Sigh, why do I have to be in love with him?!
I guess I should explain the situation. So this is it in a nutshell: I'm head over heels for the one guy I can absolutely never have. And have been for practically forever. I over heard my mum and dad discussing Harry Potter in our living room once when I was five. I was intrigued, so asked more about his story. That's right about the time I fell in love with him. I mean, what little girl doesn't want to grow up and marry a hero? A knight in shining armour...
Then something happened. In the first letter I received back from my brother, Ron, after he left for Hogwarts; he informed me that the boy who didn't know his way onto platform 9 3/4 was, indeed, Harry Potter, and was also quickly becoming my older brother's best friend. I was ecstatic! I could meet the boy who had deemed control over my girlish fantasies for years! I would meet him, stun him with my charm and wit, and he would instantly know we were destined to be together! It would be perfect.
Only...it wasn't. Oh God, it was not. My idiotic brothers went and got Harry from his awful relatives and I was taken by complete surprise when I came down to the kitchen (in my nightdress, no less!) and he was sitting at my table having breakfast! I could have killed my brothers. In fact, I spent hours later that day scheming ingenious ways to make their deaths look like accidents. So the very first time I met Harry Potter, while actually knowing he was The Boy Who Lived, was a complete disaster to say the least. The very least.
Two years went by, filled with me being a complete blushing twit whenever I was within two yards of wherever he was. Not to mention setting a giant snake loose in the castle to Petrify my good friends and having to be rescued from a chamber by Harry the Hero himself. Please don't make me go into that. I saw him every summer and made a fool of myself every time. In my third year Harry was entered into the Triwizard Tournament. Disaster. I spent every night crying myself to sleep over what could happen to him, and every task holding my breath to see what did happen to him. It was awful. After that, I decided to push my feelings aside. Harry didn't need a blathering idiot mooning after him; he needed a friend. I mean, he has Hermione and Ron of course, but he needs someone to relate with. Sadly, I think I'm the one he can do that with.
My fourth year Harry was a complete mess. I think the last four years had really caught up with him. Cedric's death, the whole wizarding world against him by Fudge's word, having to go to Grimmauld Place (there should be a sign in the front lawn saying, "Welcome To The Scariest Place On Earth!"), and my father's attack which he (of course) blamed himself for. I actually had to convince him he wasn't being posessed. That's where the relating thing came in at, I think.
So here I am now, summer after my fourth year; which ended with an awful trip to the Department of Mysteries. Sirius is gone. Dumbledore managed to temporarily defeat Voldemort. I'm still not sure what all had happened that night. It's like on big blur in my memory that won't stop moving long enough for me to make out any fine details. The most prominent thing was the humming bird...the glass with the bird changing from an egg to fully grown over and over. That I see quite clearly; it mesmerized me... But how silly of me to remember that out of all the details.
But all I know now is that Ron was attacked, Hermione knocked unconscience, my ankle broken, and Harry... Harry has lost another parent. Why Harry?! I don't see how he deserves this! He's never wanted it! The fame, the inheritance from his parents that made him independently wealthy...all of it he would trade in a heartbeat for his family... It's one thing I love about him. And yes, I do love him. I don't care what anyone thinks about my being too young or any of that. I love him and always will. It doesn't mean he'll ever love me back, I know that, but I will not yield.
So it's summer, I'm back at the God-forsaken number 12 Grimmauld Place with Ron, my parents, and Hermione. And the Order, of course. Harry's due quite soon actually. In an hour or so. I'm anxious to see him, but I know he will not be my Harry. Not the Harry who was always so polite to me just because I'm Ron's little sister. He'll be empty, and I know it. The whole time he's been at Privet Drive, I imagine all he could do was sit and think. Think about Sirius most likely. Think about how guilty he feels for every single thing that has ever gone wrong in the history of the world because it is, of course, his fault. You know, I love him, but some times I really feel like smashing his head in with a frying pan. Well, when he gets here I'll have none of that woe as me crap. The self-less bastard will have to learn to share the load when it comes to his guilt.
And maybe I'll just be the one to knock some sense into his thick, stubborn skull.
I guess I should explain the situation. So this is it in a nutshell: I'm head over heels for the one guy I can absolutely never have. And have been for practically forever. I over heard my mum and dad discussing Harry Potter in our living room once when I was five. I was intrigued, so asked more about his story. That's right about the time I fell in love with him. I mean, what little girl doesn't want to grow up and marry a hero? A knight in shining armour...
Then something happened. In the first letter I received back from my brother, Ron, after he left for Hogwarts; he informed me that the boy who didn't know his way onto platform 9 3/4 was, indeed, Harry Potter, and was also quickly becoming my older brother's best friend. I was ecstatic! I could meet the boy who had deemed control over my girlish fantasies for years! I would meet him, stun him with my charm and wit, and he would instantly know we were destined to be together! It would be perfect.
Only...it wasn't. Oh God, it was not. My idiotic brothers went and got Harry from his awful relatives and I was taken by complete surprise when I came down to the kitchen (in my nightdress, no less!) and he was sitting at my table having breakfast! I could have killed my brothers. In fact, I spent hours later that day scheming ingenious ways to make their deaths look like accidents. So the very first time I met Harry Potter, while actually knowing he was The Boy Who Lived, was a complete disaster to say the least. The very least.
Two years went by, filled with me being a complete blushing twit whenever I was within two yards of wherever he was. Not to mention setting a giant snake loose in the castle to Petrify my good friends and having to be rescued from a chamber by Harry the Hero himself. Please don't make me go into that. I saw him every summer and made a fool of myself every time. In my third year Harry was entered into the Triwizard Tournament. Disaster. I spent every night crying myself to sleep over what could happen to him, and every task holding my breath to see what did happen to him. It was awful. After that, I decided to push my feelings aside. Harry didn't need a blathering idiot mooning after him; he needed a friend. I mean, he has Hermione and Ron of course, but he needs someone to relate with. Sadly, I think I'm the one he can do that with.
My fourth year Harry was a complete mess. I think the last four years had really caught up with him. Cedric's death, the whole wizarding world against him by Fudge's word, having to go to Grimmauld Place (there should be a sign in the front lawn saying, "Welcome To The Scariest Place On Earth!"), and my father's attack which he (of course) blamed himself for. I actually had to convince him he wasn't being posessed. That's where the relating thing came in at, I think.
So here I am now, summer after my fourth year; which ended with an awful trip to the Department of Mysteries. Sirius is gone. Dumbledore managed to temporarily defeat Voldemort. I'm still not sure what all had happened that night. It's like on big blur in my memory that won't stop moving long enough for me to make out any fine details. The most prominent thing was the humming bird...the glass with the bird changing from an egg to fully grown over and over. That I see quite clearly; it mesmerized me... But how silly of me to remember that out of all the details.
But all I know now is that Ron was attacked, Hermione knocked unconscience, my ankle broken, and Harry... Harry has lost another parent. Why Harry?! I don't see how he deserves this! He's never wanted it! The fame, the inheritance from his parents that made him independently wealthy...all of it he would trade in a heartbeat for his family... It's one thing I love about him. And yes, I do love him. I don't care what anyone thinks about my being too young or any of that. I love him and always will. It doesn't mean he'll ever love me back, I know that, but I will not yield.
So it's summer, I'm back at the God-forsaken number 12 Grimmauld Place with Ron, my parents, and Hermione. And the Order, of course. Harry's due quite soon actually. In an hour or so. I'm anxious to see him, but I know he will not be my Harry. Not the Harry who was always so polite to me just because I'm Ron's little sister. He'll be empty, and I know it. The whole time he's been at Privet Drive, I imagine all he could do was sit and think. Think about Sirius most likely. Think about how guilty he feels for every single thing that has ever gone wrong in the history of the world because it is, of course, his fault. You know, I love him, but some times I really feel like smashing his head in with a frying pan. Well, when he gets here I'll have none of that woe as me crap. The self-less bastard will have to learn to share the load when it comes to his guilt.
And maybe I'll just be the one to knock some sense into his thick, stubborn skull.