Ever since the end of the war Harry, Ron and I have gotten used to the sporadic tabloid headlines that can pop up from time to time. In the beginning it was almost constant. Our marriages were covered like Hollywood weddings are in the muggle world. Things settled down after the children were born and the media began to give us some much needed privacy. Of course every now and then the tabloids get bored. Sales are down, publicity is down and they need a way to stir the pot. At least that's what any logical person would recognize it as.
Ron has never been what most would call a logical person. He's driven by his heart, not his head. He is fiery and passionate and deeply loyal. Those are some of the many qualities that made me fall for him in the first place. He also has a long history of insecurity that I guess comes from growing up in a family that was considered by many to be poor. He always felt overshadowed by his older siblings and those feelings later turned into feelings of inadequacy in his friendships as well. We have fought many times over this. I've constantly had to defend my friendships with other men and assure him that they were strictly platonic. One discussion I thought we had finally put to bed was the discussion of mine and Harry's relationship. But here we sit, Rita Skeeter's latest filth on the coffee table between us. Ron has a look on his face that makes him appear as if he is choking on his heart. Its somewhere between tears, anger, and absolute disgust.
"Ron, you know in your heart that this is absolute trash! Our marriage has survived for years, we have beautiful children who think the world of you...and so do I."
Ron sighed. "Do you know that not a day goes by that I don't wonder whether or not I deserve this life you've given me? I was a prat to you most of our time at Hogwarts. I oushed you away when all I wanted was to be close to you. Harry never did any of those things to you. He was never cruel, in fact he was always there comforting you when I screwed up. Anyone can see that you two are more compatible. You both essentially came from muggle families, you both got good marks in classes, and your personalities always meshed well."
"Ron, that means nothing and you know it! We do have a lot in common you're right about that. The fact that we were both an only child and came from muggle families gave us a connection that instantly made me think of him as more of a brother. We played the same games, and saw the same shows on television. We bonded over talking about the differences between muggle and magical life and how thrilled we are to be apart of this wonderful community. But love isn't always about compatibility. For me love is about passion, and attraction. Bickering with you always gave me such an infuriating thrill. I never felt noticed by you, but when we bickered I had your undivided attention. In the end Harry was always more about the mission. You were my protector. You always stood up for me when people called me "mudblood" and most importantly you saved my life at Malfoy Manor. As I remember it it was you frantically screaming my name when I was being tortured. My pain was your pain and I could hear it in your voice. Harry wanted to rescue me sure but in that moment he was thinking about the bigger picture, the mission. But you, you were only thinking of me. In your heart even a world full of darkness is bearable as long as you could get me out of there alive. When you finally broke out of the dungeons your fists were bloody because you had never stopped pounding on the walls trying to get to me. You could barely speak because you had screamed my name until your throat gave out. That is real love. Insane, passionate, terrifying. It would have never worked with Harry and I and I would have never wanted to try it. It has always been you, you complete me, you're MY hero. I could care less about who Rita Skeeter thinks the world's hero should have ended up with. You're mine, and that's all I've ever wanted."
She closed the space between them and covered his mouth with hers as the article lay forgotten on the table.