A/N: This is in a diary format. Hopefully you'll like it. My last
chapter of "Last Dance" has been delayed due to excessive amounts of
homework. Bear with me, guys--and in the meantime, read this, enjoy, and
review!
Dear Diary,
Never mind what is SUPPOSED to happen, I don't care. Did I just write that?
Of course I did.
The point is that I am sick of being forgotten, sick of Vicktor sending owls twice every day, and most of all sick of being perfect!
Not that I am.
People think I'm perfect. You have to realize that I hear things all the time, little things like, "Oh God, there goes Hermione again. Just once I wish she didn't know the answer!" You know what? Half the time I raise my hand I only do it because I THINK I know what the repsonse should be.
Just like that muggle American show, "Jeopardy."
So what is my reward for all my grieveances? Nothing. Sure, people ask me for help with homework all the time--not that they need it. All the answers are right there in the book; if they only bothered to find out what page we're on in class they could have the assignment done in less than an hour, like me.
Of course, all my studying is what lead up to the whole Vicktor crisis. What he sees in me I have no idea.
Vicktor is obsessive! He writes long letters, describing his daily activities, NAMING each and every person he gave an autograph to. He tells me when his next photoshoots for Quidditch Today are scheduled, says at least three of his teachers are passing him so he can continue playing for Bulgaria, and--what annoys me the most--tells me that, as well as Harry flys, he will never make it to a professional team.
That comment hurts; it cuts me so deep I'm suprised it hasn't been fatal yet. Harry! Harry, the best Seeker Hogwarts has ever seen, not make it to England's team?
I told Harry what Vicktor has been saying tonight, when we were talking in front of the common room fire. He just grinned. "So he thinks I'm a goober of a flyer, eh?" he asked, laughing.
I didn't know what to say. I gave him a small smile, nodding. "You're not," I whispered, and he looked over at me curiously.
Turning to face him, I looked him over. Seated next to me was my best friend, Harry Potter. The same skinny, scrawny boy (only taller now) who had overpowered Voldemort himself so many times. But he's different, in a way. He's--calmer, maybe.
He's been that way ever since Cedric died.
I blinked, just like Harry always does when he's trying to think of the right words. "Harry," I whispered, meeting his eyes, "He's wrong. You're the best quidditch player I've ever seen."
He smiled in a kind of lopsided way. "Better than that 'oh-so- handsome' Vicktor?" he asked, somewhat coldly.
His words injected themselves into my heart, causing more pain than I could bear. Slowly, I slipped my hand into his and felt him squeeze it comfortingly. "Yes," I told him. "Much better than Vicktor."
I don't lie to Harry.
Now, as I'm sitting here in my dorm, I've decided upon what I must do. It's been lingering in the back of my mind for so long I've been surpassing it as nothing.
But it is something.
With all my heart, I know I love Harry. And I no longer care what may happen in the future to all of us. Danger cannot keep away love, and whatever the costs may be, I'll love Harry until the day I die.
Vicktor, with all his celebrity style and attitude, can now be free to chase the women in his own world.
Right now, Harry is the only thing that matters in mine.
Love,
Hermione Granger
age 15
A/N: Hmmmm....Not bad for only taking 45 minutes. Well, tell me what you think--should I keep going with it (put the next chapter in Harry's point of view)--or should I just keep my ideas to myself and do my Algebra homework instead?
Thanks to all!
LUV, ~ME~
Dear Diary,
Never mind what is SUPPOSED to happen, I don't care. Did I just write that?
Of course I did.
The point is that I am sick of being forgotten, sick of Vicktor sending owls twice every day, and most of all sick of being perfect!
Not that I am.
People think I'm perfect. You have to realize that I hear things all the time, little things like, "Oh God, there goes Hermione again. Just once I wish she didn't know the answer!" You know what? Half the time I raise my hand I only do it because I THINK I know what the repsonse should be.
Just like that muggle American show, "Jeopardy."
So what is my reward for all my grieveances? Nothing. Sure, people ask me for help with homework all the time--not that they need it. All the answers are right there in the book; if they only bothered to find out what page we're on in class they could have the assignment done in less than an hour, like me.
Of course, all my studying is what lead up to the whole Vicktor crisis. What he sees in me I have no idea.
Vicktor is obsessive! He writes long letters, describing his daily activities, NAMING each and every person he gave an autograph to. He tells me when his next photoshoots for Quidditch Today are scheduled, says at least three of his teachers are passing him so he can continue playing for Bulgaria, and--what annoys me the most--tells me that, as well as Harry flys, he will never make it to a professional team.
That comment hurts; it cuts me so deep I'm suprised it hasn't been fatal yet. Harry! Harry, the best Seeker Hogwarts has ever seen, not make it to England's team?
I told Harry what Vicktor has been saying tonight, when we were talking in front of the common room fire. He just grinned. "So he thinks I'm a goober of a flyer, eh?" he asked, laughing.
I didn't know what to say. I gave him a small smile, nodding. "You're not," I whispered, and he looked over at me curiously.
Turning to face him, I looked him over. Seated next to me was my best friend, Harry Potter. The same skinny, scrawny boy (only taller now) who had overpowered Voldemort himself so many times. But he's different, in a way. He's--calmer, maybe.
He's been that way ever since Cedric died.
I blinked, just like Harry always does when he's trying to think of the right words. "Harry," I whispered, meeting his eyes, "He's wrong. You're the best quidditch player I've ever seen."
He smiled in a kind of lopsided way. "Better than that 'oh-so- handsome' Vicktor?" he asked, somewhat coldly.
His words injected themselves into my heart, causing more pain than I could bear. Slowly, I slipped my hand into his and felt him squeeze it comfortingly. "Yes," I told him. "Much better than Vicktor."
I don't lie to Harry.
Now, as I'm sitting here in my dorm, I've decided upon what I must do. It's been lingering in the back of my mind for so long I've been surpassing it as nothing.
But it is something.
With all my heart, I know I love Harry. And I no longer care what may happen in the future to all of us. Danger cannot keep away love, and whatever the costs may be, I'll love Harry until the day I die.
Vicktor, with all his celebrity style and attitude, can now be free to chase the women in his own world.
Right now, Harry is the only thing that matters in mine.
Love,
Hermione Granger
age 15
A/N: Hmmmm....Not bad for only taking 45 minutes. Well, tell me what you think--should I keep going with it (put the next chapter in Harry's point of view)--or should I just keep my ideas to myself and do my Algebra homework instead?
Thanks to all!
LUV, ~ME~