# Sympathy for the Redhead

Scrivenshaft

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 08/02/2004
Last Updated: 08/02/2004
Status: Completed

Ron, aided by a bottle of butterbeer and the sight of Luna Lovegood's arse, lays some of his own demons to rest. H/H from a lovelorn redhead's point of view.

## 1. Sympathy for the Redhead

SYMPATHY FOR THE REDHEAD

You look so beautiful.

I sit here in the corner, my eyes fixed on you as you glide into the room on his arm. There's a butterbeer sitting woefully neglected on the table next to me. Normally it'd be long empty and I'd be clamouring for more, while surreptitiously eyeing up Luna Lovegood. Because of course, as the whole of Hogwarts' seventh year knows, I don't think about anything save for my stomach or pretty girls. But that's not true anymore. I've grown up.

And all I can think about is you.

My heart skips a beat. You're looking at me. I watch the cupid's bow of your mouth as you smile at me; your best friend. I'm too far away to see properly but I can see in my mind's eye the tiny dimple that appears at the corner of your mouth when you smile, the dimple you hate but I love. It reminds me of when we were younger, when we were a Trio and not the Golden Couple and Their Best Friend.

Don't think I'm not happy for you. I am, I really am. You're my best friends and I love you dearly. It's just a tiny problem that I love you slightly more than I love him. I think I always have. But as usual, the Sidekick was too stupid to say how he felt. And now it's too late and here I am on my own. The original wallflower at the ball, stuck in the corner with a bottle of butterbeer watching my best friends, all dressed up and no-one to dance with.

Can you say poetic justice, Hermione?

You look perfect together, there on the dancefloor, looking like there's no-one else in the world save the two of you. I'm glad you didn't do much to your hair. Your hair makes you who you are - Hermione. Don't try to change it. Don't become someone other people want you to be.

Don't become someone I don't know.

I've never seen you in those robes before. They're incredible on you. The iridescent lilac looks just right swirling against the midnight blue of his robes. Harry doesn't look bad either. That colour really suits his eyes, doesn't it? Almost makes me think Ginny was onto something when she wrote that card way back in second year.

Oh excellent. Not only am I a gangly redhead sitting in the corner alone, but now I sound like my mother.

It'll be the subscription to Witch Weekly next, you know. It's a slippery slope.

Sometimes, you know, I reckon there's just no justice in this world. Well, that's not quite true, I admit. There is some. For you, anyway. You've found the one you love. I can see it in your eyes as you hold him in your arms, standing on tiptoes to kiss him gently on the lips when you think no-one's looking at you. I hear it in your voice when you tell him you love him. It's the voice that my mum uses when she tells Dad she loves him. That's the kind of love you two have. Not the kind of old-people-with-false-teeth mushy love, that'd be weird; but the kind of love that endures anything and everything, even having seven children.

And I wish that I had that. I really, really do.

Even the seven children.

I look at you, waltzing together, and I wish that it was me holding you, not Harry. I want it to be my eyes you're gazing into with your own fathomless brown pair that I could willingly fall into, if that weren't physically impossible, as you'd no doubt tell me. I want it to be my hair that you rake your elegant fingers through, my hand that you hold under that table at mealtimes. Why can't it be my chest that you're pressed against right now, your arm on my shoulder? Why should it be his lips that you kiss with your own, when it could be mine, and me that gets to feel your breath in my mouth?

Do you think of me, Hermione? When he kisses you, is it me that you see in your mind's eye? When he strokes your hair lazily, is it my hand? When you're sitting by the fire, is it my chest that you're leaning against? When you ponder your career after this, our final year at Hogwarts, is the man in your future me?

Is it me that you love, Hermione?

No. I know the answer. I don't even need to ask, do I? Because I see it every single day. The trio, however much we might miss it, is sundered. There a part of both of you that I just can't touch now. A part that I'll never be able to know, not properly anyway. No matter how much we three care for each other now, the balance will always be lost. You know it, Harry knows it, and I know it too.

There's no way back for us. No way back for the Famous Trio.

Oh gods, you're coming over. Harry's gone to get drinks. Do I look okay? Have I spilt something on some embarrassing area of my robes? Is that the reason you're coming over, to spare my blushes before the entire room notices? It must be. You can't be coming over for any other reason.

Oh no. Hermione, please.

Don't tease me like this.

Don't make me dance with you.

Gods, woman, you really don't pay any attention to my inner monologue, do you? Well of course not, you aren't psychic. That'd be a bit much to expect, even of you.

Oh look now, they're all bloody looking at us. Of course that might be because you're bodily dragging me to the dancefloor, but - Hermione, I can't do this. I can't hold you in my arms and pretend I only want you as a friend.

Please, leave me be. Leave me mourning my ridiculous idea of what we could have had together alone in the corner with my faithful butterbeer. Come on, I could see Lovegood's arse from there.

And then everything stops as you place one delicate hand on my shoulder and the other in my opposite hand. The music begins, and you begin to move, leading me through the steps, smiling your gentle smile at me. Where did you learn to dance? You're good. I don't feel so clumsy and self-conscious with you.

An eternity could go by for all I care, before I catch Harry's eye, who's standing at the bar. I wince pre-emptively, ready for the famous Potter Death Glare that's sent many men to their doom.

It doesnt' come.

He's smiling at us.

And then I realise something, right here in Hogwarts Great Hall where I've grown from the jealous little boy I was to the man I think I'm halfway to becoming. And no, it's not that Lovegood's actually single and definitely interested in me. Even though that's undeniably true.

What I've realised, Hermione Granger, is this. It's because I love you, that I want you to be happy. You see, I love you too much to ever think that I could be the man you want. And in time, I'll find my own woman to love in the way that Harry loves you.

And it's because I love you, that I don't ever want to see you in the arms of anyone else but Harry.

It's because I love you that I can let you go.

I can never be your true love, Hermione Granger, but I can still be your best friend.

Yes, I think I can do that.

FIN

A/N: This plot bunny absolutely refused to go away, so here it is :) Different to my usual style, but Ron refused to let it be any other way.

The soundtrack for this one-shot includes, but is not limited to:

Three Doors Down - Be Like That

The Calling - Stigmatized

Norah Jones - Seven Years

Beth Orton - I Wish I Never Saw the Sunshine

Counting Crows - I Wish I Was a Girl

Train - Mississippi

REM - Nightswimming (Ron wanted to tell you all about the time he caught Harry and Hermione skinny dipping in the lake, but there might be another fic about that coming up...)

Thanks, and I hope no-one got too squicked by the thought of Ron talking about H/H. I just thought it was an interesting point of view, and one that demanded to be done.

T xxx :)