Six months ago, I had a bit of an epiphany. Perhaps I come off as being dramatic, but it really changed my life, my whole outlook on myself. I was on a date with this redhead; I can't even remember her name, to be honest, but it began with an "L." Regardless, we were at a nice little café, just chatting over two mugs of hot cider. The girl kept fluttering her lashes at me – trying to flirtatious, I guess – but all I noticed was that she was wearing an awful lot of make-up, very dark around her eyes.

And I thought to myself, just as I was noticing this, that the whole bloody thing was absolutely pointless. I mean, there I was, trying to get into a perhaps serious relationship with a girl, and – well, it really bothered me that she was wearing so much make-up. She seemed so fake, so forced, with all that black glitter and her giggling and blinking. I knew nothing real about her, except that she liked to put on a show. How am I supposed to get to know a girl when she can't even be herself around me? How can a relationship come from false impressions like that?

I didn't just leave her or anything like that, even though I really wanted to. We finished our cider, but the whole time, I kept noticing more and things about her that were put-on. She had fake nails, for one. And when I tried to ask her questions about herself, she never really gave straight answers. And I thought that her hair might have been dyed. For all I know, her chest might not even have been real; honestly, I wasn't looking enough to tell.

Anyway, once we were done with our drinks, we said our farewells and such. She asked me if I would send her an owl note, but I told her that I didn't think so, because I knew that I wouldn't. She gave a little nod. I felt bad. It was a very awkward ending to the night, and I went back to my flat in such an upset state that I just wanted to go straight to bed.

But when I opened the door, Hermione was there. She asked me questions, like "How was it?" and "Are you going out again?" Well, it was bad, and I'm definitely not. But she smiled for me, threw her arms around my neck, told me I didn't need the redhead. She made it better that night, making me laugh and heating up some soup to keep me warm. I felt so good to be with Hermione, to feel comfortable, to feel like I did have a girl who's real and true.

I mean, Hermione doesn't paint her face or doll herself up, but it's also more than that. She has substance. She holds raw emotion and passion. She's proven her friendship time and time again. She's a wonderful, sweet, brilliant young woman as she is. She doesn't need to cover herself up with anything fake.

Anyway, we were sitting there and I was slurping down the last of my broth, just being silly. She shoved me playfully, told me that I ought to have some manners, and we both chuckled. Hermione, in all her purity, makes me feel like I don't need to cover up either. Neither of us has to be fake, like the girl whose name begins with "L."

It felt so right to sit there with her and smirk and poke fun at each other. I felt like I could escape from my past, from my sadness, from my insecurities about myself. She is simply the natural cure to all my problems.

I just knew then that I didn't need any other girl other than Hermione. In fact, I knew that I couldn't have date any other girl, because in the end, any girlfriend of mine would never be as good for me as she would be.

I'll admit it. I love her. I love her in a more-than-best-friend sort of way. In fact, it was that night that I figured out how much I loved her. She was laughing at something odd I had said, and her head was thrown back, and her soup bowl on her lap shuddered because of the laughter in her belly. I couldn't help but to laugh right with her. That's the thing about being with her; it's so casual, so perfect, so liberating. I feel free from my past when I'm with her. I feel free from hardship, from sorrow, from obligation. She makes me feel like it'll be alright. She makes me realize that – well, that life can be happy, and easy, and simple.

All I wanted to do that night was to hold her, and to thank her for being pure, flawless Hermione, to thank her for everything she is. I wanted to tell her how much she means to me. I wanted to let her know that there would be no other dates, because she was all the woman I wanted. I wanted to make her laugh until sunrise, to make her feel as happy as she made me feel that night when I was lonesome. I wanted to – well, I wanted to make love to her. I wanted to kiss the words from her mouth, to put my hands in her hair, to be close to her physically and emotionally. These are certainly not feelings that one feels towards their best friend.

But, anyway, those feelings for her were the epiphany I was talking about before. Ever since that night, I've never been on another date. There have been no more girls with their faces painted like porcelain dolls, no more glued-on eyelashes, no more dates with shallow young women. I just know that I can't ever be happy with someone unless that someone is Hermione.

I never did tell her all those things, though. I want to love her that way, but I can't, because one-sided love doesn't work. And I know it's one-sided, because Hermione tells Ron everything, and Ron has told me nothing. Besides – well, Hermione and I are just friends. We've always been just friends. Why would she ever see me any differently than outside of that realm?

You just can't kiss a person if she won't kiss you back.

So, like I said, I had this epiphany about six months ago. And it changed me forever. And at the same time, nothing has changed. The point is that I'm really getting desperate for something to happen. It's kind of ironic, isn't it? After all, my life for several years was full of complete chaos, and I hated it. And now that everything has calmed down, I want something dramatic to happen again. I suppose one wouldn't expect anything less crazy from Harry Potter.