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There was something about being in love with one of the brightest witches of my generation that often led to this feeling of inadequacy.
It wasn’t that Hermione ever made me feel that way. I knew she loved me. She still mumbled it in her sleep as she passed out with a book to her chest. She still blushed when I kissed her suddenly or hugged her from behind. She laughed with me and probably at me, but never in malice.
Yet, I felt lesser. I felt like I didn’t deserve her. No. I knew I didn’t deserve her. She was so lovely and strong and wonderful and kind and beautiful. She was everything.
After the war, things just progressed organically from the moment we kissed up until the moment we were married. I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t take my last name. She wanted her own identity, she said. Some men might have become alarmed, but I wasn’t. I knew who Hermione was. It was why I loved her. We spent so many years being friends, and I remembered it all.
I remember the day we met.
I remember the troll we fought.
I remember every homework assignment.
I remember our kiss.
I remember our first date.
And I remember our first fight as a couple.
I was jealous.
We went to a quidditch game with Harry and Ginny, as we were attempting to become normal adults by doing normal things, such as going to sporting matches.
People still stared at us with shock and awe, which frankly was uncomfortable, but most of the stares were aimed at Harry and his mystical lightening bolt scar.
The game was fun enough. I cheered the loudest, barely beating Harry in exuberance. Hermione and Ginny cheered as well.
I remember Hermione grabbing my hand at one point, causing my face to turn a red similar to my hair.
Ginny laughed as Harry’s arm was wrapped around her waist. I glared at her and turned myself back the game.
It was easy being with Hermione. We were so different, but it never seemed to put us at a disadvantage. I think we worked so well because we both knew she was so bloody brilliant. Clearly more so than myself, but I think that’s why it worked. Hermione’s intelligence was also fueled by her need to be the best. She was a competitive girl, that beautiful creature. I didn’t challenge her intelligence in books or potions. So she never felt threatened by me or felt the need to prove herself. She could just be. I think our relationship was a respite for her. It gave her a chance to run around the kitchen dodging a tickling charm I had been trying to get her with and frankly just be silly.
She took the world very seriously, and that included her role in it. I gave her a breather.
But what I did for her equaled nothing to what she did for me.
She made me want to be better, smarter, stronger, and kinder. She made me want to be the best at everything. She made me want to be the best for her. My life was devoted to her. I have never been one to have an unrelenting drive or self-motivation to rival with. I had no motivation until I was with her. When I was with her, I couldn’t help but be inspired. She made me a better man. She made me a better person, and I loved her more than I could ever express.
So after the game when I saw bloody Victor Krum flirting with her, I might have overreacted.
Hermione smiled in the way she smiled at everyone, but I couldn’t help but feel enraged. Possibly because I knew Krum knew what it was to hold her and kiss her, and that bothered me like nothing else. That bloody Bulgarian with his bloody Bulgarian muscles grinning down at Hermione like she was the only girl in the world worth looking at. Which was true, but she wasn’t his to look at like that.
I stormed up and wrapped my arm around her.
“Ready to go, love?” I said sharply without looking at Krum.
She scrunched her eyebrows at my tone.
“Er..sure,” She said, clearly taken aback, “You remember Victor, right, Ron?”
I barely passed a glance over at him.
“Sure, hi.” I said.
I began to pull Hermione along with me.
“Goodbye, Victor.” She called out.
I knew she was shocked at my behavior. I had been jealous before, but we were never actually together before. I honestly hadn’t expected to get so jealous, but I couldn’t help it.
She pushed my arm off the second we turned the corner and turned to face me.
“What was that, Ronald?” She snapped while enunciating every word.
Even though I was mad too, I couldn’t help but think what a wonderful mother she would be one day.
“What?” I said stupidly, “He was all over you.”
“Are you joking?” She yelled.
“He was.” I yelled back before continuing.
“And you clearly didn’t mind.”
I honestly can’t say I’m surprised that she slapped me. I probably would have too.
“You bloody idiot.” She said through clenched teeth.
Before I could respond she turned on her feet and marched out the building. Leaving me and my red cheek to follow her angry stomps.
“So you’re saying that you weren’t enjoying it?” I called out.
“Victor is my friend, Ronald.” She said. Whipping around to face me.
She was standing outside facing the wall of the arena. I watched the light kiss the golden tones of her hair. I wanted to run my fingers through her hair, but I didn’t dare touch her.
“You can’t be friends with someone you’ve snogged.” I said.
Her eyes turned wide in disbelief for a moment.
“Are you saying that you’re not my friend?”
I stared at for a moment confused.
“I’m your boyfriend…”
“But you’re my friend. We’ve been best friends for years. You’re still one of my best friends. Boyfriend or not.” She said angrily.
Although her words were sharp the sentiment hit me right to my core. I suddenly wanted to throw myself at her feet and wrap my arms around her.
Whatever she saw in my face caused her own to soften.
“Ron, there’s nothing between Victor and I. There couldn’t be. All I have to give has been given.” She said softly. Looking at me meaningfully.
Without taking another second to think, I took a step forward and caught her face in my hands. I heard her gasp softly before I pressed my lips to her. Telling her through my actions what I wasn’t eloquent enough to put in words.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
One of her hands held my wrist as I cradled her face, and the other gripped my shirt. Her lips moved with mine, each touch erasing doubt and anger from the darkest parts of myself.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Our foreheads were pressed together, as I felt her breath striking my lips in a hard rhythm.
“I love you,” I whispered, “So much that sometimes I act really thick.”
“I love you too,” She said smilingly, “and yes, you can be very thick.”
I laughed and rubbed my lips against hers, not kissing her, but reminding her.
“I’ll try to be better.” I said quietly, suddenly somber.
“Better?” She asked.
“I’ll try to be better for you. Smarter. Stronger. Better.” I said simply.
She pulled her face away from me.
“Ronald,” She said, her voice slightly sharp again.
I looked at her wondering what I had done to ruin the beautiful moment.
“Ronald, I fell in love with you as you are. You’re not stupid. You’re not weak. You are better. You’re better for me than other person in the world.” She said fervently.
I couldn’t help the goofy grin that crawled across my face.
“I love you.” I said simply.
It was really the only thing that I could think of to say to her half the time.
She grinned and rolled her eyes. That’s why I loved her so much. Even when I couldn’t manage to get farther than those three words, she understood what other words laid in them every single time. Everything that I could never think of to say when I felt them so strongly was laced in those words, and every time I said them she knew what I meant.
It’s a good thing she was so clever.