I realized that I loved Harry Potter during our fifth year.

There was nothing incredibly momentous about the moment when I came to realize it. I was just sitting there one day in the Great Hall, watching him talk with one person or another, when suddenly, it just hit me.

I loved him.

Of course, I knew that I couldn't tell him. I was his friend. I should only care about him in that friend-like way.

But I didn't. I loved him, and not in a platonic fashion.

I didn't tell him, though. No. I would never tell him.

By the time the middle of sixth year rolled around, though, my resolve to keep my love for him a secret was wearing thin. Very thin.

So I summoned every ounce of bravery that I possessed, and I picked out the exact date and time I was going to tell him.

It was that very day that I had my heart broken.

Professor Snape had had him stay after class for something or another - a broken vial, or some such thing.

And I, in my nervous, about-to-declare-my-love-for-him haze, didn't go to lunch with the rest of the class, but stayed behind to wait for him.

Looking back on it, I suppose it's better that I did. It saved me a lot of embarrassment.

It had been almost a half hour, and I was getting impatient.

After all, I was about to tell Harry Potter that I was in love with him.

So, I creaked the door open ever so slightly and looked in.

And there was Harry Potter, the love of my life, pushed against the wall, with Professor Severus Snape pounding into him.

"Love you," Harry breathed.

I could barely hear it, but it devastated me.

"Love you, too, Harry," Snape moaned back.

I don't even remember closing the door.

I do, however, remember running. Running and running and running.

Away from Harry Potter. Away from Severus Snape. Away from their love for each other.

I never told anyone what I saw that day.

Sixth year ended and seventh began.

The Final Battle drew closer and closer, looming over everyone's heads.

I stood by, not saying a word, as I saw you wake up every morning, rushing to the bathroom to empty the contents of your stomach.

I didn't say a word as you started gaining weight.

I didn't say a word as your hands began to automatically go to protect your belly.

I didn't say a word as Headmaster Dumbledore explained to us about you and Professor Snape's relationship, and how you had accidently become pregnant.

I managed to utter some sort of congratulations when I was called to the hospital wing after your daughter had been born.

I was there, by your side, still in love with you, when you defeated Voldemort.

But you didn't run to me, to kiss me, after the battle was over.

No, you ran to him. Hugged him. Comforted him. Kissed him.

I stood by, numbly watching at your wedding, as you declared your eternal love for him, bound your soul to his.

It wasn't the first nor the last time I found myself jealous of Severus Snape.

I married, too, of course, and had my own children.

We drifted apart - you had your own friends, your own social circle.

You payed less and less attention to me and I found I could hardly bear to be around you anymore, loving you but not having you love me in return.

But how could you ever love me?

All I ever was to you was your best friend, nothing more.

And no one will ever know that Ronald Weasley loved Harry Potter so dearly.


Author's Note: I was reading some story today where Ron loved Harry but not visa-versa or something like that, so I thought why not write something like this? It just popped into my mind and wouldn't leave me alone.