AN: New idea, something to get you guessing.
Harry wasn't the jealous type. He never had anything of his own, so he never knew what it was like to miss out on that little bit extra. He never wished for more, because he didn't have anywhere to put it.
Harry wasn't the silently brooding type either – he didn't find pleasure in spending endless hours picturing another man's demise. He didn't plan the day that he would come out victorious, a thousand and one girls cheering his name and laughing at the those who had once challenged him, as he uttered the words, "I told you 'one day',".
No, Harry wasn't jealous or brooding – or so he told himself, as he sat in the corner of the common room, slightly hidden by the curtains of the large castle-esque windows, looking down at this six-foot essay due the next day, staring up through his lashes at the pale girl across the room, throwing herself at the dark boy in the lounge.
No, Harry wasn't jealous or brooding – he was both.