Ahhhh... In my new Hermione/Ginny kick, I've got *gasp* more fluff!! semi-angsty fluff, but fluff none the less... As I like to say, let Rowlings supply the characters - we'll suply the emotion. ^.^ Thank you to the hordes of people who beta-d this! I love you guys!!
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Nice
I am not in love with Harry Potter.
Everyone assumed... So I let myself believe. Of course I had a crush on Harry Potter! The entire wizarding world was infatuated with him, so why wouldn't I be?
But I'm not.
Why _doesn't_ it work out that way for me? Why doesn't he make my pulse race, my face flush, my heart flutter? Why don't my palms sweat, my breath still, my tongue trip over itself when he's near?
It did once... Once I used to lay awake at night repeating that yes, yes, I liked Harry Potter. But I've grown since then, and believing a lie is so much easier when you're younger.
I've never wanted to be different.
I've lived as one-of-many for so long... Just another Weasley. It suits me. There were too many before me. Bill was clever, Charlie was daring, Percy was impeccable, Fred and George were cunning and funny, Ron was loyalty incarnate, what was I left to be? Let's face it - all the good adjectives had been covered - and I wasn't willing to stand out because of some fatal flaw. Let me be a flower in a garden - something beautiful but easily overlooked.
It makes sense, really... If all the other Weasley children fancy girls, then why can't I? Does it really matter that I'm one as well?
Still, that's wrong, isn't it?
Witches don't like other witches.
It's not normal.
Normal witches don't wonder what Cho Chang tastes like when you kiss her. They don't think about what her soft skin would feel like under their fingers. They would _never_ imagine the gasps she would make when you kiss. Right. There.
I bite my lip instinctively. I'm half afraid that someone's reading my thoughts and they're going to call me on them any minute now. But, of course, I'm just being silly. Although a little extra paranoia goes a long way in a magical school.
Across the room, Hermione stands up with a grand flourish. I bite harder. Her face is flushed. She must be arguing with my brother again. She's been doing that a good deal lately.
There's always a sort of sadness behind her eyes. One that I would give anything to make go away. No - I shouldn't think like that. Ron's the one who's entitled to like her. Not me. Never me.
I can't help it, though. I can't stop feeling like this. She's - perfect. In all the ways someone can be. She's smart, top of the class, the cleverest witch of her age that Hogwarts has seen in centuries. She's beautiful, those amazing brown eyes, that hair that falls like a halo around her flawless face... I can't stop myself.
I have to, though. She's not like that. Not like I am. She could never be. And even if she was, she'd never like me. I'm nothing to her. Less than nothing. A weed by the side of the road.
Not that I mind, really. That's how I've spent most of my life. I'm just... lonely.
I don't even see Hermione move until she's standing right in front of me.
"Do you need help with that? I took Arithmancy last year, too…" She smiles, and it's like the rest of the world's Disapparated. It's just us. Alone.
"Yes... I - thank you." She sits down next to me. Close. "I've been having trouble with this one." I point. She leans in.
I think I can taste blood, I'm biting that hard.
She'll never want me back, I know better than to entertain false hopes. Still - still, friendship is nice.
Yes, nice.
I can live with nice. For now, at least.
-----
Nice
I am not in love with Harry Potter.
Everyone assumed... So I let myself believe. Of course I had a crush on Harry Potter! The entire wizarding world was infatuated with him, so why wouldn't I be?
But I'm not.
Why _doesn't_ it work out that way for me? Why doesn't he make my pulse race, my face flush, my heart flutter? Why don't my palms sweat, my breath still, my tongue trip over itself when he's near?
It did once... Once I used to lay awake at night repeating that yes, yes, I liked Harry Potter. But I've grown since then, and believing a lie is so much easier when you're younger.
I've never wanted to be different.
I've lived as one-of-many for so long... Just another Weasley. It suits me. There were too many before me. Bill was clever, Charlie was daring, Percy was impeccable, Fred and George were cunning and funny, Ron was loyalty incarnate, what was I left to be? Let's face it - all the good adjectives had been covered - and I wasn't willing to stand out because of some fatal flaw. Let me be a flower in a garden - something beautiful but easily overlooked.
It makes sense, really... If all the other Weasley children fancy girls, then why can't I? Does it really matter that I'm one as well?
Still, that's wrong, isn't it?
Witches don't like other witches.
It's not normal.
Normal witches don't wonder what Cho Chang tastes like when you kiss her. They don't think about what her soft skin would feel like under their fingers. They would _never_ imagine the gasps she would make when you kiss. Right. There.
I bite my lip instinctively. I'm half afraid that someone's reading my thoughts and they're going to call me on them any minute now. But, of course, I'm just being silly. Although a little extra paranoia goes a long way in a magical school.
Across the room, Hermione stands up with a grand flourish. I bite harder. Her face is flushed. She must be arguing with my brother again. She's been doing that a good deal lately.
There's always a sort of sadness behind her eyes. One that I would give anything to make go away. No - I shouldn't think like that. Ron's the one who's entitled to like her. Not me. Never me.
I can't help it, though. I can't stop feeling like this. She's - perfect. In all the ways someone can be. She's smart, top of the class, the cleverest witch of her age that Hogwarts has seen in centuries. She's beautiful, those amazing brown eyes, that hair that falls like a halo around her flawless face... I can't stop myself.
I have to, though. She's not like that. Not like I am. She could never be. And even if she was, she'd never like me. I'm nothing to her. Less than nothing. A weed by the side of the road.
Not that I mind, really. That's how I've spent most of my life. I'm just... lonely.
I don't even see Hermione move until she's standing right in front of me.
"Do you need help with that? I took Arithmancy last year, too…" She smiles, and it's like the rest of the world's Disapparated. It's just us. Alone.
"Yes... I - thank you." She sits down next to me. Close. "I've been having trouble with this one." I point. She leans in.
I think I can taste blood, I'm biting that hard.
She'll never want me back, I know better than to entertain false hopes. Still - still, friendship is nice.
Yes, nice.
I can live with nice. For now, at least.