Her

A blue face.

That was what I got from trying to defend her, having a go at being a hero.

Who knew what had gotten into me that day. What was I thinking, really?

My wand had not been working properly – oh all right, it was broken and beyond repair, no amount of magic could have saved it. My percentage of successes with spells hardly inspired confidence in the first place. I was the sidekick, the bit player, the one who should have remained in the background unless the moment called for humour... Now that was my cue to step forward and to do something stupid and have everyone laughing at my expense, not anytime before then.

So why did I walk up to Malfoy with my wand, say the words I did, and spend the rest of the day after that spewing a steady stream of slugs from my mouth? My ashen face was such a wondrous sight to behold that people forgot about my flaming hair for once. Which was a welcome change and I would have been overjoyed that my particularly loud, attention-grabbing shade of hair was being ignored – except that slimy, wriggling things were rising from my throat every so often.

Not exactly a reason to rejoice and throw a party.

It wasn't the only instance where I had made a fool of myself in her presence – because of her presence. Sometimes I just wanted to show her that I could really be useful to have around, and not merely to initiate a state of panic and to botch things up without even trying to. But whenever I attempted to convince her that I was someone she could rely on, it would backfire, and I would unwittingly end up initiating a state of panic and botching things up without even trying to.

There were other times, where I was plain jealous and that of course, translated to acts of sheer daftness. I particularly remembered our fourth year at Hogwarts, the Yule Ball and Viktor Krum. It drove me crazy to see the two of them together, looking every bit the perfect couple against the romantic backdrop which the ball provided brilliantly. I didn't understand back then, my negative, over the top reaction and my hastily churned out words of discouragement bordering on insult.

I thought I was mad at Krum, who swept in out of nowhere riding on a wind from Bulgaria. It seemed too easy for him to get her hand slipped into the crook of his arm, he barely had to exert any form of effort.

Then I thought I was mad at her. For not knowing and not caring why I went berserk, for giving me queer looks and nothing more. So blissful in her ignorance.

But finally, I knew I was just mad at myself. I was slow to realize how I really felt about her, it was entirely my fault. It took me long enough, but there it was, breaking through my thickness at long last: I no longer saw her as only a girl who took on too many ridiculous causes, an overly sensible character with a strange impulsive streak, a personal library who pounded information over my head whether I asked for it or not (usually not), a sympathetic and ever present shoulder to lean upon... Only a good friend, no.

She was still all that. But she was also someone held my heart in her gentle palm, I wasn't even aware that I had given such a vital part of myself away. But when my gaze caught her easy smile, the tenderness in her eyes, the spirit radiating from within – it was suddenly not such a hard fact to accept.

Love, sometimes such a sweet poison that you didn't even realize you had drank until it was already coursing in your veins...

And yet I never made my move. Many failures I encountered in my life, but that was the one I regretted most. The one wound that cut right into the bone and refused to disappear. A scar that wouldn't fade.

There were chances that I didn't seize. I let things go unsaid, pretended our friendship was fine the way it was. It was fine, just not enough anymore. I remained reluctant to ask her to let me be something more in her eyes though, I was so unsure of myself. And deep down, I suspected she deserved someone better – Harry. Anyone could easily list his virtues and good points. I, as his best friend, could certainly do that and would not hesitate, would not hold back. Next to Harry, my flaws would be absolutely glaring, I was certain. So my silence persisted throughout fifth year, and then sixth...

And till this point where I stand as a Seventh Year. It was only a few days ago that Harry had announced with a grin that he had gotten together with Ginny. Then looking at me and tugging playfully at her bushy locks, Harry asked us, "When is your turn to make a grab at your happiness?"

My cheeks burned and I muttered in a flustered manner, "Dunno what you're getting at."

She? She threw me a secret smile, and said nothing.

It was only the day before that I had made up my mind to tell her. I gave myself no other choice. After all, how long could I stall this story that should have begun and possibly flourished a long time ago? The opening line was waiting to be uttered, just waiting...

And I thought it would continue to wait. But Harry found me, with solemn and grave defining his expression. He mentioned words, like 'accident', 'potion', 'instantaneous', 'suffered no pain', 'life', 'death'. All disjointed and fragmented, because I had gone dizzy and couldn't comprehend.

"She's gone. Do you understand? Please, say something!" Harry had taken hold of my shoulders, trying to shake me, bring me back from wherever I had floated away to.

And finally I spoke.

"I wanted to confess everything to her today. But she left yesterday."

Tragic irony, was I so innocent and foolish that you had to step in and make your point in the most effective method ever?

For there came an end for a story that didn't even get a proper start. A story where I, Ron Weasley, loved and ultimately lost.. her, Hermione Granger.

The end.