Oblivious

Chapter 11: Daily Prophet

-R-

Wiping my face, I get up from my knees and pull out my wand.

"Reparo!" I say to the glass on the floor in front of me, after placing the now-damp picture back into the frame.

The shards fly back to their respective places, once again encasing the photograph.

Crawling back into bed, I try not to think about Hermione, but it's so hard. Anything I think about somehow links back to her.

The Chudley Cannons . . . Quidditch World Cup . . . fourth year . . . discovering my feelings for Hermione . . .

Triwizard Tournament . . . second task . . . the lake . . . asking Hermione to marry me in front of the lake . . .

Viktor Krum . . . wait, that's a bad one . . .

"It's no use," I say dejectedly, staring up at the ceiling.

Feeling a sudden wave of fury, I sit up and grab the closest thing to me, which just happens to be the figure of Viktor Krum I bought at the Quidditch World Cup. I hurl it across the room, narrowly missing the mirror hanging on the wall opposite me.

"Watch it, you!" it shrieks.

Sighing loudly, I throw myself back onto my bed and try to get some more rest.

I sleep fitfully the rest of the afternoon and evening.

***

It's taken me a whole two weeks to be able to leave my room. Everyone has been trying to get me to get out and about, but I just couldn't. When I woke up this morning, I decided that there is no reason to mope around forever; it's obvious Hermione didn't.

As I make my way downstairs, I hear hushed voices drifting up from the kitchen: Fred, George, and Ginny. I stop a few steps from the bottom, out of their line of vision, and listen.

"See! Look here. I told you!" There is a rustling of paper as Fred speaks quietly.

"I didn't believe you, Fred," George replies. "But this . . . There have been times in the past when they have exaggerated things, but it would be awfully difficult to pull this kind of thing from thin air."

"I just can't believe she'd do something like this!" Ginny exclaims, evoking a "Shh!" from the twins. "I mean, she never --"

CREAK!

I had shifted on the stair, causing a loud creak to issue from the old, tired wood.

My cover blown, I step into the kitchen and sit down beside Ginny, who has grown extraordinarily interested in her bowl of cereal. I Summon a bowl to me and pour my breakfast. Trying to act natural, Fred and George start discussing their most recent confection: Pimple Puffs, chocolate balls that give the eater acne.

I see this morning's issue of the Daily Prophet folded on the table in front of Fred. When I reach for it, he pulls it away quickly, saying, "I was just about to read this."

"Sure you were, Fred. Accio Daily Prophet!" The newspaper zooms into my hand. As the twins and Ginny watch with bated breath, I open the paper and scan the first page. The top headline reads in large bold letters, HOGWARTS HEAD GOVERNOR'S SON TO WED BEST FRIEND OF FAMOUS HARRY POTTER. Underneath is a picture of Hermione with Draco, Lucius, and Narcissa Malfoy. Malfoy and Hermione are holding hands, smiling and waving at the camera. Hermione seems perfectly happy, as though I had never existed.

Fighting to keep my composure, I read the short article to myself:

Head governor of the esteemed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Lucius Malfoy prepares to welcome a new member to his prestigious family. His son, Draco, newly graduated from the school, has found love in Hermione Granger, a pretty Gryffindor who had been in his year. Coming from a long line of wizards, Granger is the best friend of Harry Potter, the boy to whom is accredited the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Alone, the two fought side-by-side to defeat the Dark Lord at their years at Hogwarts, finally banishing him from the face of the earth at the end of their seventh year.

"While at school," Draco said when asked about how he and Hermione fell in love, "Hermione and I didn't get along too well because of the bitterness between our two houses, Slytherin and Gryffindor. But when we graduated, I saw her for the beautiful witch she is, and I knew that I would marry her. Really, it was silly for me to suppress my feelings because of a rivalry born thousands of years ago."

The wedding date and location have yet to be released to the general public, though we will inform you, our dear readers, as soon as we find out.

Not believing what I just read, I reread it.

" . . . Coming from a long line of wizards . . . Alone, the two fought side-by-side to defeat the Dark Lord . . . alone . . ."

Shaking with anger, I stand up from my chair, clutching the newspaper tightly in my hand, and knock over my chair as I storm out of the kitchen and out into the morning sunlight. The anger is burning within me, threatening to explode in a fit of rage. But the extreme heartache dulls the anger, filling me with a terrible sense of loneliness.

"Alone . . ." the newspaper had said.

Just like me.

Finding nowhere to go, I Apparate back up to my room and get dressed. I decide that I'm not going to let Hermione rule my life anymore. I'm going to go out there and find me another, better woman. But something in the back of my mind quietly whispers, "Better than Hermione? Ron, don't kid yourself."

"Shut up," I say to the voice before Disapparating to Hogsmeade.

Once on High Street, I set to finding myself a new girl. But it's a lot harder than I had thought. After searching for about an hour, I retreat to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer.

The familiarity of the pub eases my stress ever so slightly as I sink into a chair at a table for two. Almost immediately, Madam Rosmerta, the owner, comes over to me, her heels clicking on the hard floor.

Smiling warmly, she bends slightly at the waist and asks, "What do you need there, darlin'?"

I reply sullenly, "Something you can't get for me."

She frowns and straightens up. "What's eating at you? And where's that lovely girlfriend of yours?" A look of realization dawns on her pretty face. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean --"

"It's all right," I say, holding up a hand. "I'm fine. Can you just get me a butterbeer?"

"Sure thing. And it's on me." She turns around and clicks away.

After drinking a couple of butterbeers, I feel much better. Just as I prepare to get up and go home, I see a beautiful witch enter the dank little pub. Her curly auburn hair shines in the lamplight and faint freckles dot her face. She's wearing form-fitting, low-cut navy robes that hug her in all the right places. Almost immediately, her bright green eyes meet mine. Her lips curling into a very slight smile, she begins to walk toward me.

Oh no! I think to myself. She's coming over here! What should I do? I can't do this. I thought I could, but I can't. Go away, oh please, go away!

But she doesn't. Instead, she walks right up to the chair across from me.

"Is this seat taken?" she asks in a soft voice with a light Australian accent, gesturing to the empty seat.

Feeling a lump in my throat, I simply shake my head, which causes her smile to widen as she settles herself in the chair. As she bends over to check her robes, I catch an eyeful of her cleavage. She straightens back up and places her elbows on the table, putting her chin on her folded hands and leaning forward seductively.

"So, what's your name, gorgeous?"

A bit forward, this one, I think. Hermione was never this forward . . . Oh, do shut up, Ron! And answer her!

Clearing my throat, I say raspily, "R-Ron Weasley."

"Well, R-Ron Weasley, my name is Bianca Michaels." She holds out her hand. "Nice to meet you."

I take it, finding it incredibly soft. I'm almost reluctant to let go.

After a few minutes of silence, she asks, "Well, R-Ron, are you going to buy me a drink or not?"