Confession
by : epiphanies
-
To make things simple, I just ignore it. Him. Everything.
Or, at least, I try to. Dare to. Want to, so badly, nobody understands.
Except sometimes, I look at Harry at an unexpected moment and I see a little glimmer. Something intelligible, something true. Something suspecting and something recognizable as something I do know for a fact is real.
Perhaps I'm running about in circles, but I look at him...I look at Harry in those moments, and I know that he knows. He knows what a colossal difference there is between kissing him and kissing Ron, even if it is just on the cheek, before a Quidditch match. He knows what the row was about last Christmas in the common room. He knows why Ron is always scowling so deeply that his eyes are swallowed by their sockets whenever I write a letter to Viktor. He knows, he knows everything. Sometimes I wonder if he ever wants to say anything about it, you know. About Ron and I. Is there a Ron and I? Unofficially, I suppose. One that exists only in the air about us, and in the words that aren't said, and in the gossip and rumours that have been flying about "behind our backs" since the third year.
What can I help it that such a blue that is his eyes are captivating? That such a freckle on the side of his nose can catch the light and become such an obstacle to tear away one's eyes from? That his hair so often resembles a fire that it's dancing is difficult to ignore?
Such a silly little schoolgirl, I am. What ever happened to my slight crush on Harry. I've no idea. It seemed to have evaporated since the day he and Ron saved me from the troll. From that moment, Harry was nothing more than a pretty enticement. A lovely face, some desirable green eyes, the object of every little girl's affection, at least in her diary entries.
But Ron. Ah, the way he looked at me, in such contempt, when I told him there was dirt on his nose. The way he spat out my name in first year, calling me a "nightmare." The look on his face when I saw him after I woke up after second year. The expression when he saw me on Viktor's arm. The green complexion after that first little peck on the cheek. What a boy.
Harry knows, and I have little doubt that sometimes he wants to scream it so that the entire world will hear, and he and I will finally actually do something about it. About us. Our situation.
I have a feeling we will never come to terms with the lingering looks, however. The little wrenches in the gut. The tears that come when the rows are in their peak. The excitement in the eyes when they meet. We're too good of friends to say such a confession, to give such a secret away, especially in the fear of ruining such a friendship.
And rejection.
One day Harry will say something, I know that. I'm not sure whether I'll be ecstatic or furious or embarrassed. But I shall not be surprised.