Notes: Written for the AWDT's challenge on LJ; prompt "it's simple really." Unbetaed. But it seemed okay, I think. I read it over twice, and editted it that way. FFnet is making my formatting a bit off. I don't really like the pairing much, but well. I go where my Muse leads me.
It's simple really to fall in love with the wrong person, she thinks. The person that isn't ideal; doesn't fit neatly into the box marked "perfect," a box that's been in existence since she was three and Mum had read aloud fairy tales. Of course, being practical, her mother hadn't read a toned down version, but the Grimm versions (the kinds that most children were unable to read for fear of nightmares) where Cinderella's stepsisters chopped off their toes and heels to fit into the shoe, or in "Snow-white and Red-rose" where a dwarf nearly killed them for being kind.
Her father read the watered down versions, where the prince rescues the princess and they live happily ever. Really, she preferred the more gruesome versions, but didn't have the desire to hurt his feelings by saying otherwise. As a child, she had imagined she was the blonde princess in the tower, letting her hair down to be rescued, but now shook the feeling away since such things weren't real. Love was what her parents had: patient, kind, affection, caring for offspring. There was no need of being rescued because it was a partnership; and as a strong female, the desire shouldn't even been entertained.
Sitting in the dark and wishing love wasn't something so confusing and harmful, she wonders why the need arises so fiercely, like now. This would be the perfect time for her knight to charge in, slay this dismal mood, and ride away with her in strong arms into the sunset on his snow-white steed.
Her prince was none of those things; but instead a list of undesirable sprang to mind: arrogant, too full of pride and vanity, spoilt rotten, too pointy chin, cruel to those outside his own group, small-minded and hated her best friends. She wasn't entirely sure why she loved him since all those things went against everything she believed in, but it seemed as if that didn't matter to her heart. Her extremely short list of his positives held loyalty (no matter how blindly and wrongly given), intelligence (he had been second only to her in their second year) and quick reflexes (even if she and her boys were faster) or he wouldn't be a seeker.
Curling underneath the covers, fighting the cold that was trying to get behind curtains meant to keep it out, she thought about what caused the love to appear. The over-analyzing, cleverest witch of her age couldn't figure out how love worked; and was driving her barking mad. She knew Ron was in love with her, Harry had eyes only for Luna, and Neville had been eyeing Seamus since last year. She had no desire to hurt Ron (he was her best friend, after all) but she couldn't play the part. She thought maybe her love stemmed from what Ron couldn't give. The thought didn't bring comfort.
Restless, she tried to sleep, to shut the feelings off. This wasn't something found in a book. Love was brutal, and uncertain.