Disclaimer: Don't own it. Duh.



Harry Potter sat at the back of the Gryffindor common room, casting sneaked glances at Ginny who was sitting some distance away. In between, he was writing furiously on a spare piece of parchment.

I love the way she understands

I love the way she smiles

Each new day I think of her

But does she think of me?

And if she did, would it be

For love

Or for fame?

Does she see me as a stranger

Or is she afraid of the danger?

I want to know if she sees me

For who I am, not how.



Harry ruefully stuck the poem inside his Unfogging the Future book, in turn throwing this book aside. Shaking his head at the thought of Ginny liking him for more than just fame, he busied himself with his Transfiguration homework.