III. Derision
It killed Hermione to see them together.
Ron beamed at Lavender from their spot together at the Gryffindor table, and Lavender beamed right back. She was latched on to his arm like some sort of toy, smiling up at him with an immature admiration. Ron's smile didn't show any semblance of feelings, just excitement that he was finally dating someone, and pride that he'd attracted someone like Lavender. It wasn't that she necessarily liked him, either, Hermione could tell. He was Ron, star quidditch keeper with rugged good looks. She wanted a story-book romance with her handsome prince.
Anger brewed in the pit of Hermione's stomach, and every time Ron caught her gaze, she would glare daggers at him. He would give her a bewildered look, like he was confused as to why she was angry about his relationship with Lavender. He probably just assumed that it was because she fancied him, just like everyone else in their year. It was really quite the opposite. She despised him for dating Lavender, if you could even call it dating. He couldn't give her what she needed, emotionally, and Hermione knew it.
Lavender needed someone who was sweet and kind, someone who wouldn't take advantage of her. Most people didn't realize how subservient she was, or how much her inferiority complex ruled her life. She had so little confidence in herself, and she hid it well, but not well enough. Hermione could see it, plain as day. She just wanted to pull the girl into her arms and hold her, to simply tell her how beautiful she was.
"Hermione, what's wrong?" Harry's voice disrupted her thinking, and she pulled her eyes away from Lavender and Ron.
"Nothing. I'm fine." Hermione spoke, harsher than usual, biting back the tears that threatened to fall down her cheeks.