The children cannot ask for a better mother, and I cannot ask for a better wife.
Why would I break up with an apparent angel, you're probably thinking right now. Maybe it's my wizard version of a quarter-life crisis, but for years now, if I have to be honest, I've stopped feeling for Ginny. No, that's not right. Hermione would know how to put this into words. Unfortunately, I think she's been ignoring me lately, so I'll have to stumble along on my own. What I meant to say was that when I first fell in love with Ginny, Voldemort was on my heels, and the world as I know it seemed doomed. What I felt then was the desperate passion of a young man with raging hormones. I loved her passionately, but passion, as it inevitably does, fades away, and when that happened, I found myself married, and with a child to think about.
Let me pause for a moment to clarify this. All of my children were conceived through conscious decisions, and while I had lost my passion towards Ginny, and I am fair certain she towards me, I never stopped loving my wife, because we shared the remains of a bond that man cannot break, and so, my kids were conceived in love.
Love.
A word with many layers. I am a blessed man. I have loved many, and been loved by many. My parents, Sirius, Ginny, the kids - Lily, James, Albus S. Ron. Hermione.
I have sat, pondering, for a long time now, and today, I've decided (perhaps under the influence of the copious amount of butterbeer I've drunk) to be as honest as honest can be.
I was being truthful when I said that I had nothing to do with Ron and Hermione's marriage. Hermione has always viewed me as the brother she never had, and for the most part of my life, so had I. Sure, I have had my moments of doubt, like during my fourth year in Hogwarts. What I'll do to show everyone her beauty that is Hermione when she walked down those steps the night of the Yule Ball in that periwinkle dress. She was beautiful, is beautiful, and I've never ever thought otherwise. But that night, everyone else saw what I see every time I look at her.
When their divorce finalized, in a drunken stupor, I stumbled over to her apartment, the one that she had rented during the separation. I can't remember what I said, to be completely honest, but I do recall serenading her. Of course, because I am completely tone-deaf, I only managed to irritate her neighbours. She ushered me in, quite frantically, all the while berating me.
So I kissed her.
I've not seen her since that night. I've left owls, I've left voicemail messages, I've left little notes zooming around her office… Any way that I could possibly do to apologise to her, I've done.
Not a peep from her.
But it did bring about an epiphany from me. In all my years of marriage, I have never cheated on Ginny. I have been tempted, of course. I'm only a man. But I have NEVER cheated on Ginny. When I woke up the next morning, and I remembered the kiss, I knew.
I may be able to fool everyone, and perhaps even Ginny, but I can't do this to her anymore. I can't, because I've left my heart for someone else, and it's unfair to her. So I told her, over breakfast, that very morning.
She threw the teapot at me.
But then she came home that night, after work, and for the first time in a very long time, I talked to her. Really talked to her.
Twenty-three years of marriage was over, just like that.
It has been awhile since I've felt so liberated. Ginny too; in fact, she just flooed in to update me on her date with Dean Thomas, who has never married. Ironically, I've never been closer to Ginny than now, after our divorce. I'm happy for her. I took her youth away, and while I can never return that to her, I can wish her all the happiness for the rest of her life.
So, this is my life now. A forty year old man, holding on desperately to memories. My unruly black hair is peppered with white now, and my spectacle lenses thicker than it used to be. I love a woman whom I think I've loved always, although I only see it now. A woman who is as much a part of my life as life itself.
The same woman who cut me out of her life because of one stupid, drunken kiss.
So, I'll wait. I have my work, and I have my children. I have the rest of my life to wait.
One day, perhaps I will be able to write the sequel, with her in it.