Title: Choosing Someone Better
Author: whynoy
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: implied Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione
Word Count: 1,854
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I play. You don't sue.
Summary: 'Just choose someone – better – next time.' He cast an oddly furtive look at Harry as he said it. 'Well, I've chosen Dean Thomas. Would you say he's better?' (OotP UK edition, p. 763)
This time, I've chosen Dean.
Well, truth be told, it was him who actually chose me. Not that anything has happened, mind you. He approached me after breakfast two days ago and solemnly asked for my permission to owl me over the summer. I don't know whether his solemnity was the product of being Muggle-born and very mistakenly believing that I was brought up in a terribly traditional pureblood family or if he's just afraid of my multiple, possibly aggressive older brothers.
Probably the latter.
Anyway, I of course smiled and said I'd like that very much. I had never considered Dean as a potential boyfriend, but he's proven to be really sweet. By the time I got back to my room after two horrendous hours of Transfiguration, there was a bouquet of white roses resting on my trunk. Didn't I tell you he's sweet?
"Dean?" Ron repeats a little more loudly, as if the reason for my lack of response was that I hadn't heard him the first time, when he strode into my room shouting the name and looking ready to commit murder.
"What's wrong with Dean?" I ask and bend over my trunk to open the lid.
The funny thing is, if he knew what a gentleman Dean has been, not even Ron could find anything wrong about him. When I thanked Dean for the flowers at lunch, he suggested a walk around the grounds. And then, in one far corner of the lake, he held my hand and didn't let go until we were back inside the castle. End of story. Chaster than that and this would be an Austen novel.
"What do you mean what's wrong? I live with him!"
"And?" I say, taking a jumper from my trunk and neatly placing it in one of the drawers.
"If you just had to pick one of my roommates, then why not…"
I really don't like where this conversation is heading. "Seamus?" I interrupt him, postponing the inevitable. "Oh, but you must have heard he's with Lavend…"
"No!" he cuts me off, "Harry!"
Right. As if I hadn't seen that one coming.
"Harry?" I ask nonchalantly as I keep unpacking, or as nonchalantly as you can manage to sound when your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears that you can barely hear your own words.
"But I thought you… what happened to fancying Harry?"
I'm really not in the mood for this right now. I open my mouth to tell Ron to mind his own business, but a very angry "Life happened!" is what comes out instead. Yeah, er… where did that come from?
"And what's that supposed to mean, life happened?"
"It means that I grew tired of wasting it away being miserable and swallowing in self-pity just because I am in love with someone who will never in a million years return my feelings!"
All of this has come out in a single breath, like air that I had been holding inside for too long and needed to let out because my lungs had started to burn. Slowly, I close my eyes, hoping Ron hasn't noticed my little slip-up.
"Am in love?" No such luck.
"Look, Ron, why don't you just leave me to unpack in peace?"
"Ha! I knew it! I knew it! You've been dating those worthless gits just to try and make Harry jealous, haven't you?"
"Believe it or not, brother dearest, not everything revolves around The Boy Who Bloody Lived!"
"Why else would you date them?" Ron asks, bewildered. How infuriating can he be?
"Just so you know, those 'worthless gits', as you so eloquently described them, have been nothing but kind and considerate to me. They treat me with respect and… and… awe, can you believe it? As if I was something special…"
Why am I spilling my darkest secrets to my idiotic brother, of all people? Probably because there was a time, so long ago that it's almost forgotten, when Ron was my best friend and I was his, as impossible to believe as that might seem today.
"And they think I'm special, they really do. Sometimes I even believe it myself. And when I do… I'm happy, you know? So I guess they make me happy, even if it's for all the wrong reasons…" I wipe my eyes angrily, sometime during my little speech I must have started to cry. "Don't you want me to be happy, Ron?"
"Of course I do. You know I do," Ron says, looking terrified. Merlin, what is it with boys and teary girls?
"Then be glad I finally realised that certain things are simply out of reach. You'd think that as a Weasley I would've learnt that sooner," I add as an afterthought and let out a weird sound, halfway between a sob and a laugh.
His shoulders slump dejectedly and he starts shifting his weight from one big foot to the other. Oh, bugger.
"Oh, Ron! Don't be stupid enough to think for one second this applies to you! She's crazy about you, okay?" And it's true, too. Regardless of how far beyond my comprehension this might be.
"Who?" he asks, trying to sound as if the answer held no real importance to him and failing miserably.
Revenge is sweet. "Why, Luna, of course!" I'm evil, I know, but I just can't help it.
Ron's jaw drops. "What?!"
I soundly smack his upper arm and burst out laughing hysterically.
"The look on your face! Priceless!" I utter between guffaws. "God, Ron, you're so dense! For the life of me I can't understand what Hermione sees in you!"
Before I can react, he has clasped one of his huge hands over my mouth. "Will you be quiet?" he hisses. "Fred or George might hear you!"
I glare at my brother with as much hatred as I can convey (which is not much, because he's making the funniest face of sheer panic right now) and he hastily releases me.
A long pause follows, in which I resume my unpacking. My carpet must be incredibly fascinating, because Ron's inspecting it as if it held all the secrets of the universe.
"Gin, d'you really reckon… er… has she ever…" Poor Ron, he really doesn't know. I abandon my clothes and move to stand in front of him.
"I'm positive. However, if you don't hurry, she might move on. Apparently, Viktor's not over her at all."
Ron mutters something under his breath that sounds remarkably like 'Can't blame him'.
"And he keeps begging her to try again twice a week, you know."
"He does?" Ron says, his eyes still fixed on the carpet.
I nod vigorously, even though he can't see me. "Tuesdays and Fridays. Like clockwork. But she keeps turning him down, doesn't even consider it."
"Really?" he asks in a strangled voice. "But… he's… I mean, he's older. And an international Quidditch player."
"I know, that's what I keep telling her."
His head snaps up at this and I can't help but snort.
"Come on, Ron, give me some credit! I'm a good sister. The way I talk about you when we're alone, one would think Bill's the one she fancies!"
Ron looks angry for a moment until what I just said fully registers and his eyes start growing the size of saucers.
"You're an incredibly lucky bloke, Ron. Just don't push your luck too far, okay?"
He gives me a sheepish smile and quickly looks down to keep me from seeing him blushing crimson. Unfortunately, his very red ear tips are a dead giveaway.
I don't know why, but all of a sudden I'm feeling morally compelled to help my clueless brother. Must be those sisterly instincts kicking in.
"Promise me one thing?"
"What is it?" he asks warily.
"This summer, when you see Hermione, you'll tell her. Everything."
He pales and nervously runs a hand through his hair, looking terrified. "Gin, you know I can't…"
I put my hands on my hips and glower at him. Just so you know, that's my Pissed-Off-Molly-Weasley impression and it's usually very effective.
"Oh please, it's not as if I was asking you to take a Norwegian Ridgeback single-handed! Some Gryffindor you are…"
Ron surveys me with a doubtful expression, as if he was mentally measuring Hermione up to a full-grown dragon. Finally, he sighs and nods. "All right, all right… but you have to promise to do something for me in return."
"Not if it involves degnoming."
He shakes his head and chuckles slightly. "No degnoming involved, I swear."
"Okay."
He's taking my hands in his and absently running his thumbs over my knuckles. Uh-oh, this looks serious.
"You have to promise me you'll never give up on Harry," he says at last.
I jerk my hands away from his grasp. "What?"
"Gin, I'm not telling you to put your life on hold until the day Harry gets it through his thick skull how great you'd be for him. What I mean is…" he sighs and runs a hand through his already rumpled hair, making it stand up on all directions.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is that…" he closes his eyes, struggling to find the right words, then starts again, "that I don't want you to give up all hope if it means squashing the eleven-year-old inside yourself who sent singing Valentines and put her elbow in the butter dish." He opens his eyes and stares at me.
"Do you understand what I mean?" he asks with almost desperate intensity, his eyes still boring into mine.
And for the first time, I see something different in them. Someone different. There's a mature, sensitive, caring man behind those eyes, turning them a deeper shade of blue I've never seen before. I wonder if this is what Hermione sees, if it is this promise of a wonderful man that she has fallen in love with.
"Gin?"
"Yeah, I… reckon I do," I finally answer. And I mean it, too.
Overwhelmed by my previous realisation, I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze him so tight he must be dangerously close to suffocating right now.
"Thank you, Ron," I whisper in his ear while he awkwardly pats my back.
"Ronald and Ginevra Weasley!" a furious roar comes from downstairs, breaking the moment. "If you don't come down to dinner this instant…"
We share a terrified look for a second, then burst out laughing at the same time and rush for the door. We hurriedly trot down the stairs, but upon reaching the first landing, I stop and turn to face my brother. There's still something I really need to tell him.
"I was wrong, Ron," I say in a low voice so the rest of the family can't overhear us from the kitchen. "Hermione's the lucky one." And with that, I brush past him and quickly march down the rest of the stairs.
When Ron finally sits next to me at the dining table, he's wearing the goofiest grin I've ever seen in my life, making me smile back.
I promise, Ron.
- The End –