Reflections that Drive Us

By

Embrathiel

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling.

A/N: This will be written as if Hermione were literally adding to a journal. Therefore potentially daily posts. As the minimum word count requirement is 1K however, if she writes an entry shorter than that, I will have to combine multiple, extending the publishing date. This takes in to account DH except the epilogue.

**RTDU**

Entry 1: 8th July, 1999

How are we to truly appreciate the gift of learning when it's blessing falls upon us so late? How am I supposed to even begin to understand where to go from here, when all I thought I knew has been shown to me as muddied and impure. Why, oh why, did I learn so slowly.

It is hardly fair to acknowledge these realizations on the very night I lay in bed with my new husband. On the night when passion should be flowing and I, hoping for the gift of my first child. Fortunately, or brought by curse, the realization I came to while readying for bed, caused convulsions in my abdomen and I became unable to engage in any sort of intimate activity. Blessedly, Ron was able to see that this was no intention of mine, and he was satisfied with the idea of waking me in the morning with the need that I know has been driving him mad for so long.

If only I could reciprocate his feelings.

I did not doubt when I squealed with glee at our engagement. I did not question when the words came to my lips and I answered with my portion of the vows.

It was the unsuspecting thought of Ronald planting his seed within me that caused my body to react as I now realize that my mind should have, so long ago. Oh regret, you are a cursed presence.

In near comical reversal, the snores that so oft keep me awake through the night, now provide me with a rhythm, a motion, for my writing. A journal, or diary, such as it may ultimately be; the concept of which has never truly sat well in my heart. I have always seen them as frivolous or immature means of having to recognize one's own emotions. Now though I realize that this is not that. This, this is speaking with myself, with these pages, with this ink, when there is no one else to share with. As is typical of me however, I am not actually addressing what I have learned. It is not as though anyone could read these pages anyway, thanks to the spell work, but still, some part of me knows that if I write it down, there is no denying it.

When Ronald proposed, I accepted. I imagined us living together, having finally worked out our issues and no longer arguing all the time. I imagined us going to Australia to look for my parents; finding them and seeing how well he fit in with the family. I was able to see Ronald in my life.

I spoke my vows today and saw the rings on our fingers with no question; our futures intertwined.

But when he talked of children, while we made our way in to the bedroom, my thoughts betrayed me. The thoughts I have held dear for so long. The thoughts, the mind that has allowed me to achieve the highest grades in school. The mind that allowed me to keep up with the boys and if anything overcome them when it came to magical power thanks to the esoteric knowledge I forced in my head. The mind that I have been able to trust for as long as I can remember.

Ronald mentioned children, and I saw just that. I saw a child with chocolate eyes and a quaffle in their hands, celebrating their scholarly achievements.

But of course, something was wrong.

That child with chocolate eyes, my father's chin and the curls of myself and my mother, had hair as black as a raven's plumage.

And I knew what I had done wrong.

I know now that I have been an idealistic child. I know now that it doesn't matter how well you fight a war; it doesn't matter how much knowledge you cram in to your mind; it doesn't matter how much you must mature through the trials of a war. When it comes to the matters of the heart, we are all still flailing children.

God how I wish mum and daddy were here. If only they hadn't disappeared after getting to Australia.

I miss them so.

And now I don't know what to do.

I transposed the solidity. I transposed the comfort. I transposed the trust, the peace, the innate ease. I transposed everything good and pure about my friendship, relationship, connection, whatever, with Harry, and put it where my feelings about Ronald were. I convinced myself that he could be just the same. He could provide me with those same feelings. Ronald could make me feel the same, so secure, so safe, so happy, so loved, so, understood. Harry never talked down to me. He never treated me like some future housewife.

He never treated me like he was settling for me.

He never treated me like Ronald does.

And so I took all of that good, and made myself believe I could have that with Ronald, given enough time. But whether that image that I still can't remove from my inner eye was prophecy or desire, I know one truth now.

It isn't Ron that I love. It isn't Ron that I feel such closeness to. It isn't the man who stood holding my hands at the altar, it was the one behind him, smiling as he held out the rings.

It wasn't the man who slid his hands beneath my gown and made my body respond with eagerness, before the wave of nausea ripped through me; it was the one who held me close even when my embraces were too strong.

I love not the man who chides me for my ramblings and drinks alcohol to allow himself to tolerate the words that come out of my mouth. It is instead the one who listens even when he doesn't understand, and asks questions until he does.

I do not love the man who makes me giddy with excitement when he overcomes his insecurities and blocks the goal, winning the game. The man I love makes me frustrated with passion as I worry for his safety as he tears through the skies like a bird of prey.

I do not feel love for the one who chose a nickname for me that makes me grimace. I love the one who calls me Mione, and who's lips quirk upwards ever so slightly when the word passes past them.

It is not the man who buys me dinner, exalting in the gold he can spend, that I burn with desire for. It is instead the one who teases me, determining that we must decide who shall pay by seeing who can remember a sequence of friendly dialogue from our past most accurately without the use of a pensieve.

I love the one who knows how to apologize, not the one who lives with jealousy as his core.

I love the one who was emotionally broken as a child and yet somehow displayed love and caring without fail, not the one who was coddled and chooses when to share such feelings.

I love Harry, not Ronald.

I love Harry, not Ronald.

I do not love Ron. I love Harry.

I love Harry.

I love Harry.

God why couldn't I realize this sooner, even by a few hours?

I don't know what to do.

I don't know what to do.

I don't know what to do.

I've just married the man I have been convincing myself was my soulmate. He isn't. Oh god he isn't. But poor Ronald. He isn't bad by any means. It's just that he isn't the man I have been in love with.

And if I am being honest with myself, which I may as well be, considering this particular medium, I am not in any way equipped to handle this situation. I am well aware of the variety of options currently available, but knowing which to address is far beyond my understanding of these things. How is a woman of 19 supposed to know how to handle this. God I'm so young. So stupid. I should have seen this. Maybe if I, we, hadn't been so distracted by trying to rebuild the Ministry, I might have been able to figure it out. If that hadn't been so important, and we had had more time to search for my parents, I would have them with me now. Mum would know what to say and daddy would be happy just threatening whichever one I ultimately picked.

Well that's something to note. I phrased it as if I have to choose. Is that really how I see this going?

Ronald I'm so sorry. You don't deserve me doing this to us. I feel awful, but is it better to try and force a mistake to work or is it more right to fix it and start anew?

I wish I were religious, I could use a prayer.

For now,

Friendship, bravery, and love.

**RTDU**

Thank you for reading and please review.

Elise