Summary: "I'll look at her sometimes, and I know she's changed." RWHG musings by a very confused Mr. Weasley.
Rated PG for some minor language. It is Ron, isn't it?
AN: If you haven't read Truth, then you can basically ignore this whole author's note. :) This fic doesn't have anything to do with the actual plot of Truth, but those who have me on author alert and haven't looked at my profile may not know this and I have received a few e-mails asking. Yes, I'm still considering the idea of a companion fic to Truth, but as of now it has nothing on it and I have no real idea for a plot.
Now, be a good little girl/boy and please review!
Change
I look at her sometimes and it isn't the same. She looks the same; her brown hair a bushy mess, her eyes warm but holding the option to turn accusing at any moment, her form slim with a few curves (not that I notice things like that, mind you), and she's the same. The same … but at the same time she isn't. I can never really place what's different about her but I know something isn't the same … that something's changed.
I think she notices it too.
She'll stare at me sometimes, blankly, a look that basically never comes across her face. She'll avert her gaze for a moment, but it always comes back to me, no matter how hard she tries to fight that.
Something's changed … and I'm not completely sure that I like it.
I'll stare back at her, puzzled. She looks so much the same but she isn't the same at all. I briefly wonder if others have noticed this change, but they don't seem to. Maybe I've gone nutters and maybe she has too. I don't know. Something isn't right; something's different.
I think I might have always felt this change about her, but I'm not completely sure. I am sure that I've never felt it this constant; unable to talk to her or look at her without beginning to wonder what's different.
In second year was the first time I felt the change in her, whatever that change might be. When Malfoy, the bastard, had called her a mudblood, I felt it mixed with rage. I felt the realization of a change bubbling in my stomach, it was faint then, but it was most definitely there.
The more I saw her, the more I talked to her, especially the more I was alone with her, that feeling of change was more present and more persistent. It made me nervous and that frightened me, so I pushed it aside in my mind for the time I was around her. Whatever that change was, I didn't want it to show … and I didn't know why, I still don't know why. Privately, I would dwell on the difference. Wondering just what the bloody hell it was. I never came to a conclusion; I always ended my musings by falling asleep or deciding that I had simply gone mad.
I'll look at her sometimes, and I know she's changed … and maybe I've changed with her.