A/N: It was bound to happen sooner or later. I fought against it as long as humanly possible, but it has finally caught me. I am, of course, referring to a Harry Potter fanfic obsession. An avid fan of the books, I have reread them countless times. Yet I shied away from the fanfiction, despite all the recommendations my friends made, out of a mistaken belief none of it would be worthy of the books themselves; until one day, I got caught. I'm not sure how it happened really, but it did. It has come upon me so fast and so furious that, not content with merely reading the legions of HP fanfic out there (though I've been doing plenty of that), I had to write my own. Why? No reason really. This isn't a spectacular or even really original story. It draws heavily from Elektra's "Not Quite A Fairy Tale" but isn't nearly as good. Read hers instead. If however, you have read hers and all the fabulously wonderful fanfics out there, feel free to take a look at my first lackluster offering to the HP fandom.
Disclaimer: Who would be stupid enough to think I can write like J.K. Rowling?
The Sidekick's Code
I knew my place from our first meeting on the Hogwarts Express. From the moment he parted back that crazy mess of hair on his head and I saw his scar, I knew I was destined to be second fiddle to greatness. Harry Potter was a celebrity before he ever stepped foot in Hogwarts, and he didn't even know it. But I did. I was raised on the legend of the Boy Who Lived. I'd spent my whole life in awe of the kind of power he must have. Like every other wizard of my generation, I wanted to be him.
That was before I met him. Yes, at first, I was blinded by the glory of his reputation, but it didn't take long for me to see the insecure boy underneath. By the time we were digging into Chocolate Frogs as the train streamed across the English countryside, I understood that he was going to need someone to show him the ropes, so to speak, to introduce him to a magical world that was as foreign to him as the Muggle world was to most of us. I knew that someone had to be me.
Being a sidekick is a tough job. You never get any of the glory, or the attention, or the fame, or the money. At eleven, I had no grasp of this. What kid would? At fourteen, it was the bane of my existence. I envied him everything he had and felt guilty on top of it. He'd had such a hard life, and I was just making it worse. But I couldn't help it! He was rich, and I was poor. He was popular; I was nobody. He was responsible to no one; I had strict parents and the legacy of five older brothers to live up to. I'd hardly be human if it didn't bother me a bit.
I grew out of it though. We all do. There comes a point in the life of every sidekick where you realize your proper place in the background, as a support system for the hero. Besides, I never really wanted the responsibilities Harry deals with daily. I don't want the fate of the whole wizarding world on my shoulders. If I came face to face with Voldemort, I would run screaming from the room. But Harry confronts him time and time again—and wins! Far from being jealous, I am proud; proud to be the best friend of the greatest wizard who ever lived.
In the storybooks, sidekicks don't really do much. Have you ever noticed that? Their sole purpose is to provide back-up whenever the hero is in trouble. They are never developed. You never know what is going on inside their heads, what their home lives are like, what motivates them. I've always kinda identified with that. I'm the invisible man. If anyone ever does notice me, it is as a conduit to Harry. As his fame has increased, I've almost been elevated to the role of bodyguard, keeping away the unwanted press of the crowd.
I'm okay with that. Really. Harry's load is heavy enough without his crazy fans adding to it. Protecting the hero is what the sidekick's life is all about. It's part of the Code, and I accepted that as my lot in life too many years ago to renege now. Doesn't hurt that I love the guy. Not like that. But he's closer than a brother to me. I should know; I have five. Harry has always been there for me. I'll always be there for him. I'd die for him. That's part two of the Sidekick's Code. I'm okay with that, too.
It's the third part that gets me. The cardinal rule of all good adventure stories—all fairy tales too if it comes to that. The hero always gets the girl. Why? Who wrote that bloody stupid rule? It's not fair. The hero gets the glory, the fame, the money…and the girl. What does the sidekick get? An early death in defense of the hero, or a life of obscurity never mentioned in the storybooks. I think an adjustment is long overdue.
She's been part of the equation as long as I have. Since the moment she entered that same train compartment and fixed Harry's glasses and told me I had dirt on my nose, she was the third person in the trio. Of course, being eleven year old boys, we couldn't see that right away. She was just annoying, know-it-all Hermione. Even after we took down the troll and she became our friend, neither of us realized how close she would bring us—or how she could tear us apart.
Life was so uncomplicated then. We could all be friends. When Hermione and I fought, Harry would smooth things over. When Harry and I had our big row in fourth year, it was Hermione who kept at us until we made up. I don't remember Hermione and Harry ever fighting. I don't think they have. How can they have a close relationship if they have never even fought? How could he fall in love with her when he has never seen the angry flush of her cheeks as I have? Hermione is at her most beautiful when she's furious. Her brown eyes light with fire as the color climbs into her face and words I'll never understand come spewing out of her mouth. I have personally provoked fights on several occasions to get that reaction.
Life was good when we were young. Then, hormones had to jump in and ruin everything. She had to remind me that she was a girl. The whole world and my own heart had to remind me she was a girl. I was gone from that moment. Oh, sure, I tried to deny it. What guy doesn't try to avoid his first crush? If only it had been a simple crush, everything would have been fine. I could have thrown my hissy-fits over Victor Krum and gotten all that teenage angst out of my system. It didn't turn out that way. No, my best friend—my annoying, know-it-all best friend—became my love, my obsession, my desire.
In sixth year, she became Harry's too.
This is where the Sidekick's Code tells you to bow out and let the hero swoop in to steal the heroine's heart. I hadn't had the courage to make an attempt at Hermione's affections anyway. Too worried about being shot down, too used to staying in the shadows, I had done nothing more than tease and torture her endlessly. So I resigned myself to a fate of pining in silence as I watched my best friends fall in love…or so I thought.
The problem was Hermione didn't seem to be falling at all. She was still the same detached, clinical mind she had always been. Try though Harry might—and he did, to the point where I was almost ready to throw the code out the window and attack the hero—her heart remained unswayable. She buried herself in exams and the fight against Voldemort. She spent as much time with me as she did with Harry, friend to both, lover to neither.
And then it happened. Harry came to me one day and asked me to speak to Hermione for him. Me! I was having a hard enough time being a passive observer of the wooing of Hermione, and now the despised rival came to me and wanted my help. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to kill him. I followed the Code instead, no matter how it choked me.
Naturally enough, I found her in the library. She smiled when she saw me, and the sight nearly made me turn tail and run. I think she got more beautiful each time I saw her. Did Harry see that? Could he have possibly memorized every curl in that bushy brown hair of hers? Could he discern all the gentle nuances of her smile? I knew it was a welcoming smile, but there was a twinge of nervousness around the edges that caused it to waver a bit. Harry wouldn't have noticed. No one would have noticed; no one but me.
It seemed the hardest walk of my life to force my feet to cross the distance between us. I didn't want to do this. Silently, I cursed Harry Potter and all the famous heroes of history and literature. But the Code had been put in place long before my time. I had no choice but to obey. I slid into the seat next to Hermione and confronted the questioning look in her deep brown eyes.
"Hey, Hermione." Smooth. Very smooth. But anything more than that would take too much effort, effort I didn't have in me to give.
"Hey, Ron. Did
you want something?" There was no
annoyance in her tone as I feared there would be. Hermione usually wasn't so welcoming to
people with the audacity to interrupt her studying. On the other hand, the question was asked in
such a low, meaningful tone, it went straight to the pit of my stomach. She knew.
Of course, she knew what I was here to say. So why was she pressing me to say it?
"I…um….it's not me. Well, yeah, it is. I wanted…I wanted…" My mouth froze. No charm could have put a stronger block on my tongue, as I refused to say the words. I wouldn't be the one to run Harry's errand. If he loved her so much, wouldn't he have come here in person? But no, he sent me. Screw him.
Her eyes flickered with pity as she looked at me. "Yes, Ron? What do you want?" The way she spoke, the way she softly prompted me to speak my own heart…how could I resist? The Code be damned.
"You," I whispered. I couldn't manage more than that. My betrayal went to the core of everything the world was built upon. I was going against the example of hundreds of generations before me, and I didn't bloody care. Hermione's expression hadn't changed. She seemed as frozen as I was a moment before. Only the new flush to her cheeks made me believe my revelation wasn't unpleasant to her. I cleared my throat, before going on in a stronger voice. "I've always wanted you."
She smiled then, not nervously but bright and sweet as a summer's day. She smiled the way she smiles after she gets back her test scores. She smiled the way she smiles when Gryffindor wins a Quidditch match. She smiled like that at me! At the sidekick who was never even supposed to dream so high. "I always hoped you did," she returned, without the slightest hesitation, before pressing her soft and willing lips to mine.
No frigid bookworm, as I had believed from her behavior to Harry, the girl in my arms was warm and alive and all mine. It hardly seemed possible. It wasn't possible! I was only the sidekick after all. Yet I was determined to live in this dream as long as I possibly could. Let the consequences fall where they may, let the destiny of the world be changed, let the destruction of us all rest on my head, I had—for a moment, at least—the treasure I'd been craving for the past four years.
We broke apart slowly, not wanting to let go of that fleeting moment of bliss. Yet reality came, and Hermione pulled away, biting her lip, all joy gone from her expression. I cupped her face in my large, clumsy hands. "What's wrong?"
Her eyes were dark with worry, and I knew she thought of Harry…of Voldemort…of a fate far bigger than our small lives…of a destiny that cared little for the longings of our hearts. "What happens now?"
My hands reluctantly dropped to my side, chained again by the binding Code. "I don't know."
I still don't know.
The End