Bittersweet
(Fred's POV—scene from Goblet of Fire, page 394, tweaked a little)
"Want to come to the ball with me?" I called to her from across the common room.
This is it. The moment of truth. I know it seems like I'm only asking Angelina spontaneously to make Ickle-Ronnikins feel like a fool (what I do best) but, really, I've wanted to do this for the past six years. Ever since I laid eyes on the gorgeous creature called Angelina Johnson, Quidditch goddess. Some call it obsession, I call it pure love.
Damn, maybe this was a bad idea. I should have thought about it more. Stupid, stupid.
She's cocking her head to the side, blushing.
"Are you Fred or George?"
Bloody hell.
Love Declarations in Letters
Dear Ron,
I love you so much it hurts sometimes. There, I've said it. I hate how you STILL haven't opened your eyes and figured as much. I need you, but I can't understand why. You're not my type at all. Sometimes I feel like strangling you. Other times, I have to restrain myself from snogging the life out of you.
These feelings are scary, and they won't go away. Everyone but you seems to know how I feel--I thought you ought to. I can't pretend to be merely your friend any longer, Ron. Think about it.
Happy Valentine's Day,
Hermione
Hermione—
Ditto.
— Ron