7. Gabrielle loves Harry by A Shade of Grey

fairy tales and true love

A mighty pain to love it is,
And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;
But of all pains, the greatest pain
It is to love, but love in vain.
--Abraham Cowley

Love is pain.

Gabrielle has heard this expression her entire life, but she's never understood the meaning of it until now, the moment when she's lost her true love forever.

Yes, true love, because she knows that they were meant to be together, that their love should have been the story of the century. In a perfect world, he would have been the Prince Charming to her Sleeping Beauty, awakening her from a long, enchanted slumber with a warm, tender kiss. He would have pulled her onto his shining white steed and ridden off into the sunset with her, all the while whispering sweet words (he loved her, he couldn't live without her) in her ear. They would have lived out their lives together in a perfect, blissful Happily-Ever-After.

But maybe that's where she made her mistake-- assuming that her fairy tale ending would come of its own accord-- because this world that she lives in isn't perfect; Happily-Ever-After's don't come naturally. Maybe she shouldn't have put as much trust in Harry's love-at-first-sight (which, of course, he must have felt; why else would he have saved her in that lake?) as she did in hers. Maybe she should have come to England to see him earlier than she had to remind him of his feelings. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Yet, this line of thought amounts to naught in the end; her maybe's cannot change the fact that Harry is in love with another girl. Nothing, in fact, can change this, for Harry is too noble to ever leave a woman he's professed himself to, too noble to so much as glance at anyone but Ginny now. He will forever be contentedly unaware that he has extinguished the hopeful candle burning within Gabrielle's heart, or that she even had a candle there in the first place.

She knows that he'll be happy with Ginny, though, and maybe that's what hurts her the most; he'll never appreciate what might-have-been, never pine for an unrequited love. He'll turn his blushing bride, his blithe ballerina, on his wedding day without ever realizing that Gabrielle is smarting in the corner with a broken heart. He'll let Ginny become his ray of sunlight, incandescent and warm, lighting up his life, without ever caring that Gabrielle suits him better. He'll let Ginny's fiery curls tickle his chest at night without ever recognizing that Gabrielle's silvery tresses are silkier, softer. He'll open his heart completely to Ginny without ever discerning the way the wound in Gabrielle's chest corresponding throbs more excruciatingly.

She wants to hate him for this, for his complete ignorance of her plight, but her heart won't let her. Instead, she focuses her fury and utter loathing on another source just as equally at blame: Ginny. She begins to detest the way Ginny's always ready with a playful laugh, detest her vivacious and affectionate personality, detest the easiness with which she stole everything Gabrielle ever wanted. Everything.

Because Ginny couldn't settle with just taking Harry from her. No, Ginny had to take her dear older sister, Fleur, as well. And she's not just imagining this, as Maman told her the one time she decided to confess her fears (she'll never make that mistake again); Ginny has taken her rightful place as Fleur's darling little sister. Fleur cares more about her fake relation than her real one.

Not that Fleur-- or anyone else in her family, for that matter-- realizes that the familial ties between the Delacours and the Weasleys are superficial at best. Oh, no, Maman, Papa, and Fleur simply adore the Weasleys, force Gabrielle to endure weekly visits with them, as if her anguish at seeing Harry devotedly holding Ginny in his arms is nonexistent or insignificant. As if she should be thrilled to see Harry, the hero of the Wizarding world, infatuated with another, less worthy woman.

She's dying on the inside, she knows, wilting away like a flower kept too long from sunlight, and there's no Prince Charming there to rescue her. No, he's off saving another girl, creating the love story of the century with her, because that's how love really works in this flawed world: destiny yields to chance.

It's this realization that makes her she decides that love is not pain. It's agony.