Potters go for redheads; it is a proven fact as certain as the sun rising in the east and the moon's continual waxing and waning. No Potter could ever be content without a redhead in his arms, to love and cherish for all eternity. Harry Potter was no exception to this rule. In fact rather early on he found that he could get through anything as long as there was a certain Weasley at his side. He could move any number of mountains, save any number of people, defeat any number of Dark Lords as long as his soul mate loved him. And when they fought the seconds turned into years, and the minutes were unbearable eternities of loneliness that had him begging for forgiveness.
He had long ago decided that it was the red hair that called to him, made him want nothing more than to spend another perfect moment with his Weasley, and every moment together was paradise. It was that darn red hair that spoke of daring when he felt rebellious and needed adventure. It shone red like the warmth of a hearth when he wanted to simply unwind and just be Harry. When he smelled that red hair he could smell Quidditch and sun-filled days of laughter. Nowadays he could hardly concentrate in Quidditch practice because he kept getting a glimpse of that red hair. It spoke to him of laughter and loyalty, of adventure and family, blending together in a siren's song that he was helpless to resist. But always, no matter what else that stunning, silky red hair did, it burned with the passion of undying love.
And now they were together, after he finally admitted the feelings he had. Feelings he hadn't even realized he'd had, but that had been there from the first day they met, all those years ago. And he wishes it hadn't taken him this long to confess how he felt, or that perhaps he could have done it in a more romantic way. "I love you and I don't know why!" didn't exactly make one go weak at the knees. Then he'd wished he hadn't said it, what if he was the only one to feel like this, what if it made things awkward between them, what if their friendship fell apart because he couldn't keep his stupid mouth shut… But he needn't have worried for after a few stunned seconds that incredible, wonderful smile had appeared and those soft, inviting lips had whispered the sweet words, "Me too."
"Me too, Harry, me too. Only I was too worried to say anything."
"Some much for Gryffindor Courage," Harry joked, ruffling the red hair that had been his downfall. And as they walked away laughing Harry Potter realized there was no doubting it. He was hopelessly in love with Ronald Weasley.