Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. If it was mine I wouldn't have Ron and Hermione end up together as Rowling clearly plans. Gah.
AN: So I'm back! I have such problems starting writing. It's horrible. But I did, and I'm actually quite happy with this piece. Not at all like The Poker Game, but I hope you enjoy. Constructive criticism is encouraged as always, and reviews of all shapes and sizes are fully appreciated. So REVIEW!
Perfection's Faults
I let the echoes of his shouts reverberate for a minute before I opened my mouth to reply. But no noise came out; no sarcastically biting comeback, no aggrieved monologue, no screeched rampage. Nothing.
My silence was unsettling, and even more so to Ron, who had obviously expected me to snap right back at him as I always did. He stared at me with doubt creeping into the recesses of his cobalt blue eyes, slowly extinguishing the anger which had dominated them only seconds ago. I knew of course that he was afraid that he had finally gone too far, but I did nothing to alleviate that concern. We stood there, on opposite sides of the newly decorated living room, with its luminescent cream silk chairs and plush Persian carpet, just staring at each other with the silence between us.
The silence was appropriate for all that on a superficial level our marriage had always been about noise and shouting. Those aspects were just the outward manifestations of the deep and abiding silence that resided between us. We screamed about his neglect and my snobbery, but we never talked about our insecurities. We bellowed about blame and a lack of understanding, but we never sat down and tried to comprehend each other. We shouted; but neither of us truly listened because neither of us ever said anything.
So in that moment when we both for once truly listened, if only to the silence that engulfed us, I finally accepted what I think I'd known for years without ever acknowledging it.
I knew what I had to do, and that prospect alone gave me contentment. For so long I hadn't known, hadn't been able to acknowledge to myself, what I should do. Why I wasn't happy. I made excuses; I had a bad week at work, I had a low blood-sugar level, I hadn't had enough coffee. I never allowed myself to think, 'I'm unhappy because I'm in a failing marriage.' But that moment of crystalline silence had opened the door to the back of my mind and suddenly I knew.
That was all the will power I needed to take the first step, and after the first it was easy enough to walk slowly and silently to the door. I could have apparated out, but somehow that wouldn't have been right. I owed it to Ron and to myself to walk out of that door and close it behind me.
My seventh year at Hogwarts was a year of Happily-Ever-Afters. Everything happened as if orchestrated from above: Harry defeated Voldemort in a brilliant flash of green, just as he had been born to and afterwards became an auror just as he'd always dreamed. My dreams were fulfilled as I led the school as Head Girl and when the school year closed, I married my best friend Ron Weasley.
In all regards it seemed a perfect match. Best friends of seven years. A pureblood and a muggleborn—a perfect match for a post-Voldemort world. An orphan and a boy with a family large enough to fill that void. Both veterans of the war. Both friends of Harry Potter. Both Gryffindors. The relationship just made so much sense. Or at least that's what I told myself.
So I found myself at the altar on June 19 standing across from Ron, who was dressed in (for once) a decent set of dress robes. The sky was overcast, but it never quite got to the point of rain, the clouds just churned above our heads as the ceremony progressed.
Blushing bride that I was, I was nervous, but I'm proud to say that I didn't show it—I didn't start to sweat or fidget or forget my vows. Ron did all of these: the sweating wasn't that bad though, hardly noticeable and the fidgeting, while annoying was somewhat endearing. The vows were a different case altogether.
I spoke mine first, I can still recite them to this day. I spent days composing them, editing, making sure that they were absolutely perfect. But after I had poured my heart out, promising to love Ron until the end of time, and to work together with him to make a life and to together tackle all the problems that came our way he stood with a blank look on his face. For two minutes, two excruciatingly slow minutes there was absolute silence. Ron said nothing. He now looked panicked rather than lost, and I'm sure it was an amusing picture for all the guests. I didn't find it funny.
Harry saved the day by rather unsubtly sliding a piece of paper to Ron, who even then gave Harry an inquiring look before catching onto the fact that Harry was handing him the notes. And so, stumblingly, Ron read the vows he had composed. "I promise to love you for so long as we both live. I promise to provide for you and care for you. I promise to…I promise to be there if you ever need help and to defend you against any problems that may arise. I promise to never let you down."
The presiding wizard quickly finished the ceremony and we left for the reception. I didn't make a big fuss about the vows; after all I didn't want to ruin our wedding with an argument. After all, we loved each other and one set of vows poorly written and forgotten didn't change that. So I passed the whole incident off as a joke and our married life began.
The funny thing is that when I mentioned the incident two years afterwards Ron didn't remember it at all.
Our married life was entirely as perfect as our wedding had promised it would be. We both worked long hours, but that wasn't an insurmountable problem. I'd return home after twelve hours at the Ministry (I got an incredibly prestigious job there as Assistant Secretary of Reconstruction) and would make dinner quickly using magic. Ron would arrive home around the same time from his job with the IQD (International Quidditch League) where he worked as a beginning advertising agent. We would have dinner, bicker about trivial matters and go to sleep.
However, after the first week the bickering escalated into 'debates' which escalated into arguments which escalated into fights. By the end of the first year we shouted more often than we spoke. We found ways to avoid each other; Ron started going to bars after work and I'd leave early and stay late so that I could 'get some extra work done' at the Ministry. In reality I would walk the five blocks to the nearest library and read for an hour before and after work, but Ron questioned that just like I never questioned why he came home with alcohol on his breathe every night.
But all the avoidance tactics in the world couldn't stop our fights.
We didn't change. At least not until the night of our third anniversary. We had kept the tradition of trying to have nice romantic dinners on our anniversaries, a rather futile attempt at looking like a happily functioning couple. We ate in the living room, with two candles lighting the savory meal of veal with asparagus risotto. As we ate we took turns at dominating the conversation, so that we wouldn't have to talk to each other or even listen, just nod politely take over when the other had run out of things to say. However the peaceful atmosphere was soon shattered as another fight began. I don't even remember how, it just was. And thus pebble that started an avalanche was hurled out without thought, just with blind rage.
"You know what Hermione? I don't think you love me! Sometimes I think you never did!"
In many ways I think that our three years of marriage were all leading up to this statement, to this moment. So when I allowed the silence to descend and made my decision I knew this was the culmination of our marriage.
Perhaps if he had spoken, apologized, made a move towards me, our marriage would survived. But he did none of these things; and I rather think that in order to make that move he'd have had to someone else. So I walked all the way to the door and looked over my shoulder one last time even though I knew that my view of Ron was blocked bythe wall seperating the entrance way from the living room. Gathering up all of my will, I opened the door to the outsideandstepped out. I closed the door quietly and walked down the deserted street, lit by luminescent starlight and flourescent lamplight. Through my tears I found a hint of a smile, and I knew that I would orchestrate my own destiny from here on out.