Disclaimer, hmm, lets guess what isn't mine. That's right! All of it isn't mine!

Thanks to Briana, my beta, for getting me other languages. You kick ass! *the quote is by G Moore.

Your hair looks like invisible angels are running their fingers through it. Sometimes you shake your head in potions and the strands lift up like they're taking flight and the wind from the movement of their wings has rustled your locks. It's a black so deep looking at your head is like staring into a abyss. Your eyes, comparing them to emeralds is pointless and offensive, as your iris is much more green then they could ever be, and one glance at them, and I know they are much more precious then some stone. You're diminutive, like a small child, and when I see you facing so much pain, a child suffering so much, it sometimes drives me to tears. You're my beautiful child, and I want to cradle you in my arms and never let go. Alas, I cannot have you.

Your faithful watcher.

The next morning Harry got another letter. It was from the same brown owl, but as brown owls were common, he didn't know who it belonged to.

You are one of the most illustrious people of the world, and I, along with half our world, admire the every move you make, worship the ground you walk on, and idolize the things you find important. You must know, you are the reason Ron has friends, you are the reason Hermione is liked by others, because the people around you will like the things you like. I wish to trace your lightning bolt brand with my fingers, my hand, my tongue. I wish to run my palms up and down your smooth lean body. I wish to do many things to you, and I wish you wished to do the same to me. I love you, but I cannot handle you in the minutest way, for you will shy away from my presence.

Forever yours, though you don't know it

Your faithful watcher.

Before the owl could fly off, he ripped a blank corner of parchment off of a marked essay, and wrote 'who are you' on it. He tied it to the owl, and watched it fly off. Unfortunately, it didn't fly to its owner, it went out the window, to the owlery.

Harry knew what he had to do. He went to the owlery as soon as classes were over, and stayed there in his invisibility cloak all night. If this person was a faithful watcher, they would have saw that he put a note on the owl, and would no doubt be curious to read it.

But no one came. And yet, the next morning, it was mentioned. The owl that had his letter was a different one, a snowy owl, though it did look different from Hedwig.

Oh, Harry dearest, that was a very nice trick you tried to play. Fortunately, I'm a wise admirer, not a bumbling fool, like Ginny or Colin. I cannot tell you who I am, though I know you want to know. Right now, as it is, private between you and the parchment, I know you feel loved. If you found out who I am, you would not take me seriously, and you would feel embarrassed for liking my letters. I cannot spoil this relationship, or what bit of kindness you feel by telling you who I am. My gods Harry, when you even move, I feel like a mother, because I want to stand a step behind you, and make sure you don't fall. When you play Quidditch, my heart leaps into my throat, for you're so high in the air, and you are skilled enough, and brave enough, that you will do anything to get the snitch. It's such a dangerous sport, and you are so good at it, that you will never stop putting yourself at risk, it's like the gods laughing at me. *Other men have said they've seen angels, I've seen thee, and thou art enough. You are everything, to me, and the rest of our world. You will be our saviour. I know you hate that, and I wish people wouldn't tell you that, for it puts more weight onto your shoulders. I wish to carry your burden, I would struggle with your pain for the rest of my life, if you could be happy and free, but alas, I'm not as strong as you, and I would be crushed. You are the only one that can handle the pressure, which is why we need you. But more importantly, I need you. And I can only have you if you don't know who I am.

Your faithful watcher

Harry hissed with impatience. This was so frustrating. Someone obviously cared about them, and Harry thought he might care back. How could you not love someone so delicate with words.

Hello random person. You say that if I knew who you were, I wouldn't like you, but I doubt that's true. You sound like a kind person, and I think I would. Why don't I ask you a few questions, and if you answer well, we can talk?

What's your favourite smell?

What's your favourite thing to look at?

What's your favourite taste?

What's your favourite memory?

Why can't you tell me who you are?

Describe yourself in one word.

Each of these questions can have more then one answer, but I shall tell you all the answers, so you can at least partly understand me. You see, I am dimorphic, but not because I choose to be, I must be to please my family.

"Hermione, can you come here please?"

"What's it, Harry?" Ron asked they were in the common room, for some reason the letter hadn't waited until the next morning, like the others, it had been delivered right after dinner.

"No offence, Ron, but there's a strange word, and I'm betting Hermione would know it."

"You saying she's smarter then me?"

"Well, yes."

"What's the word?"

"Dimorphic."

"Dimorphic, existing in two different forms, dimorphic."

Ron laughed at Hermione's seriousness, while Harry kept reading the letter.

Because of this, I can be itemized as heinous, or dilettante.

"Hermione…"

"Next word."

"Dillettante."

"Dillettante, a admirer of the fine arts, but they study in one branch, desultorily."

"And desultorily would be?"

"Lord, don't you guys read? Desultorily is randomly, or jumping from one thing to another."

I cannot tell you who I am, for two specific reasons. The first is because you beyond doubtedly see me as the first, evil and despicable. The second is, if I did tell you, you would not consider me a friend, we've been over this a letter ago, remember? And because I'm rather selfish, I'd rather sacrifice your knowledge in order to claim you.

My favourite smell can be 3 things. If I think only of my undying love for you, it would be when you are done a quidditch practice during the spring, and you are covered in diaphoresis. I walk by you, and it's the smell of a robust unwavering man.

"Hermione…"

"You're lucky I'm so smart, what would you do without me?"

"Um, not bother with homework and have fun?" Ron suggested.

"Harry, the word?" she said annoyed.

"Two, actually. First is diaphoresis."

"That's sweat."

"ok." who comes close to me when I'm sweating after Quidditch? "the second is robust."

"That's powerful and strong. What on earth are you reading?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing for you to worry about." Harry didn't know why, but for some reason, he didn't want to tell Hermione or Ron that he had gotten secret love notes for the last few days.

If I'm talking to my parents, my favourite smell would be burning flesh of muggles, unfortunately, I have to come up with horrid things to please them. And if I'm talking more generally, it would be the smell of the earthworms after a rain shower. When I was younger, I would run out onto the street, and smell, and be terrified that muggle cars would drive over them, so I would throw them onto the grass.

Awwwww, Harry sighed. That's so cute. He could just picture a little boy throwing worms onto the grass so they wouldn't get run over. Wait, why was he picturing a boy, shouldn't he be picturing a girl, seeing as he should want his crush to be a girl? As he started to think about this, and the possible meanings of the daydream his subconscious had given him, Ron asked, "What is it?"

"What's what?" he asked, jolted back to the situation at hand.

"Well, you didn't just do the girly-that's-so-cute sigh because a recipe asked you to put ground stink beetles in a potion. What are you really reading, and why is it cute?"

"Ummm,"

"That's it!" Ron yelled, and without warning, lunged over Hermione and yanked it from Harry's hand.

"Hermione!" Harry yelled, hoping for some help against Ron, but all she did was ask "Ron, what's on it?"

"Harry's got a crush! This 'ere's a love letter." he snickered.

"Can I please have it back, I haven't finished reading it yet."

"Fine, but tell us later what it says."

My heart says my favourite thing to look at would be you, though in my parents view, it should be other people's pain, and generally, I love art. Brian Froud is my favourite artist though he's a muggle and I'm not allowed to have muggle things, so his books get shrunk to fit into my pocket, and they stay there the entire summer. His drawings are so exquisite it's a honour just to be able to look at them.

I wager my favourite taste would be your earlobe-

Harry snorted.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"the g-the person who wrote this said their favourite taste would be nibbling on my earlobe."

"So you know them then?"

"Um, no, I have no idea who it is, but just imagining someone knawing on my ear makes me laugh."

"Some people find that very erotic."

"Hermione!" Ron bellowed, blushing bright red.

"What?"

Harry laughed as Ron and Hermione started a conversation over weather Hermione was allowed to be horny, and kept on reading.

But I've never tasted you, so I wouldn't know for sure. I suppose I should like all the fancy garbage like escargot that I get served during the summer, but I don't. Frankly, I like peanut butter sandwiches they're rather scrumcious, and I only get those when I go over to a muggle friend's house.

My heart's favourite memory is watching you when you won the Quidditch cup in third year, you were so happy, and I just wanted to run over and hug you, but I obviously couldn't do that. My other favourite memories are a group, all blended together, the days when I was able to sneak off, and make friends for the summer in town. Especially Neal. He was a great friend, he was. I've answered all your questions, and if you think, you'll guess, and then you won't bother to write back. I'm actually rather scared to see you tomorrow morning, to see weather you've sent me a howler for crushing on you.

Your faithful loving watcher.

"Guys, can you help me think?" if they knew, they might as well help him.

"Hermione, girls aren't boys! Boys are allowed to be- what was that Harry?"

"Could you help me think? Who would be someone we would hate, but they would like peanut butter, and they save worms from being squished, and they like art and the smell of my sweat?"

"Well," Hermione said thoughtfully, "If they smell your sweat, they have to have gotten close to you, so maybe Katie Bell?"

Harry sighed. He had been hoping with the gender neutral 'someone' and 'they', he could see weather his friends were open to him having a male crush, but Hermione had squashed that.

"Hold up Herm. The realm of crushes we're looking in, have to be more specific then that. We have to decide weather it's a guy or girl."

"Why would a guy have a crush on Harry?"

"It might not be a boy, but I think Harry might want it to be a boy."

"Uh, Ron, he went out with Cho."

"Yeah, for one date, then they broke up, and he didn't think of anyone for year 6. Also, the best word he could use to describe the kiss was wet. What kind of sexual tension is wet? And no Hermione, don't answer me, I find the fact you think about sex disturbing, I don't need you to tell me your theories on wet."

"Harry, are you gay? I mean, it's not like I'll give you a negative reaction, but I never figured you as the gay type."

"What do you mean, type? That's ridiculous Herm, there is no TYPE, that's as stereotypical and outdated as you can get."

"I'm outdated. Look who's talking, Mr Girls have to be pure and chaste, while boys get to be horny wild bulls. I'm telling you, all girls have the same types of thoughts as boys, even your sister-"

"Don't you say another word about my sister!"

"She's just as much a sexual creature as-"

"la la la I can't hear you la la la" Ron sang, his hands over his ears.

"Ron, don't be ridiculous, Ron, Ron! Listen to me!"

"Not if you're going to tell me my little sister is a sexual being!"

Ginny, who happened to have overheard, got up from playing gobstones with Neville, walked over and said, "I've been having sex with Michael Corner for about a year now. I am 16. Actually, I'm going to go meet him now." with that, she walked out of the common room.

"What!" Ron bellowed. "You get your little butt back here right now!"

He ran over to the door. "Ginny Clarise Weasley, you are a virgin!" he screamed.

"Oh, Ron, come back here." Hermione sighed.

He went back to the couch Harry and Hermione were sitting on, and said "My little sister is a virgin, she's just confused."

"Of course Ron, of course. Now, who do you think sent Harry the letter?"

He grabbed it again, and skimmed it quickly. "Well, it says that the person's parents would basically want them to be a psychopath, and we wouldn't like them. So, I'd say it's a Slytherin."

"Well, that's still 70 people Ron, that doesn't help much."

"Well, it can still be narrowed down. Though a lot of people like you, I'd venture that no one beneath third year could come up with words like dilettante. Also, because it's Slytherin, it can't be anyone who obviously hates you, like Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, or Malfoy. I reckon it could be Blaise or Millicent though, they've never come out and said they hated you, they're just sorta there."

"So, Harry, would you rather it be Millicent or Blaise."

"I doubt he'd want it to be either."

"Ok, I meant would he rather it be xx chromosomes or xy chromosomes?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Ron asked.

"Right, I forgot genetics is a muggle thing. xx chromosomes mean a girl, xy are guys."

"Why couldn't you just have asked him if he's gay?"

"Well, maybe I was trying to be a bit more creative."

"You guys stop it. So, we've determined it's gotta be a Slytherin, should I write back to him?"

Ron smiled at the word him, but surprisingly said nothing to Hermione about him being right. "Do you want to write back? The things he said, did you like them? Could you deal with the fact if you met him, he might be a jerk, but he's sweet and I'm assuming romantic on the inside? I say romantic, because I assume he's written you before."

"Yeah, he has, and yeah, I think I could handle it."

"Then write back." Ron said simply.

Harry got up, and took the paper to his 7th year bedroom. He sucked on the edge of his quill, wishing it was a sugar quill, but as it was early September, he hadn't been to Hogsmede yet.

What am I supposed to say now? I think I could love you, though I can't be sure. What if this is a joke? My friends and I have deduced you must be a Slytherin, but you seem kind enough in your answers. You've befriended muggles, you save worms, and you like peanut butter. You don't seem like the typical Slytherin to me, but I'm still worried if I do fall for you, you'll say that it was just a joke, and I'll be crushed. Also, there's the fact that I don't know what sex you are, and I'm only attracted to one of them, and you might be the wrong one. And there is also the fact that even if I do like you, I sure as hell can't put it as nicely as you. Did you actually have a dictionary on hand while you were writing this? I had to get Hermione to translate for me about 5 times.

He put the note in an envelope, and wrote Faithful watcher on the front. He went up to the owlery, and laid the letter on the counter that had quills tied to it, for quick address changes, rather the way muggle banks did.

The next morning, during breakfast, he got another letter.

Harry, my love, this isn't a joke. Urrgh, for the first time in my articulate life, I find myself speechless. Well, that isn't veritably true. I have an abundance of things to say, I just don't know what should be the first. Ah, as always, I should declare my everlasting love. I love you inaugurally, I love you eminently, I love you in perpetuum, I love you until omega. Hmm, second, this isn't a joke, but I knew this was inevitable. You found out I was a Slytherin, and you start to think my love is a joke. Now what will happen when you found out my name? I'll tell you, you'll disregard me, you'll circumnavigate me, you'll even anathematize me. Nope, I'm not going to tell you who I am. Thirdly, haven't you ever heard of the Muggle belief system of Wicca? They believe a person falls in love with a soul, not a body. So what if you like girls, and I might happen to be a boy? (not saying I am, of course) if you love my personality, wouldn't you just be able to love me, and not care about my nether regions? Fourthly, no I did not steal words from a dictionary, I just happen to have been raised to think myself superior, and a large vocabulary was part of what I was taught. And fifthly, I must say I'm exorbitantly happy and relieved that you don't know who I am, and haven't sent me a howler. Lastly, I love you, I love you I love you.

Your faithful watcher.

"Hermione!" Harry wailed.

"What?" she asked, annoyed. She had been reading a charm book, and she looked up.

"Harry, this is in it's original form, Russian. I'm finding it sort of hard to follow, so is it really important?"

"Hermione, I need you to translate my letter for me."

"Oh, honestly." she said, but she took the letter.

"And what letter is this?" Seamus asked.

"Oh, someone with a large vocabulary is in love with him." Ron explained.

"Isn't everyone in love with him?"

"Yeah, but Harry doesn't love them all back." Ron replied.

"When you're all done discussing my love life!" he yelled.

"Harry, I don't see any words that need to be explained, it's all clear."

"What's that inaurge thing? And the anathematize thing?"

"Let me see the letter, maybe I could translate it!" Seamus said, and grabbed the letter.

"Ohhhh, this girl has the hots for you! You seriously don't know what this says?"

"Like you do Seamus, you're not exactly the smartest Gryffindor." Neville replied.

"Yeah, but I do write a lot of love letters to girls of mine, and I know good words. This part here, it's like I love you first, I love you most, I love you forever, I love you until the end. This other part, is like good thing you don't know who I am, cause you'll ignore me, you'll avoid me, you might even hate me. And this exorbitantly thing just means really. There you go."

"um, thanks Shay."

He wrote his own letter back to his faithful watcher, who he thought he might be falling in love with also.

Hey you. You seem to genuinely care about me, so why can't you tell me who you are? I think I might be falling for you. And as to the whole nether regions thing, I'm only worried because I happened to be attracted to xy chromosomes, and you might be xx. You seem like you really care, but how can I even know if you don't say anything to me face to face? Also, this is pretty inconvenient, me just leaving letters on the ledge, and hoping you pick them up first. Wouldn't it be better if you could tell me these things to my face?

He folded it, put it in a envelope, and left it on the ledge, on his way to first class, transfiguration. Normally he would have been happy that it was the only class he had with the Slytherins, but with this new update, that someone in Slytherin liked him, he had to watch out for who was looking at him. Which one of these people could be his faithful watcher?

He asked Hermione and Ron to help him look, and at the end of the class, they reported that the only Slytherin that had looked at him was Millicent.

"Eww, oh lord, you had better be kidding Ron."

"Nope, sorry, and she had these large, open puppy dog eyes, she looked like she was mooning over someone."

"Watch it Potter." Malfoy said. They had both tried to get through the door at the same time, and had piled up.

"You bumped into me, you ass."

"Because your stupid mudblood friend tried to cut me, and I couldn't let dirty blood go in front of a Malfoy. That's insanity, could you imagine what my father would say?"

"Shove it Malfoy."

"If you care so bloody much, just go out the door, and leave us alone." Hermione said, rather reasonably, considering her hands were curled into fists, and she looked like she wanted to strike.

"no no no, I believe there's a muggle saying, mad dogs and old ladies first?" quicker then they could block it, Crabbe and Goyle brought out their wands and turned Ron into a snapping canine, and Hermione into a old wizened grandma. However, because they were Crabbe and Goyle, the spell wasn't very strong, and Hermione and Ron turned into their old selves in seconds.

"Of course, Golden Boys first of all."

Harry strode out of the room, Ron and Hermione quickly following.

Oddly enough, waiting on his desk in his next class, Divination, was a letter.

Harry, my dearest, how many times do we have to go over this? I can't tell you who I am. I can, however, give you a bit of good news. I am a xy. Aren't you lucky. Honestly, not many people go up to the owlery, and those who do, know a lot better then to pick up My letters. Just because you don't know who I am, doesn't mean other people don't. This would be longer, but I have class too. I must say, getting Hermione and Ron to keep an eye out for who was watching you in transfiguration was rather cute. Didn't work did it though. I can assure you, I'm not Millicent, I merely did a spell on her to make her look at you. I love you, te amo, ich liebe dich, eu amore-te, wo ai ni.

Your faithful watcher.

"Who put this here?" he yelled, standing up.

"Wasn't me."

"Nor me."

When Harry got negatives from the entire class, he asked to go to the bathroom. He was granted permission, and instead ran to the owlery.

You say you love me? Prove it. If you truly do care, and you really believe I'll love your soul, not your body, and if you're really the boy who saves worms and eats peanut butter, write me another letter, come talk to me, announce it in transfiguration, do anything, but tell me somehow.

Harry.

At dinner that night, he got another letter.

"Wouldn't both of your lives be better if you could just talk?"

"Try telling that to mystery person."

Look, I'm considering it. It's a big freakin step, you gotta understand that. I'll get back to you, but I must admit, you imbue me to greatness.

Your faithful, and possibly soon to be out watcher.

"Hermione, what is imbue?"

"Can't you get Seamus to translate for you, this Russian man is very interesting. He discovered the turning goat cheese into soy milk spell, he was named-"

"Seamus, what's imbue?"

"Inspire. Like, Cheryl, you imbue me to make love to my bed pretending it was you."

"Oh, thank you for that wonderful image."

"No problem."

It gets funnier, and more romantic, but I won't continue unless I get 2 reviews. I have other chapters written, don't make me not post them. This means if briana reviews, only one of you have to review. Seriously, one word, it can be good, or awesome, or this blows. Well, that last one is 2 words, but you get my point. Please review. (gets onto her legs and begs) please review!