Disclaimer:
I did not write this. I wish I did because it is one of my favorite fanfics since 2009. Find the link to the complete story at the end of this post. This is just my favorite part.
There’s Harry, the stoic hero who’s destined for greatness; me, the bookworm/requisite plucky heroine; Ron, the faithful sidekick, the Lancelot to Harry’s Arthur.
Does that make me Guinevere, then?
It’s always been more or less expected that I would one day fall in love with Harry. Expected, because those are the rules of heroic saga, because the valiant hero always, always, gets the girl. The Hero, accompanied by his Loyal Sidekick and Plucky Heroine, grimly-but-always-valiantly go off to defeat the Forces of Darkness. They face Overwhelming Odds but somehow manage to come home, Forces of Darkness conclusively destroyed, with a song in their collective heart, a smile on their collective face, and without a hair out of place. (Although Harry’s hair is so messy anyhow, I find it difficult to believe that anyone would be able to tell the difference, to tell you the truth.) The Hero and Plucky Heroine then go off to get married, the Loyal Sidekick does whatever it is that Loyal Sidekicks do in their free time, and they all live happily ever after. Oh, the wizarding public might know that the truth is far grittier than that, but I think that in their heart of hearts they believe – need to believe – in the myth, in our expected roles. Good will always triumph over evil, the hero will always be accompanied by his valiant companions and in the end will always get the girl.
Simple. No thought required.
But somewhere in this fairy tale, the equations went astray. Perhaps the Fates were having an off day.
Did the myth-makers ever stop to consider what would happen if the hero and heroine were not, in fact, madly in love?
Did they ever stop to consider what would happen if the heroine and the sidekick fell in love instead?
