It really is amazing how many emotions your eyes can hold.

I'll watch him, there, as he sits in front of the fire in my living room. I'll see the flames reflect off his eyes in front of this pensive look, like he's wondering about the meaning of life. He is, really. He's got every reason to, having his life planned out for him like he's got. Even further in his eyes, you can see the sorrow and resentment that evil prophecy caused him. You can see his hatred for the life that Fate had thrown him, mixed in with his being overwhelmed with his only purpose in life. I know he's thinking about what he's got to do this coming year, finding Horcruxes and the like. He's desperate to get off the couch and go do it now, but he promised he would attend Bill's wedding first. Bits of worry and rage seem to trade with very brief happiness or contentment, which are quickly replaced again. Sometimes, though, happiness will win out.

I live for those moments.

He'll sometimes sit there, nights. For hours on end, he'll stare into that fire. I understand he needs to sort out his thoughts, and with so many, it will obviously take a while, but honestly, you can only feel sorry for yourself for so long. Self-pity will rear its ugly head, and with its fangs and numerous claws and pinchers, attempt to swallow you whole. You have two choices, then. You can let it capture you, or you can run. I know. I've been there. And I'm terrified that Harry will give in to that first temptation.

I know that Harry sees the appeal in taking the easy road.

I really want to help him, too. I… well, I'm in love with him. In the beginning, it really was just this silly little crush I had, that I would write in my (not possessed) journal and giggle with Hermione about. I knew it, and Hermione knew it, too. But it's nights like these, that there have been so many of, when I'm sitting on the fourth stair (close enough where I can see Harry, but far enough where I know he won't see me, and I know I wont bother him. I really would rather use the third stair, but it creaks) and really seeing Harry, not The Boy Who Lived, that I've come to know and love so much more of him.

That's not completely true, I guess. This year, I really began to see Harry, whenever we were dating. We would talk about what was important to him, (amidst all the snogging, of course) and I really fell in love with what he told me. He began to mean more to me than he had before.

I suppose I understood when he broke it off with me after Dumbledore's funeral. He had to go off and be noble, saving the world, and all that jazz, which was nothing less than I expected, I guess.

Almost makes me feel stupid for doing that juvenile, 'Make Harry Jealous' plan Hermione and I came up with last year.

I've started to be able to read Harry so well that I can even tell what he's thinking during the day, when he's got his guards up. Like at the dinner table, when my father asks how his day went, he'll look up from his plate and smile, saying that his day went all right, thanks, and how was yours. When something one of my family says sidetracks daddy, and he forgets to answer, Harry will laugh a little, look back down, and start moving his peas around his plate.

This is nothing like what happened, if you would ask Harry. Or me.

When Harry looked up and smiled at my dad, the smile reached his eyes, yes, but so did other things. One was elation, from having my dad actually show interest in how Harry was doing. Another was confusion, which I blame on the Dursleys. Harry doesn't really know what to say, since father figures usually don't care enough to enquire on such trivial things as his happiness. One more was nervousness, because what if he said the wrong thing? Would someone laugh at him? Or more importantly, would my dad quit caring?

It's so sad that Harry thinks he could answer dad's question wrong, or that he would ever quit caring about him.

When Fred and George distracted my dad, Harry's eyes fell, and showed a sadness that makes you want to hide under your sheets crying for the rest of your life. When he realized that someone might be paying attention, he tried to put his smile back on, used a laugh so forced it made me cringe, and act like it didn't matter to him. But it did. I saw those eyes.

With his fork, he pushed one pea away from all the others, and frowned at it.

It was The Lonely Pea.

I would have laughed if it hadn't been so serious and meaningful for Harry.

That's something about Harry that can really get under my skin sometimes. He can be so daft, so clueless, even Ron can't compare. Sometimes I want to get up slap some sense into him, but then I don't, because that would take away those bits of his character that I love. He's just always got to be so noble, got to do his 'saving people thing;' he'll be so wrapped up in his worries sometimes that he cant see what's going on right in front of his face.

Like me, sitting here every night, waiting for the right moment to…

To what? Go sit with him? Declare my Undying Love? Jump out and say 'Boo?'

I don't know. I guess for now, I'll just sit here and watch him. Watch him, and love him.