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He watches her dance with his brother, her new husband, and he can’t be angry. No, he’s not angry. He’s bitter. His mouth is sour with the taste of defeat.
He knows that isn’t quite fair to them. He never properly chased her, so he can’t really fairly consider it a loss.
But he loved her all the same.
He hates the assumptions. He hates the way they all assume that his stuttered-out, stumbling question three years ago had nothing to do with her and everything to do with her Veela charm, but that isn’t true.
He fell for her long before that moment.
And it didn’t have anything to do with her features. That’s the part he hates; that everyone assumes he asked because she was pretty. Not that she isn’t. She’s beautiful, and he knows she is, but it’s not about that.
It’s true that he didn’t really know her at the time. Not as a person. Not the way he wanted to.
But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t fall in love with what he did know, and he knew it from the way she moved. She moved gracefully, but that wasn’t it. She moved with confidence. She moved like she knew the world would fall at her feet if she only asked — which it would. Best of all, though, she moved independently. She wasn’t always watching for someone else; she didn’t move for other people. She dipped and wove through the crowds of students like a woman on a mission, like she had somewhere to be and no one would stop her.
He figured that was really enough knowledge to fall in love with, thank you very much.
But when he asks her, he’s all-too-aware of his own inadequacy, and so he stutters and he stammers and he flees. And he loses his only chance, because the next time he sees her it’s on his brother’s arm and Ron isn’t an idiot, and he isn’t cruel.
He won’t chase his brother’s girlfriend.
And he certainly won’t chase his brother’s wife.