Harry Potter. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived.
He was sick of it. Why couldn't he just be normal like Ron, or Seamus, or Neville, okay maybe not Neville. Being a muggle seemed way more appealing than being stared at every time he entered a room.
He snapped back into reality when Hermione rapped at the door then barged in, she may as well of not knocked.
'Harry, you haven't even unpacked, you've been here eight days,' she exclaimed.
Hermione had that about her, her tone of voice was always more dramatic than needed.
'I told you I'd get round to it Hermione, calm down, anyways, did you come all this way just to nag me some more?' he replied, he was short of patience.
She looked down at her hands to see the piece of paper she had folded over and over and over again. She began to open it up to show Harry. It had creases all over it which showed it had been opened and re-read plenty of times, yet the date at the top showed it had only been written this morning. Hermione must've been nervous as her sweaty hands had left marks all over the page she had pulled out of the Daily Prophet. The front page. Harry understood why she had been nervous.
Someone else entered the room, this time without even bothering to knock. It was Ronald. His best friend, surely he had came for the same reason as Hermione. But the rage on his face said otherwise.
Harry was confused, he could feel the blood gushing through his cheeks and pounding through his ears. He was feeling embarrassed, angry but most of all guilty.
Before Ron got the chance to hurl his abuse at him, someone else entered his room. There was a group of people gathering in his room, all of whom were expressing different facial expressions.
Hermione who was showing nothing but awkwardness, Ron who as enraged, and the newcomer, Mrs Weasley, who looked concerned. Not comforting, just concerned. They all knew why.
The headline had read:
Harry Potter's secret marriage.. To a Weasley..