I turn away, as I have so many times, not wanting anyone to see me cry. Not wanting you to see me cry.
"Harry, what's wrong?" you ask in an innocent, concerned voice. I don't want to tell you, but I can't resist as you grab my chin, forcing me to look into your chocolate-brown eyes, eyes so full of worry, concern, and pain it hurts me. It wasn't so long aog you were carefree...
I tell you about everything, the prophesy, how I still blame myself for Sirius' death. I tell you about my life at the Dursley's, about living in a cupboard, about having no friends. I tell you about my nightmares, all except the one's about you being hurt.
Most of them.
I tell you everything- except the most important fact.
I don't tell you how much I love you.
I don't tell you that I think about you constantly, live in the ever-present fear Voldemort will find out and use you to ge to me. I worry about you all the time. My first and last thought of the day is always you, and you don't even know. You'll probably never know hoe much I love you, though I love you with all my heart. Perhaps i'll leave a note in Ron's care, to give you if I die. That way you'll know, even if you don't ever return the feeling, even if I'm dead, you'll know how much you meant to me, how I never would have made it through without you.
"Harry?" you ask gently, "why so quiet?"
I swallow, knowing what you'd think if you knew why I'd stopped talking. You'd think I was dumb, you'd hate me, you'd 'Just want to be friends.'
""Nothing," I lie, hoping you'll buy it, "I'm just tired, I think I'll go to bed."
I walk slowy upstairs, fighting more tears as I write the letter for Ron to give you if I die.
Dear Ginny,
If you're reading this, it means I'm gone, but I wanted you to know this. I love you, Gin, and I always will. And not as a little sister.
-Harry
I sigh, and stick it in my trunk. Someone'll find it if I die.
"Harry," you call, jogging to catch up with me.
"Yeah, Gin?" I ask turning around, trying not to kiss you on the spot. You look so beautiful, it's hard not too.
"What does this mean?" you ask, pulling a familiar peice of parchment. The letter.
"Oh.. erm... I.. er..." I stutter, face going red from embarrasement, while my mind shouts "NO, NO, NO!"
"Harry, did you write this? And did you mean it?" you ask, more gently this time.
"Yes," I mumble, going even redder.
"Harry... I.. I," and you finish by kissing me, in the middle of the hall, and I forget my name, my past, all my troubles, enveloped in the moment.