Sad Hermione/Viktor fic. I don't know why I wrote it, I don't particulary care for this pairing. 7/25/07
His mother always told him to value a woman because of her personality, not her looks
His mother always told him to value a woman because of her personality, not her looks. His mother was a smart woman, though not the most gorgeous and she had died when he was twelve on a grey morning after her customary tea and honey. But when she lay in that coffin, cold marble stone ready to follow her to the next world, she had looked beautiful. Her black hair was silky and shiny, and it spread out, fanning her face. Her white skin which had once looked so sallow now appeared radiant and flushed, though she would never speak or breathe again. He had cried at her funeral, not only because she was dead, but his mother, who had known every nursery tale, knew his favorite foods, read tons of books, and was a wonderful witch who had even created her own spells, now looked beautiful as she lay in her coffin. It was as if she had been waiting her whole life for this, the final show, so let's give it our all.
His father, a boorish fellow who had been engaged to his mother since birth, was a bitter man, who always told him the opposite. "Son, marry a pretty girl, young and full of life, but will do what you tell her to." His father hated his mother, hated her ugliness, and valued looks over talent or compassion. His father had died when he was fourteen. He did not cry at the funeral, because his father, who had been handsome in his living days with many women and mistresses admiring him, had looked so ugly in his casket, much like the boor he really was, that the many admirers did not see.
So he was alone. He went to school and then was a ward of state during the summer months. But once they had discovered his quidditch talent, he was always fawned over, by girls, boys, teachers, strangers on the street. And yet, he was still alone. He wanted someone to share his life with, someone to love him, someone he could love. And when he went to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Competition, he had met her.
Most boys would not think she was beautiful, or interesting, and they would not give her a second glance. But he did. He liked her hair, wild as it was, it reminded him of someone who awaked from a night of doing something very bad. Her brown eyes were full of light, and he admired her talent; he always saw her studying ardently in the library. He stalked her even, and saw her do magic; she was wonderful, she was amazing. She was perfect, and he wanted her to be his. So he asked her to the dance, and she had agreed.
He was ecstatic when the day had finally come, and when he saw her walk down the staircase, his heart stopped. She was even more beautiful than before. He saw her talk to her friends, and the redheaded one looked angry, the black-haired one amazed. He walked up to her, legs shaking, and asked her to dance. They did, and it had been the best night of his life for some time, until he noticed the redheaded one glaring at him, and talking to the black-haired one and pointing, completely ignoring his date. He felt angry, that this boy would mistreat his date so bad, so he asked her to sit with them while he got drinks. He did get the drinks, but stayed near the table watching the girl and two boys interact with each other. She was mad at the redhead, they were shouting at each other, and when he came over there to stop it, she whisked him to the dance floor.
When they departed, he kissed her right on the lips, and saw her blush, but her eyes were distant. He followed her out of the hall, and saw her again fighting with the redhead. "Well, next time, ask me before somebody else does!" She shouted as she cried and ran away, and he felt his heart break. Because he had found the perfect girl, but she was in love with someone else. He would always be second, always be compared to him, and how could he entrap her to make himself happy? So he let her go, let her be with the redhead, but it still broke his heart, every day.
He often sought out the words his mother had told him, "Son, value a woman because of her personality, not her looks. But always let her win in love, please her, even if it means breaking your own heart. It's better that way. It keeps you from turning into an awful man." Like your father. It was always left off, but they both knew that those silent words were added. He wondered if he would have been like his father to go chasing after her, proclaiming his love, not letting the redhead who didn't try hard enough, who couldn't realize her real beauty, win.
His mother was a wise woman, his father a boor, and she, she was perfect. And he, he was utterly heartbroken.