The Harry Potter series and all its characters do not belong to me. They
are the marvelous creations of the wonderful J. K. Rowling, whom I love for
coming up with them; I'm just borrowing them for a bit and hoping I don't
dishonor the series. I have no money, I mean no disrespect, and this is
for pleasure, not profit, so please don't sue. This is part of a series
I'm writing called Colors; there are three parts total, and they can be
read in any order. The other two chapters are Flame Red (Harry's POV) and
Green With Envy (Hermione's POV). Please read them as well if you like
this one.
____________________________________________________________________________ ___
I know I should be doing my homework, but I just can't concentrate. Not when he's around. How can anyone expect me to be able to do homework when I can instead stare at that silky black hair, those shining emerald eyes?
Ruddy hell… I sound like some lovesick little girl! This is what Ginny's thoughts about Harry should sound like, not mine! Not that I can change the way I feel. I spent all of fourth year trying to do just that, and I'm sure that this year will be the same. I tried to ignore my attraction all through summer holiday, and the first three weeks of school. We're starting the fourth week now, and it's just getting harder.
I… I just don't know what to think right now. I mean, why me? Why do I have to like other boys? Maybe if I were older than one of my brothers it wouldn't be so bad, but since I'm the youngest… Well, it's just another expectation for me to live up to. Charlie, Bill, and Percy are all 'normal', they like girls. Fred and George… Well… They're just Fred and George. I don't think they care about anything except each other, Quidditch, and getting into trouble. Even Ginny is normal; she likes boys, just like girls are supposed to.
And then… there's me. Ron Weasley. The boy that's not good at anything except messing up. I'm not a prefect, or a genius, or anything else like that. I'm not handsome or important. I'm not anything special, not in a good way, at least. I have decent grades, but that's mainly because Hermione makes sure I get all my homework done, and that the answers are always correct. I guess that I'm well liked, but the only actual friends I have are Hermione and Harry, a fellow outcast and a star most people are too afraid to approach and actually get to know.
And I like other boys. I'm a pillow biter, a queer. Light in the loafers. A little too happy. I'm weird, a freak, not normal.
I don't know what to do! I mean, I can't just break off my friendship with Harry, I won't! He's the first real friend I had outside of my brothers and sister, and he's my best friend. Not because he's Harry Potter, the Boy That Lived, or Harry Potter, the best Seeker in Gryffindor history, but because he's Harry Potter. Just being himself is enough; he's wonderful, and I don't know what I've done to deserve being his friend, but I don't want to risk ruining everything by telling him how I feel towards him.
The only thing I can think of to do is to just stay silent, hope that perhaps he feels the same and will notice what I'm feeling, but I'm not going to get my hopes up; it's not likely to happen, and I realize it.
I don't want anyone to find out about what I'm feeling, because I'd rather be a nobody than hated.
That's why I'm just staring at my homework, occasionally sneaking a quick glance at Harry out of the corner of my eye. That's why I haven't risked telling him, why I never will risk it.
I'm just a coward… Even with the oh-so-wonderful, oh-so-tempting reward of black hair and emerald eyes.
____________________________________________________________________________ ___
I know I should be doing my homework, but I just can't concentrate. Not when he's around. How can anyone expect me to be able to do homework when I can instead stare at that silky black hair, those shining emerald eyes?
Ruddy hell… I sound like some lovesick little girl! This is what Ginny's thoughts about Harry should sound like, not mine! Not that I can change the way I feel. I spent all of fourth year trying to do just that, and I'm sure that this year will be the same. I tried to ignore my attraction all through summer holiday, and the first three weeks of school. We're starting the fourth week now, and it's just getting harder.
I… I just don't know what to think right now. I mean, why me? Why do I have to like other boys? Maybe if I were older than one of my brothers it wouldn't be so bad, but since I'm the youngest… Well, it's just another expectation for me to live up to. Charlie, Bill, and Percy are all 'normal', they like girls. Fred and George… Well… They're just Fred and George. I don't think they care about anything except each other, Quidditch, and getting into trouble. Even Ginny is normal; she likes boys, just like girls are supposed to.
And then… there's me. Ron Weasley. The boy that's not good at anything except messing up. I'm not a prefect, or a genius, or anything else like that. I'm not handsome or important. I'm not anything special, not in a good way, at least. I have decent grades, but that's mainly because Hermione makes sure I get all my homework done, and that the answers are always correct. I guess that I'm well liked, but the only actual friends I have are Hermione and Harry, a fellow outcast and a star most people are too afraid to approach and actually get to know.
And I like other boys. I'm a pillow biter, a queer. Light in the loafers. A little too happy. I'm weird, a freak, not normal.
I don't know what to do! I mean, I can't just break off my friendship with Harry, I won't! He's the first real friend I had outside of my brothers and sister, and he's my best friend. Not because he's Harry Potter, the Boy That Lived, or Harry Potter, the best Seeker in Gryffindor history, but because he's Harry Potter. Just being himself is enough; he's wonderful, and I don't know what I've done to deserve being his friend, but I don't want to risk ruining everything by telling him how I feel towards him.
The only thing I can think of to do is to just stay silent, hope that perhaps he feels the same and will notice what I'm feeling, but I'm not going to get my hopes up; it's not likely to happen, and I realize it.
I don't want anyone to find out about what I'm feeling, because I'd rather be a nobody than hated.
That's why I'm just staring at my homework, occasionally sneaking a quick glance at Harry out of the corner of my eye. That's why I haven't risked telling him, why I never will risk it.
I'm just a coward… Even with the oh-so-wonderful, oh-so-tempting reward of black hair and emerald eyes.
